She pushed out her hands, trapped against his chest, and he relaxed his touch slightly. She raised her arms to pull his head away, to slap at his face, to tell him he’d made a mistake – as surely he had. However, her hands found a will of their own, and her fingers slipped into the short hair at the nape of his neck, her gloves sliding over his skin. The fingers of her right hand had been damaged in an accident and, although she had limited movement, she still had feeling – and it felt wonderful, even through the satin barrier of her gloves. His tongue was now stroking into her mouth, a hot, brandy taste, sending tremors through her body; her hands, no longer under her own control, tugged at his hair, and her lips copied his movements.
He groaned, a low earthy sound and, even though it felt impossible, his body pressed even more tightly against hers. She felt his leg pushing at her skirts, and she let out a muffled shriek, as his thigh found its home – rested between her legs.
His lips left hers, but only to trail across her cheek, etching the edge of the mask before heading towards her neck.
“You’re so sweet, I didn’t expect you to be so –” His words were cut off as he found her earlobe, and he gently tugged at it with his teeth. “Sweet,” he repeated.
Clara’s head rolled back against the wall. She was, she acknowledged, being ravished. And she loved it. His thigh had started a gentle, rocking motion, which was doing incredibly strange things to her insides; his lips were now nibbling at her neck, his teeth scraping delicately.
Her feet were still off the path, and somehow he managed to keep her comfortably pinned between the wall and his body, whilst removing one hand from around her waist. It was such a large hand, a broad palm of hotness that kneaded her side, before rising to her bosom. And in all that time, his lips never left her skin.
Clara jumped and let out a small gasp, as his hand cupped her breast. Despite the incredible sensations he was eliciting in her body, she really felt she ought to alert the ardent man that she may not be his intended victim.
It was not to be.
Through the dress, he stroked his thumb against her tight nipple, and Clara saw stars, literally, as her head fell back against the stone with the intoxicating pleasure of the man’s touch. She found herself gazing at the black sky of the night, strewn with its sprinkling of tiny lights. The constellation Coronae Borealis was smiling down at her, with its cup-like grin, and the stars seemed to wink in delight at her predicament – approving, boundless and infinite.
“Goddamn it. You like that, don’t you?” the wicked voice rasped low in her ear, his breath hot. “Do you want… more?” the devil asked gruffly. He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, his firm mouth met hers again, and Clara couldn’t help but respond to the temptation he offered. His whole body was now rocking, grinding against hers and God help her, she was doing the same – she craved his hard, masculine touch.
The fingers stopped their remorseless torture of her breast, but now they slid lower: against her side, her waist, her hip. The fingers kneaded, constantly circling a restless pattern of desire down her body. Clara felt a rush of cold air on her calves and, with sudden clarity, realised he was raising her skirts – grabbing the material with a greedy hand.
“Nooo,” she mumbled against the mouth that gave no mercy.
The mouth moved away slightly, and the lips quirked up one side.
“Perhaps you’d prefer a warm bed, my lady? Hmmm? But I’ll give you a taste of what is to come…”
The hand continued pulling at her skirt, but Clara’s sense was returning. She didn’t know this man – he was obviously a wicked rogue. A cad! He hadn’t even noticed that he had the wrong woman in his arms.
“No, s-s-stop. Let me go,” she said in a stronger voice. The hand stilled at her skirts.
“Stop. You want me to stop? What kind of game are you playing, Selina?” he panted harshly.
Clara’s heart stuttered at the name. Of course, that beautiful but nasty trollop, Selina. Whom else would this man kiss with such wild abandon? She pushed against him hard, and he leant away. His hand dropped from her rear, and her toes touched the ground.
“I’m not… I don’t…” Angry tears came to her eyes, and she was thankful for the mask. It was Selina that had made her seek escape from the masquerade in the first place, with her spiteful looks and nasty tongue. The man stepped back at her words. Moving out of the shadows, he was now lit by the soft moon, shining behind her, and she could make out his frowning features.
He was tall with a large, muscular frame. Short, blonde hair, now ruffled from her hand, seemed shot with silver in the moonlight. Short sideburns framed a masculine face, arrogant and proud. A strong chin sported an indisputable dimple, and firm lips were pressed together in irritation, only parting to release the occasional rasp of heavy breath that he couldn’t seem to withhold. His eyes were narrowed, and it was too dark to see their colour - but she knew them to be the purest sky blue.
“Rookdean!” she gasped.
“What?” he replied impatiently, frowning down at her. “Whom did you think it was?”
She gave a muffled cry – half-sob, half-laugh. “Whom didIthink it was?”
The Earl of Rookdean looked confused. He reached out a hand towards her, but Clara shrank back. This was dreadful, worse than dreadful. She turned and fled – the second time in one night. It was the only thing to do, and she prayed he wouldn’t follow.
Rook felt dazed, as he watched Selina run away with a speed that he never could have envisaged. He went to follow, but checked himself. ‘NEVER run after a woman’, was his friend, Jack’s, favourite piece of advice. Leaning against the wall, and trying to control his ragged breathing, he looked up at the myriad of stars. They twinkled at him – mockingly.
Desperately, he tried to control his body, but his cockstand raged against the inactivity. ‘Go after her,’ it was saying. ‘She’s just teasing. Go and finish it.’
“I bloody won’t,” he muttered aloud, and then laughed derisively. Oh God! He was talking to it. What had the woman done to him?
She’d been sweeter than he ever could have imagined. So receptive, yet slightly hesitant, as though she wasn’t sure of his response. Rook had felt sure she would kiss with avarice and cupidity, yet Selina had been the exact opposite – and he’d loved it. She’d tasted of champagne, and the kiss had been as intoxicating and heady as the beverage itself.
Her body had been slimmer than he’d remembered, and he hoped she wasn’t ill, as he’d easily been able to lift her against the wall and hold her there with one arm.
She also seemed…shorter. Rook’s heart, which had been thundering, suddenly skipped. It had been…Selina, hadn’t it? He shook his head in disgust; the woman had pickled his brain. What other dark-haired female would be skipping around the sunken garden dressed as a Greek goddess? Rook pulled himself from the wall and paced the garden, willing his body to cool down.
