Ridiculous (35 page)

Millicent ignored the assumption she was a hackney whore (five shillin’ round trip, g’vner – sightsee, screw, and shilling tip for driver), tossed him a coin, and requested to be let out a short distance from her destination. She had chosen to arrive after the receiving line was finished and so needed only present her invitation to a bored under butler. At this time of the evening, and at this type of an entertainment, there was less supervision of the proprieties. A woman arriving unattended did not so much as raise an eyebrow. The assumption was she was a married woman escaping a more conventional party to indulge in a little naughtiness.

Her evening gown attracted no comment. Not all who were there chose to wear costumes. Instead she was directed toward a table bearing a selection of masks. With what she hoped was a feminine giggle – she was out of practice after all – she selected a gold embossed papier-mâché mask that went well with the color of her dress and breezed into the party.

Drink was flowing freely and more than one guest had over-imbibed. Voices were shriller, laughter louder, and no one was obeying the rule regarding the amount of distance between bodies during the waltz. Some had taken license to appear in public in costumes hardly decent. A portly man dressed only in thin bedsheets with a bunch of grapes hanging from a belt about his waist, had his arms about two ladies whose skirts did not reach the floor, nor even their ankles.

She stood for a moment at the top of the staircase leading down into the ballroom. Of Shoffer there was no sign. Damn the man. He had probably changed his mind and gone to some event with Lady Beth and after she had gone to such trouble with her toilette.

Then again, she could hope that he had not yet arrived. She closed her eyes for a moment and dismissed her dismay at his absence before gazing out across the ballroom. She was here to dance; that was the important thing. She was here to celebrate her womanhood once before the
ton
. The Duke of Trolenfield be damned, she was going to have fun.

Millicent barely made it down the steps onto the dance floor before she was approached by a cavalier, who bowed and requested the honor of a dance.

Millicent did not hesitate. Her hand was on his shoulder and his arms about her waist and they were inscribing sweeping curves across the dance floor in an instant.

Whereas more respectable parties permitted only three waltzes, it seemed this orchestra knew no other music. After the cavalier, Millicent waltzed with a pirate, a gentleman in a domino, two Roman soldiers – one after another – and a person in the smelly remains of inherited, unwashable Tudor garb.

Sending her last partner off in search of refreshments, Millicent escaped through French windows onto a broad, but barely lit patio. Steps down into the gardens were lit by paper lanterns, but the expanse of the gardens had only scattered illumination. Millicent ran her fingers under the uncomfortable weight of her wig and closed her eyes as the cool air flowed onto her overheated scalp.

“It appears your cicisbeo has lost you,” observed a voice in the darkness as her last partner wandered past inside the ballroom, a cup of something in each hand.

A familiar voice. A voice she heard nightly in her dreams.

Shoffer.

Millicent snatched her fingers out of her hair and turned, searching the patio, heart pounding in her throat.

Draped in a domino cape, Shoffer was almost invisible in the darkness. Seeing her panicked gaze he stepped forward to bow. He wore a plain black mask, with an air of reluctance, Millicent thought, and conventional dark evening clothes instead of a costume.

Millicent dropped a hasty curtsy, thankful for the mask that concealed her own features. Now she had just to attract him. Convince him she was experienced and willing.

Millicent cast another glance at him. He did not recognize her. In fact, if she were not mistaken – the dim light and mask made it difficult to be certain – he was not looking at her face, but at her bosoms neatly displayed on their shelf of golden brown silk.

The thought set her to the blush and had her drawing a deep breath. Shoffer’s matching inhalation confirmed it. She could feel her loins heat and nipples tighten, and her lips curved.

Shoffer, beloved Shoffer, was admiring her breasts.

* * *

Timothy Shoffer, by the Grace of God and King, Duke of Trolenfield was not in a good mood.

