A Dangerous Masquerade (13 page)

             
There was brandy in his room.  The wine Constance had provided was not of his usual standard, but the comte’s cognac was good.  He needed it to take the taste of this night’s work from his mouth.  What they had done was a good thing, but the whole business was sordid and left a nasty taste behind.  He sometimes wished that he had never listened to the persuasive tongues that had brought him to this life.  As a young man of nineteen, he’d been filled with fire and zeal for upholding the safety and honour of his nation, but over the years he’d  come to realise just how much sleaze lay behind the talk of honour and duty.  Society could be divided into the corrupt and the dull worthies who preached goodness and charity without lifting a finger to change the world about them.

             
No, that was not quite true.  Moraven knew of good men and women who did what they could, though because they had looked askance at him he had in the past despised them.    Once he had been like them – Harry, Max and Gerard.  If he had only been as straight and true as those three, he might then have been in a position to offer marriage.

             
Laughing softly in his throat, Moraven went upstairs.  He must be going soft in the head!  Had he been in his erstwhile friends’ shoes, he would have been married long ago – and he would never have met Constance.

             
He paused as he saw light under his door, a prickle going down his spine.  Was there a nasty surprise waiting for him.  Taking a pistol from his coat pocket, he pulled back the hammer and placed a soft finger against the trigger.  If his enemy was within…

             
As the door swung back, Moraven’s eyes were drawn to the bed and he smiled, releasing the hammer and letting the pistol slip from his hand to the dressing chest.  Constance was lying on the bed, her dark hair spread over his pillows.  Her gown had been tossed to the floor beside her and she had fallen asleep waiting for him.

             
Waiting for him.  A surge of sexual need and desire went through him as he saw that she had tossed off the covering and one white arm was exposed to his hot gaze.  He felt himself harden and knew that his earlier thoughts of giving her money and riding away were ridiculous.  He could not abandon her – did not want to leave her behind.  He wanted her as she was now, in his bed, waiting for him each night.  His tongue moved over his lips as, brandy forgotten, he moved towards the bed.  He sat down on the edge and pulled off his long boots, kicking them away and then releasing his breeches and unbuttoning his shirt.  Naked, he slipped into the bed beside her, turning to look at her and watch as she slept.  He reached out and touched her face, marvelling at the softness of her skin.  She smelled divine and he wanted to make love to her at once, but she was sleeping so peacefully.  From within came a new strange tenderness, a feeling he’d never known – an urge to protect and cherish this woman.  He smiled, touched his lips to her brow and then reached across to blow out the candle.

             
He could wait one more night to take her.  She was his because she had come to him, and he would try not to hurt her.  Perhaps one day the beast would rise and she would run from him in disgust, but until that time he would explore the new feelings she had brought to life.

*

Constance felt something tickling her face.  She stirred and moved her head as it came again…like a soft breeze.  Opening her eyes, she looked up into Moraven’s eyes.  He was bending over her, blowing gently at her to wake her so that she was not startled.  A hot flush spread over her as she remembered what she’d done – coming to his bed like a wanton to wait for him.

             
‘I’m sorry…’ she whispered.  ‘I shouldn’t…’

             
Her words were lost as his mouth covered hers in a sweet, strangely tender and yet demanding kiss that drew her heart from her body.  The feeling was so good, so right, that Constance forgot her embarrassment.  She forgot her doubts, her fears of the future and her mother’s teachings.  All she could think of was the man whose body felt warm and hard as he drew her against him, his fingers trailing down her back, his mouth nuzzling at her neck.

             
‘We don’t need this…’ he murmured and pulled her shift up over her head, tossing it to the ground.  ‘That’s better.  Now I can really see you – see your beauty, the loveliness that you hide from others is mine to see and touch.  You are mine, Constance, never doubt it.  You belong with me.  I shall never allow you to leave me.'

             
His words were nectar to her starved being; her body and mind responded with all the innocence of first love, for she did truly love him.  She had tried to tell herself that love was foolish.  He wanted her but for a man wanting was not always loving.  She would give all that she had because she knew she could not deny him, but he would give only a little of himself.

             
Moaning softly, Constance pressed her naked flesh to his.  He felt so good, the silken length of him and the sprinkling of light hair that arrowed down his chest to his manhood – that hot hard spear pressing against her thigh so insistently.  He was fully aroused and ready for her, she knew that even as his fingers stroked and explored, making her gasp with pleasure.  She felt the moisture run between her thighs.  Never had she experienced such feelings.  Constance had never known a man, never even been kissed except as a game in childhood.  Yet her body was singing, understanding what was required of her as she opened to him, offering her silken moisture to his touch.

             
Still he stroked and kissed, making her body come alive as she writhed and whispered his name over and over, wanting something more but not knowing what she needed.  He leaned over her, gazing deep into her eyes, smiling as he ran a finger over her full lips.

             
‘Are you ready, my sweet?  Do you want me to come into you now?’

             
‘Oh yes,’ she breathed.  ‘Make me yours.  I want…’

             
She wanted everything.  When he pushed up into her she understood, opening wider, welcoming the length of him; then as he reached her hymen he stilled and looked down at her.  She reached up and pulled his head to hers, kissing him.  He hurt her when he broke through and she gasped but he kissed her softly, stroking her face and hushing her and then he began a slow sweet sweeping rhythm  that made her moan. Soon the pain was forgot as she was taken to a place she had never been, her body dissolving in pleasure so that she fell apart.

