“I think I’ll just stay in,” she lied. “Read a book, go to bed early.”
“Well, I might not be back at all tonight, so you should enjoy your time,” Jane said. “Now come and help me, will you?”
Esme followed her to her chamber to help her dress and fix her hair, but all along she could only think of seeing Delacourt again.
Even if she shouldn’t.
Finn felt sour as he stood along the wall at the Donville Masquerade. He felt no pleasure in watching the games around him. His mind was too twisted up in knots to do so. He could only think of Marianne and Ramsbury, he could only think of a woman he would never see again.
God, he needed to get drunk beyond reason and just forget everything for a while. He turned to order another drink and start that very process, only to find the Hellion standing just behind him. His breath caught at her sudden arrival, like some apparition he’d conjured with inappropriate thoughts.
“Good evening,” she said softly.
He let his gaze flit over her. Tonight she wore a silky red gown that left little to the imagination, it was cut so low. Her mask matched and had black stitching. She looked like a fantasy, yanked from his very addled mind.
“You know,” he said, trying to rein himself in. “For a woman who isn’t interested in my company, we certainly keep seeing each other often enough.”
Her lips parted at his peppery tone, but she didn’t back away as some ladies might have. “Some moths go to the flame even when they know they’ll be burned.”
He barked out a humorless laugh at that assessment and his thoughts returned to his sister once more. Things were resolved now. Marianne and Ramsbury were engaged and deeply happy, but he still hated himself for not seeing what had been right before his eyes. “Oh yes, that seems to be entirely true.”
Her expression softened and for a moment she almost seemed to understand. How she could, he didn’t know. She extended a hand toward him, a lovely hand despite the faint bruise on one knuckle that reminded him of who she was. Or who she pretended to be in public, at any rate.
He should have turned away from it. He wasn’t in a pleasant mood and the idea of being rejected once more by this woman did not rank as something he wished to experience at present. But he was as much a moth to her flame as anyone else. And he found himself reaching out to take her hand.
She said nothing, but guided him to the dancefloor. He sighed as he put his arms around her and they began to move in time. She was quiet for what felt like a very long time, just staring up at him. Her dark green eyes were somehow a comfort as they held his, like a cool walk in the woods.
“I never said I wasn’t interested in your company,” she said softly.
He drew in a shallow breath. “You’ve refused me two times, Miss X. Forgive me if I’m confused.”
She swallowed and for a long moment she was silent, her gaze never leaving his. Then she said, “I won’t make you ask again, my lord. Will you come to the back with me? Please.”
His heart began to pound as he stared at her. Was this happening? After the days apart when he’d been obsessed withher? After all the heated dreams that woke him hard and aching in his twisted sheets?
If it was another of those dreams, he didn’t want to wake up. He released her from his arms and motioned toward the back. “Lead the way.”
She took his hand and did so, weaving them through the writhing crowd, guiding them toward the secret rooms in the back where couples played out their fantasies with more privacy. She motioned to the servant guarding the space and he nodded his head, putting up four fingers to tell her which room was open. It was obvious she had done this before. Briefly Finn wondered if she’d ever cared about anyone she brought here, but he pushed the thought from his head. It didn’t matter. This was a night of pleasure, nothing more.
They moved down the dimly lit hall and she pushed open the correct door. He followed her inside and watched as she locked the door and then crossed to a panel on the wall opposite a big bed. It was meant to allow for voyeurism for those in the passageway behind the rooms, but she slid it shut and then faced him.
“This is just for us,” she said softly.
He nodded, unable to form words when she was coming across the chamber to him, her hips twitching and her pupils dilated with as much desire as coursed through his own veins. All other thoughts and worries and pains slipped from his mind as she lifted up on her tiptoes and tugged him down to kiss her.
Whatever would happen next, he wanted to savor this night. He wanted to drown in it, and in that moment he didn’t really care if he ever surfaced again.
Esme hadn’t intended to find herself in the backroom of the Donville Masquerade, her tongue tangling with Delacourt’s while his strong arms came around her. Or perhaps she had, and had only been lying to herself when she’d told herself she only wanted to see him, only wanted to talk with him, only wanted to dance with him.
All she knew was that when she saw the brokenness, the lostness of his expression in the hall, she had needed to touch him. Needed to be with him. She knew that look all too well and sometimes pleasure was the only way to quell the harder emotions.
He drew back from the kiss, looking down at her, his breath short. She said nothing, but unfastened the buttons of his jacket and slid her hands beneath, where his body heat was trapped. She hissed in a breath at the hard strength of his chest, at the way her short nails raked the brocaded fabric of his waistcoat.
“I want to know your name,” he whispered as he bent to take her lips again. She moaned as his tongue tangled with hers, making her body tingle with anticipation.
“Why?” she muttered against his mouth, the word ending on a gasp as he guided his hand to her shoulder, down her arm, cupped her hip and molded her even closer.
“I want to say it while I take you, I want to moan it.”