Yesterday, Beth was less than pleased to be dragged off to Almack’s, particularly once she was told that her friends, the Boarder girls, and their charming and silly cousin still would not be there. Shoffer did not expect his sister’s intransigence. He insisted they attend Almack’s, as a demonstration of Beth’s superior, improved social skills, but they were there a bare hour before Beth demanded to leave. She wanted to go to whatever social event North and the Boarders were gracing. Told that the family was staying at home that night she near demanded to go there instead. It was necessary for Shoffer to sit with his furious sister in the ducal carriage for another hour and explain the necessity of weaning themselves from that family – a frustrating endeavor since he could not explain the reason. Hinting at rumors of unspecified crimes only aroused her ire.

“I do not care what rumors are going about,” declared Beth. “You and I both know that North could not have committed any crime. He is the star of the season! If Brummel can overcome his rumored penury and other behavior and still be acceptable, then North can as well. Besides,” she marshaled her best argument, “if we cut him the rumors will be judged as truth. We must continue to see them to protect them!”

“Beth, dear,” began Shoffer. “Your own reputation is my greatest concern.”

“Are the rumors true?” the girl demanded.

“By no means.”

“Then I shall continue to count them all as my friends.” She folded her arms, raised her chin, and glared at him.

Shoffer sighed, closing his eyes against the sight of his beautiful, caring sister with the stubborn jaw. Truth was he missed them as well. Little Maude with her curls, Mildred with her soft voice and gentle good humor, and North with his good sense hidden behind silly jokes.

“I am not saying we see them not at all, simply less. And you should take up with other young ladies as well.”

Beth put her lower lip out mulishly.

“I shall choose my own friends. In fact, they should not be banned from Almack’s. I shall go to Greylin’s party tomorrow and I shall tell Lady Jersey they should be issued vouchers.”

“I beg you would not.”

“I shall. You cannot prevent me. I am a person of some influence amongst the
ton
; you have taught me that yourself; and I choose to extend myself in the interests of my friends.”

Eventually, the only way Shoffer was able to prevent Beth attending the Greylin party was to claim a previous engagement and refuse to give Beth his escort.

It was the first serious fight between brother and sister and several times during the day Shoffer had wished for North’s presence, if only to tease them both out of their sulks. It was all very well for society to demand Shoffer socialize broadly, to maintain friendships from Eton through Cambridge and all the way to the grave, but North was his best friend, despite inferior birth and indifferent education. With North about, he did not need those other chatterers. He did not need to drink to all hours, to play deep at cards in order to be entertained. He could sit quietly and read, or gossip endlessly about nothing; with North on the other side of the fireplace, he was content.

Shoffer intended to spend the evening at one or another of his clubs, but he put that thought aside. He was too preoccupied with North, that much was true and while he did not entertain any licentious thoughts toward the man, it was necessary for him to find a woman tonight. Set up a mistress. Be seen behaving inappropriately with a lady. If he set those rumors aside, then he could try and find a balance, ration the time spent with North and his family, and Beth would be happy again.

Fortunately, there was a party tonight that was just the place to be seen, to be a suitably vigorous male of his rank.

While normally he spurned masquerades as beneath his dignity, it was well known to be an ideal place to find a woman with whom to behave inappropriately. On arriving at the Masque, he was grievously disappointed to discover that none of the women present pleased or attracted him. They were uniformly over perfumed, over familiar, and unappealing. The gathering was boring, the available women lacking in sensibility, and the orchestra discordant.

He tried to retreat to the smoking room only to back out rapidly. Two couples had chosen that room to … well … couple! He went out onto the patio and was considering going home when a slender woman, escaping an overly familiar dance partner, emerged in the doorway and ducked out for a breath of air.

A golden statue come to life was his first impression. The lady’s form was encased in shimmering gold silk, her breasts smoothly molded by the fabric. Her bright eyes behind the mask told him she was well aware of her charms. He smiled slightly at her to reward her with the appreciation that her bosom deserved. He shifted position so that he was no longer blocking the light behind him, permitting it to highlight the lady. She made no attempt to avoid his gaze, but continued to regard him calmly even as his eyes explored her body.

She moistened her lips, bringing his attention to their fullness, and spoke in a soft, warm contralto.