             
Afterwards, they lay together for a while in perfect peace, blissful and unthinking, then Moraven stirred and raised himself to look down at her.  Her cheeks were wet with tears.  He bent his head and licked them away.

             
‘Did I hurt you so much?’

             
‘No, only at first, then I forgot because it was so nice.’

             
He chuckled at her choice of words.  ‘That is the first time I’ve been told it was nice – marvellous, better than ever before, earth shaking but nice?  Now that puts me in my place, Constance.’

             
‘Forgive me.  I did not know what to say.  Being that way with you was all those things and more but lying here now is warm and nice – do you not think so?’

             
‘You were virgin,’ was all the answer he gave.  ‘Why do you cry – because I have ruined you?’

             
‘I did that for myself when I first allowed you to stay here – nay, before that when I took your purse…when I first became the comtesse.  If what we did is the completion of my ruin it is by far the best thing that has happened to me in a long time.’

             
‘Yes?’  He stroked her cheek.  ‘You’ve had a rotten time of it since your father died I think?  Coming here as a maid when you should have been here in your own right, enjoying the social scene.’

             
‘From what I’ve seen there is not much to enjoy.  I find society uncaring and hard for the most part.’

             
‘In certain circles I would agree, but there are other men and women who would make better friends for you, Constance.  Forgive me for robbing you of the life you ought to have had.  By taking your virginity I may have made it impossible for you to marry.’

             
‘In truth, what chance do you think I had before today?’

             
‘Very little,’ Moraven replied, but there was doubt in his eyes.  ‘I hope I did not force you, Constance?  I would not have done so for the world.’

             
‘No, you did not force me.  I told you yesterday that I was willing to be your lover.’

             
‘Yes, you did,’ he said and rolling over, left the bed.  ‘You had best go back to your own room before Heloise is about.  In time she will know about us, but I must win her over first – show her that I can be trusted not to harm you.’

             
Feeling suddenly shy, Constance reached for her shift and pulled it on before leaving the bed.  Moraven had shown no embarrassment as he walked naked into the adjoining dressing room and she could hear the noise of his ablutions.  She pulled on her gown and ran hurriedly from the room, covered in blushes.  How immodest she had been.  No wonder he was annoyed to discover her a virgin.  His apology had made her feel guilty.  Did he feel obliged to her now?  She knew that she loved him with all her being and she’d held nothing back as they loved – but she was no nearer to discovering his true feelings for her than she’d been previously.

             
His loving had been sweet, careful and tender, bringing her pleasure.  He could she knew have taken his own pleasure much sooner without thought for her feelings.  Madeline’s husband had never once considered his wife’s pleasure.  Constance knew from the bruises on her mistress’s body how violent and cruel the comte had been time after time.  Moraven was a very different man and she was fortunate to have gained her first experience of love at the hands of an expert.  No man could be that good at making love without a deal of experience.  She on the other hand was a novice and must have disappointed.  He had been looking for the bold adventuress he’d believed her at the start and in her ignorance she had been unable to do more than let him carry her away on a tide of pleasure.

             
She would try to do better next time, she decided.  If touching and kissing, stroking the sensitive areas of the body with his tongue gave her pleasure, perhaps he would gain pleasure if she did something similar to him.  The thought brought a flush of heat to her lower abdomen and she felt her feminine juices run. The idea that she might touch and kiss him, as he’d touched her, was exciting and it made her want to be back in his arms, but there was too much to do.  Heloise would be down soon and the day and all its chores would begin.

Moraven stared at his image in the mirror as he shaved.  Was that shame he could see?  It damned well ought to be.  How had he deceived himself into thinking her an adventuress?  She was virgin and as innocent as any society miss on her first venture into the drawing rooms of London.

             
Well, he’d ruined any chance she’d ever had of a good marriage.  No gentleman would take his leavings and Constance was not the sort to lie.  Not that he wanted her to marry someone else.  The idea made him clench his fist and bare his teeth.  She was his and he intended to hold on to her, though he knew that it was unfair to make her his mistress – and that is what she would be however she liked to think of their arrangement herself.  In the eyes of the world she was a fallen woman and he’d done that to her.  She had truly braved the perils of Paris society for the sake of those unfortunate children, taking nothing for herself but the coins she needed to support the two of them.  No wonder her servant looked at him as if she could plunge a dagger into his heart.  She probably would if she suspected how easily he’d deflowered her mistress.

             
She given herself to him so sweetly.  He hadn’t forced her – but perhaps his determination in hunting her had made her feel she was trapped, that he would leave her to her fate if she did not give him what he wanted.  If that were the case he was a rogue indeed.

             
Constance was too lovely not to have attracted the attentions of a decent man in time.  He suspected that her parents were gentry, even if the minor country sort.  She might never have made a grand marriage – but perhaps a parson or a baron might have spoken for her if he hadn’t blundered in and squandered her most precious asset.

             
Such a sweet gift.  She was precious and lovely and he prayed that he would never hurt her, as he knew he was capable of doing.  He would try to make her happy.  When he left Paris she would go with him and he’d buy her a house of her own, give her a settlement just as if she were his wife – which she would be in all but name.

             
Why not give her even that?  He considered the idea, turning it over in his mind before discarding it.  Moraven knew his limitations, knew his faults too well.  Sooner or later he would do something to hurt her.  She would stare at him with reproach, as his mother had just before she died.