His whole body froze. Charlotte was almost jerked off her feet with the sudden cessation of movement. Margaret, watching his face intently, could not decipher the expression in his eyes. Her view was hampered by his black mask. But his lips formed a word. She was in no doubt that that word was "angel." Then she fluttered her fan more briskly, turned on her heel, and began to walk swiftly down the path away from him, swinging her wide skirts with provocative movements of her hips.

The Earl of Brampton was in shock for a few moments. He thought he was having a hallucination. There she was before him, surely, exactly as he remembered her-his little angel of the Hetheringtons' masquerade ball. That vivacious little figure would be etched on his memory for all time. He had not been able to explain to himself the almost uncontrollable attraction he had felt for the girl whose name he did not know and whose face he had not been able to see. All he did know was that what had started as a delightful flirtation in the ballroom had changed into sudden passion in the garden, and that by the time he had brought her back to the terrace for a drink of lemonade, his heart was quite smitten. He had meant it when he told her that he would be calling on her. Richard Adair, who had not once thought about matrimony in connection with himself, was hearing wedding bells as he skirted the ballroom and made his way to the refreshment room. But when he had returned with the glass of lemonade, as excited as any boy, he had found that she had disappeared.

His manner had become more and more frenzied during the next half-hour as he searched for her in every likely place and even in some unlikely places. When he had asked about her, deliberately keeping his manner cool and almost bored, he had discovered that though several people remembered Marie Antoinette, no one knew who she was and no one had seen whom she had come with or left with.

For the rest of that Season Brampton had searched for her. He had attended every social function to which he was invited, to the amazement of his friends, and had danced and conversed with every small girl that he saw. But he had felt instinctively that none was she. Once he had even danced a quadrille with Margaret Wells; but his attention had wandered away from her after only a minute. This quiet, dull little girl did not resemble his angel in anything but size.

At the end of the Season, when most of the members of the ton had drifted to Brighton or to their family estates for the summer, Brampton had finally admitted defeat. He would never see her again, never hold her light little body again, never make love to her. From that time he developed a taste for voluptuous mistresses. They reminded him less of what he had lost. These thoughts occupied Brampton's mind for a mere few seconds as he stood mesmerized in Vauxhall Gardens, Charlotte clinging to his arm and staring inquiringly up at him.

Then the apparition flirted her fan at him and began to hurry away. It could not be she, of course. But Brampton yielded to the feeling of panic he experienced as she moved away from him. He had to talk to her.

He glanced hastily across to Devin. "Dev, escort Miss Wells back to the box, please, and rejoin Lucy and Henry. I-I have to greet an acquaintance."

And he hurried after the masked figure, who was glancing over her shoulder before turning into a different path.

Devin's mouth was hanging open. He was bewildered. "What the devil?" he said, forgetting to suit his language to his company. "That's Lady Bram."

"Ohh!" Charlotte's hand shot to her mouth and she regarded Devin with wide eyes of dismay. "Is it so obvious?"

He looked at her suspiciously. "Have the feeling there's something fishy going on," he said. "What's brewing, Miss Wells?"

"It's a long story, sir," she replied meekly.

He took her arm and pulled it firmly through his again. "A long way back to the box," he said sternly. "Better start talking."


Margaret felt a firm hand on her arm soon after she had turned into a wider avenue. She turned to face him, her fan in front of her nose, her eyes sparkling above it.

"Are you?" he asked, puzzled, searching her eyes closely.

"Am I what, monsieur?" she asked, using the husky voice and the French accent that she had used on that previous occasion.

"By Jove, you are she," he exclaimed, and putting his free hand on her other arm, he turned her to face him. The pale-blue light of a lantern gave her mask and gown an even more ethereal quality and darkened her eyes.

"Yes, monsieur," she murmured.

They continued to gaze into each other's eyes for several moments. Then Brampton gave himself a mental shake.

"And are you about to disappear into thin air again as you did last time?" he asked, gripping her arms more tightly.

"Ah, monsieur, I could not stay that time. I told you that I was in grave danger, n'est-ce pas?"

"But to disappear so completely for six years! Did you know that I searched and searched for you? But you were nowhere to be found." His voice softened and his eyes wandered to her mouth, which looked soft and inviting. "Where did you go, and where have you been ever since, my little angel?"

"That I cannot reveal, monsieur," she said. "But you see, I am here now, and let me see"-she spread her fan and examined its dark-red surface-"I have the next six dances free. What coincidence, no?" She glanced up at him through her eyelashes and smiled dazzlingly.

"Minx!" he said, drawing one of her hands through his arm, but keeping a firm grip on it with his other hand. "Come, this is no place to talk. Let us try another path."

He drew her along a narrower walk, not so well lit. They walked until he spotted one of the little rustic shelters that were dotted throughout the gardens. They were furnished with simply designed tables and benches for the convenience of guests who wished to eat tete-a-tete.

Brampton ascertained that it was not occupied and drew his companion inside. He did not take with him the lantern that was hanging from a convenient tree branch outside.

He did not make use of the bench. He placed his back against one wall of the shelter and drew Margaret against him, his hands spread across her back. She drew in an unsteady breath.