“I wonder,” she said, “have you ever wished that a celestial light would shine down when one meets the person who is one’s fate? That a chorus of angels would cry out, ‘Here! Look! This is he!’” She sighed. “It would make life so much simpler.”

Surprised to hear his own words, his own thoughts repeated to him, Shoffer stepped forward, his eyes on her mouth.

“Have I? Yes, I have. Have you ever desired from the first whisper of silk, the first touch of the hand to hold, to taste, to possess? To drown?”

Her eyes drifted closed, then opened again to regard him with a heated gaze. Her answer was a mere breath of sound and she crossed the intervening space to stand close enough that her breasts brushed his vest.

“Yes. Yes, I have.”

He put one hand on her waist and took hers in the other and began to guide her in a small circle. Instead of the grand sweeping curves of the ballroom waltz, he danced her around that small section of the balcony, drawing her closer into his arms with each circuit. Finally, they were breast to chest, hip to hip, as they moved back and forth, her hand on his chest and her cheek nestled against his neck.

The hand that had been resting on her waist for the movements of the waltz slid up to the underside of her breast and his thumb brushed over the peak of her nipple. She gasped, but made no move to escape. Emboldened, he curved his other arm about her back supporting the length of her body against his. Tilting his head, he brushed his lips along and down the line of her neck. She shuddered and sighed at the feather light touch and pressed closer. He could feel her lips move first to kiss his jaw, then the corner of his mouth. That was all the encouragement he needed to take matters further.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her up to him. His mouth descended to claim, to consume. Surprised, her lips parted and he took advantage, his tongue delving in, again and again, to explore and drown in her sweetness. She was untutored in the matter of kissing, he realized, when she recoiled from the invasion of his tongue, but once instructed she opened her lips beneath his and met his sweeping touch with her own, moaning, trembling in his arms, and returned his kisses eagerly.

This was no experienced, shallow, unfaithful wife. No. Her perfume was subtle, light. The sort of fragrance preferred by the débutante crowd. Sweet, fresh, and unassuming.

He drew back to gaze down at her flushed face, her swollen lips, and half lidded eyes. She rested against him, using his solid strength to hold herself upright.

This was no idle, no wanton, bored woman seeking illicit thrills; he would stake his fortune on that. For all her enthusiasm for his caresses, his kisses, he knew from her brief hesitations that she was inexperienced in dalliance.

As an honorable man he knew he should shelter her from her own folly. Take her home, back to the protection of her family.

Even as he prepared to release her, make the speech that would put her to the blush, she rose on her toes to press another kiss to his lips and looked him directly in the eye.

“I wish to love…”

Her voice died away and she stiffened; whatever she saw in his eyes made her draw away. He tightened his grip to prevent her escape.

“Truly? Love?”

His hands firm on her buttocks, he pressed her against his growing erection. Her body tensed away for a moment, then she wrapped her own arms around his waist and held him tight. He groaned and covered her face with kisses. She tilted her face up to meet his heated gaze. His eyes were dark with passion as his hands roved freely over her curves.

 “Well, no. I have no right to such expectation.” Her voice was stronger now. “However, I would wish to experience
lovemaking
at the hands of a skilled man.”

“I have standards, you know. If there is a husband at home, a father who will protest…”

“My use of
my
body? No,” she whispered, “there is no one. No husband. No father. None with the right to nay say me.”

“Do you swear it?” he pressed his lips to her forehead, even as she swore that she was alone. “If so, tomorrow, I will meet you…”

“Now!” He could feel rather than see the heat of her blush. “I am sorry to be so forward. If not tonight, then it may well never be. I leave the city in a few days…”

“Then we should not waste time,” he drew back to stare into her masked eyes. “Swear to me; I have no wish to cuckold; swear you belong to no one else.”

“Only to myself.”

Shoffer swung her in a circle, his face resting against her smooth hair. He closed his eyes and swayed with her, enjoying the soft pressure of her breasts against his chest. She would do as well as any other lady. Already, he could feel his body heating, growing heavy with need and lust.