"Do you really wish to dance?" he asked.

"But yes," she said. "It is so lovely to dance beneath the stars, no? With someone special," she added daringly, flirting her fan at him.

Brampton was dazzled. He could not decide whether she was a practiced coquette or a delightful little innocent. He hoped the latter. He had not planned to waste time in the gardens with her. He wanted her alone. But he was willing to humor her; he wanted this night to be a long and a perfect one.

"Come, then, little angel," he said, taking her hand and drawing it through his arm, "let us go see if the orchestra will play a waltz."

The orchestra was playing many waltzes. The dance was favored by the guests as suited to the romantic outdoor setting and to the masked appearance of many of the revelers, who felt they could relax the strict propriety of their behavior.

Brampton drew his companion into the circle of his arms as one waltz started. He held her closer than he would have dared to in a ballroom. Her breasts, firmly held within the heavy bodice of her gown, brushed tantalizingly against the black fabric of his domino. Her powdered wig tickled his cheek and chin.

She moved lightly, her little body picking up the rhythm of his, so that he felt she was floating in his arms. At first, he whirled her through the steps of the dance, exhilarated by the reality of her presence in his arms. Later, his feet slowed, he steered her to the edge of the dancing area, where they were more in the shadow of the trees, and pulled her more firmly against the hard wall of his body. He felt desire stir in him and lowered his head to brush her lips with his. He felt her inhale sharply.

"Angel," he whispered against her ear, "I do not want to share you with these crowds. Will you come with me?"

"Where do you wish me to go with you, monsieur?" she asked, raising her eyes to his so that he had a sensation of drowning.

"To a quiet place where we can be alone," he answered, gazing back.

"I do not know," she whispered.

"Yes, my little one, you do know," he murmured gently. "We both know why we have returned her tonight. Do we not?"

She held his gaze for a breathless moment. "Yes," she said softly.

"Come," he said, kissing her lightly on the lips again, and he led her in silence down a tree-lined avenue to a different exit from the one at which she had entered. She wondered fleetingly if Jem would be able to follow her, but she was in no state of mind to really care.

Brampton handed his wife into his oh-so-familiar town carriage and directed the coachman to Devin Northcott's chambers before springing in to sit close beside her.


They passed through the lit hallway of the stately old house in which Devin Northcott had his rooms and up to the second story. Brampton took a branched candlestick with them, lighting the candles before they climbed the stairs.

He set it down on the hall stand, unfastened the single button at the throat of Margaret's gray cloak, and slipped it from her shoulders. He threw his own black coat to join it on a nearby chair, and removed his mask. He looked so achingly familiar, dressed in the same black evening clothes he had worn the night before. It was hard for Margaret to believe that he did not know her.

But if she had any doubt on that point, the look in his eyes would have undeceived her. He had certainly never looked at the Countess of Brampton with such smoldering desire.

Brampton held out his hand for hers and led her, without prelude, to a bedchamber. He took the candlestick with him. The light from the candles lit up a large room with heavy, stately furniture, including a big four-poster bed, its blue velvet curtains drawn back, bedclothes turned down to reveal snowy-white sheets and pillowcases. Darker-blue velvet curtains were drawn back from the four windows, so that moonlight helped illuminate the room.

Margaret felt panic growing. This was the point of no return, then. She could not possibly now turn the evening away from its inevitable conclusion. And soon, surely, he would know with whom he was dealing.

Brampton set the candlestick down on the dressing table so that the light from the candles was doubled by the reflections from the mirror.

"Come here, angel," he said, holding out his arms to her.

Margaret was still standing uncertainly just inside the door. She went into his arms and felt them close around her.

"And now," he murmured, smiling into her eyes, "finally, let us get rid of this mask and this wig, my angel. Let me see you."

"Ah, no, monsieur," she said anxiously, pushing against his chest. "Please, I cannot do that."

Brampton tightened his hold on her. "What is it, my sweet?" he coaxed, puzzled. "Do you not trust me? I shall not hurt you or betray you to anyone else, even if you turn out to be Princess Caroline herself." He paused and grinned wickedly. "You are not Princess Caroline, are you, angel? It would be tiresome to have to call you 'Your Highness' while I make love to you."

Margaret laughed at the absurd look on his face. "I shall not answer yes or no, monsieur," she said archly. "But I insist that you must not see me."

He sighed in exasperation. "Angel, will you compromise?" he asked. "If I extinguish the candles and pull the curtains across the windows so that we cannot see a hand before our faces, will you unmask for me? Please, my sweet?" he begged as she hesitated. "I cannot make love to you if I cannot at least feel your face and your hair."

"How do you know that I wish you to make love to me, monsieur?" she asked, tapping him briskly on the shoulder with the fan that she still clutched.

"I assume, little wretch," he replied, "that when you step willingly into a bedchamber with a man, you do not do so in order to discuss the weather or the state of the nation!"

"Snuff the candles, monsieur, and draw the curtains," Margaret said. "Then I shall give you my answer."

He did as he was bid. The result was everything Margaret could have wished. She could see nothing whatsoever. Neither could he, apparently. She heard a thud, followed by an oath, as he found his way back to her.

"You owe me a 'yes' angel," he said close to her ear as he reached out to take her arm, "to make up for the crushed ankle I just acquired."