"I still do not quite believe this, angel," he said. "Is this an accidental meeting? It looked planned."

Margaret's brain whirled in alarm. "Monsieur," she said, "I was with some people and I saw you-with the green lady, no? But I think the green lady was more enchantee with the small man. I remembered you, monsieur, and I wished to-talk to you. So I give my companions-how you say?-the slips, n'est-ce pas?"

She could see the flash of Brampton's grin in the dark. She lightly tossed her fan and her gloves on the table behind her and rested her hands against his chest, her fingers spread wide. The grin disappeared.

"Little one," he said softly, "do not deny me this time. Remove your mask for me." And he raised one hand and took off his own, sending it to join Margaret's belongings on the table.

"Ah, do not ask it of me, monsieur," she begged. "Truly, you must not know my identity."

"Oh, but I must," he coaxed, moving his head down so that only an inch of space separated their lips. "I have waited for this for six years, angel."

"Please, monsieur, you will give me much distress if you insist," Margaret pleaded, raising large, tear-filled eyes to his.

He sighed. "I see you mean to tease me for six more years," he said. "But come, my little sweet, give me something by which to remember this meeting."

He did not move forward to cover that inch of space. He waited for her to do so. Margaret touched her husband's lips hesitantly with her own, and then they both groaned as his arms clasped her tightly to him and his mouth opened and pressed demandingly down on hers.

Margaret gasped in shock. Time had softened the memory of that first kiss so that the remembered passion had lost its physical impact. Memory rushed back now as she felt the reality of his hard, muscled arms against her back, her breasts crushed against his strong chest, her thighs feeling the heat of his through the fabric of their clothing.

And she discovered again the wildly unexpected delight of his mouth, warm and moist, tasting faintly of the wine he had been drinking. Then his tongue was in her mouth, exploring the surface of her tongue, then moving lightly over the back of her teeth, and finally plunging slowly in and out in imitation of the sexual act.

Margaret felt herself grow hot all over and she became aware of a slow erotic throbbing low in her womb. One of her hands moved upward to entwine in his thick hair; the other splayed across his back, exploring the rippling muscles.

Brampton broke the seal of their mouths after a long time and his head moved down to her neck and throat, his mouth and tongue blazing a hot, moist trail over her bare flesh and down to the deep decolletage of her dress. She arched against him with a low sigh, her one hand pulling his head even closer to her.

One of his hands moved to the row of small buttons at the back of her gown. Then the other hand joined it and he began to undo the buttons until the dress was loosened to the waist. He held her away from him and gazed into her passion-heavy eyes while he slipped the bodice of her gown away from her figure. She wore nothing underneath. In the faint light that filtered through the doorway, Brampton found himself gazing at small but perfectly formed, upward-tilting breasts, the nipples already hard with desire. He cupped a hand reverently beneath each breast and teased the nipples gently with circling thumbs. The expression in her eyes became even more remote.

He lowered his head and licked lightly at each hardened tip. Margaret moaned in an agony of desire.

"My sweet little angel," he murmured against her ear, his hands placing her breasts gently against his silk coat and then moving to her back, "I have loved you for so long. I must have you. Now. Please."

Margaret was shocked into immobility. Not by the attempted seduction. But by the rest of what he had said. His hands were undoing the buttons below her waist. His mouth was seeking hers again.

"No, no, monsieur!" she cried, one hand going behind her back to prevent his activity there, the other hand pushing at his chest. "Please, no!"

"Oh, yes, little one, yes," he insisted, still trying to capture her mouth with his.

"Monsieur, please!" she pleaded, in a real panic now. "Someone may come. Your people will be looking for you. My friends will have missed me!"

"Please, my angel."

"But please, no, monsieur!"

With a great effort Brampton forced himself to relax against the wall behind him. He held her loosely against him. Damn, but the little apparition was right. In another minute he would have had her naked on the floor beneath him, in an almost public place! He had quite taken leave of his senses.

"I am sorry, my sweet," he said, fighting to regain control over himself. And he moved her away from him, helped her on with the bodice of her dress, and turned her around so that he could fasten the buttons again. He slid his arms around her waist from behind, kissed the back of her neck, and drew her against him.

"I am afraid to let you go, my angel," he said softly. "You will disappear again and I shall not know where to look for you or for whom to look."

"Are you sure that you wish to see me again?" Margaret asked, unconsciously holding her breath.

He groaned. "Now that I have found you again, I do not know how I have lived without you," he said.

"I shall come here again one week from tonight. Will you too be here, monsieur?" she asked, slanting a provocative look back over her shoulder.

"Nothing could keep me away, angel," he said. "But how can I be sure you will not disappear into thin air?"

"I give you my promise, monsieur," she swore.

"Tell me who you are," he whispered.

She took his hands in hers and unclasped them from her waist. She picked up her fan and gloves and turned to face him.

"Au revoir, monsieur," she said, and she tapped him lightly on one shoulder with the fan, flashed her eyes and teeth at him in a gay smile, and whisked her skirts out through the doorway. She stole a glance back over her shoulder as she sped lightly down the path to the more brightly lit avenue. He was standing in the doorway of the shelter, but was making no attempt to follow her.