But he gave her no chance to reply. One hand reached up and pulled firmly at the wig. The pins that had held up her own hair came away with it. Margaret heard Brampton draw in his breath sharply as her heavy long hair cascaded down over his arm. The strings of the mask had also come untied with that one tug at the wig. She felt it fall away to the floor.

Brampton's body was still not touching hers. He reached up both hands now and let light fingertips roam over her face-over her forehead and cheekbones, down the length of her nose, over her mouth and her jawline. He pushed his fingertips lightly into the hair at her temples and let gentle thumbs follow the line of her eyebrows and then the lids of her closed eyes. His fingers slid deeper into the warmth of her hair.

Then his lips were on hers, gently, without demand, tasting the sweetness of her. They moved on to her cheeks, her forehead, her eyes, her ears. He paused at her right ear to take the lobe between his teeth and bite it gently as he licked at the tip. Margaret felt herself move away from a world of soft dreams into one of raw desire.

His mouth was back on hers, but open this time, hot, demanding, hard. His tongue penetrated the soft moistness of her mouth and explored and teased its interior. Their bodies were still not touching.

Finally Brampton's hand moved down through her hair to her waist and brought her against him. Margaret felt the blood rush in a surge of heat to her cheeks.

His mouth moved to her ear again. "Angel, you are driving me crazy, do you know that?"

"I think I am a little not quite sane too, monsieur," Margaret managed to gasp out.

Both his hands now were at the fastenings of her dress, working the buttons slowly, one by one, through the loops. While his hands were thus busy, he kissed and teased with his tongue and teeth her neck and her shoulders.

Finally the back of her gown was opened to the hips. Brampton drew it down off her shoulders and arms and moved back from her as it fell rustling to the floor. He knew immediately as he reached for her again that she was now naked to the waist. His hands found the small, firm breasts and kneaded them gently as his head came down to take the nipples, one by one, into his mouth. They were soon taut and aching with a throb of desire that trickled downward to her womb. She moaned and arched her hips against him.

"I must have you on the bed, angel," Brampton was whispering against her lips again. He wrapped his arms around her and moved her backward as he kissed her again, until she felt the edge of the bed against the back of her knees. She allowed him to lay her back against the crisp, cool sheets, and moved up so that her head lay on the pillow. She lay still while his hands carefully and knowledgeably removed her shift, her silk stocking, and her undergarments. Finally she lay naked-but unseen-before him for the first time.

He did not join her on the bed immediately. Margaret could hear that he was removing his own clothing. She savored the moment. Her body was singing with awareness of him, already throbbing and aching for fulfillment, more than she had ever experienced in her erotic dreams of him. But she knew there was no need for anxiety. This time he would satisfy her. She would know what it was like to be loved.

Brampton joined her on the bed. He lay beside her, turned toward her but not touching her for the moment. His hand began tracing a light pattern down her body, beginning at her throat and shoulders, moving down over her breasts and rib cage, over her hips and stomach and down the inside of her thighs to her knees. Margaret's breathing quickened and the throbbing of her body became more insistent.

His fingertips came back up the leg closest to him until they reached her stomach again. Then he brought the palm of his hand down on her and began slow, circular movements around her navel.

Margaret half-turned to him, desperate for closer contact.

"Patience, little angel," he said softly, raising himself on one elbow and leaning over her to kiss her slowly and deeply again on the mouth. "Let us make this a loving to remember."

Oh, yes, she would remember this loving, Margaret thought. It would have to last her a lifetime.

His hand moved again until she gasped and pulled away in fright. His fingers had reached down to stroke and caress the warm, moist place between her thighs.

"Do not be frightened, sweet," he murmured against her lips. "I want only to love you." One of his legs hooked around one of hers and drew it toward him; his hand resumed its caresses with greater freedom, his fingernails scratching lightly until Margaret's body was writhing in an agony of throbbing, spiraling longing. She turned and reached for him, blindly.

"Ah, yes, I knew you would be good to love," he said exultantly, firm hands pressing her back down on to the bed again. He moved across her and lowered his weight onto her still-twisting body.

"Oh, please, monsieur. Please. Please!" she gasped, her brain somehow holding on to the deception of the husky French accent.

"Yes, my sweet. Oh yes," he answered, his own voice not quite steady. And then the world stood still as he slid deeply into the soft heat of her. He lay heavily on her for a moment while they both savored the exquisite delight of being joined at last.

Then he raised himself on his forearms, his body a little away from hers, so that he could withdraw himself almost entirely from her before thrusting deeply inside again. Margaret wrapped her legs around his and fit herself to his rhythm as she had in a different way when they had danced earlier. Soon he was driving passionately into her while her desire tightened and tightened and, ultimately, became more and more frightening. She dared not let go. She might lose herself forever.

Brampton felt her inability to climax. He imposed an iron hold on his own almost uncontrollable need to release into her. He slowed his rhythm, let his weight down onto her again, and eased his hands beneath her body.

"What is it, little one?" he murmured.

"I can't. I can't," she gasped, panic-stricken.

"Let me take care of you, angel," he soothed. "I shall hold you safe. Like this, you see? Trust me, sweet. I shall not hurt you."