Dear Stranger (8 page)

She forced back the memory. It wasn’t lack of desire that kept her from enjoying the domino, but the dread of discovery. Once they were alone, she would discover the ecstasy of his lust. Her heart beat faster with the memory of overhearing John speak of how a woman had driven him mad by sucking and licking his cock. She planned to drive this man wild and discover the part of her that ached for a man’s touch.

The domino deepened the kiss and Caroline envisioned him braced over her, hands on her bared breasts, his hard length rubbing against her pussy. Darker features and black hair unexpectedly replaced the fair-haired domino in her mind. A flicker of pleasure tightened her nipples and the desire streaked to the heated petals of her pussy.

Caroline clutched the domino’s shirt. His grip tightened as his tongue curled around hers, tasting, stroking. She slipped her hands between their bodies and pressed against his sternum. The firm, contoured muscles of his chest quivered beneath her fingertips. She liked this, would gladly take him, and yet, she had expected something more.

He drew back and trailed fingers over the thin material of her costume, grazing the edge of her breast. From the corner of her eye, Caroline caught sight of lush, blonde hair piled atop the head of a woman wearing a Marie Antoinette costume. She froze. Only one woman between Newcastle and London had such luscious hair that she needed no wig to play Marie Antoinette.
Lady Margaret
.

What was Margaret doing here? Earlier that afternoon, when her mama had asked her if she planned to attend the ball, she had claimed to have a headache. She’d told Caroline privately that she found the ton even more tiresome in Newcastle than she did in London. Caroline would never have dared attend the masque in London, where she was sure to be recognised. But her uncle had insisted at nearly the last minute that they oblige her future father-in-law and hold the wedding in the chapel on his estate. So here in Newcastle, she had little fear of getting caught at the party. Her heart sank. Now Margaret had destroyed her last chance for seduction. There was nothing left but to flee.

The blue domino leant forward and whispered in her ear, “Aphrodite.”

His breath, warm and eager, brushed the tiny hairs on her skin. A shiver raced along her spine and made her scalp tingle. Yes. This she craved.
Damn. Too late, all too late.

The domino withdrew enough to be able to look upon her face. “Perhaps we should find somewhere more private?”

If he had suggested that but five minutes ago! She would throttle Margaret. Caroline lifted a corner of her mouth in a half-smile. “Pray, sir, fetch me a punch. This room is a veritable sweatbox.” She ran fingers over the swell of her breasts, wiping a trail in the sheen of perspiration beaded across her skin.

His gaze followed the action, eyes darkening before he returned his gaze to her face and gave a slight bow. “At your service.”

He turned and took the two steps down to the dance floor, then began shouldering his way through the crowd towards the buffet table at the opposite side of the room. Caroline hesitated, the lost hope of feeling that muscled chest beneath her palms and his hard thighs heavy against her, suddenly bitter. She had planned intimate kisses, clandestine caresses, and the memory of a man’s hard cock between her fingers. She planned to give all, save proof of her innocence. On the morrow, she would do her duty as the promised virgin. Now nothing. If Margaret caught her at the ball, there would be hell to pay.

Caroline swallowed the panic bubbling in her throat, and turned to the left, intending to skirt the wall to the French doors that lay a few feet away. She met the joker’s gaze. He grinned. The woman with him faced Caroline and gave her a sultry look. Caroline turned to the right and glanced in the direction she’d seen Margaret. Where had she gone? Nerves sizzled with apprehension and tension in her neck promised a headache in the morning.

She looked back in the direction of her companion. He halted to the left of the masked dancers and turned to stare at her. A small smile curved one side of his mouth. Her stomach fluttered, then soured. The ball was the event of the season. He would be another ten minutes making his way through the crowd. By then, she would be on her way home. Caroline turned and hugged close to the column as she headed for the balcony doors. She slipped past couples in intimate conversation. Under her breath, she cursed again, and scanned the crowd as she sidestepped a woman dressed as Autumn. Once outside, she would make her way through the gardens to the servants’ entrance, then to the front of the mansion where a hackney waited.

She was out the door, across the stone balcony and down the last of the four steps when behind her a voice said, “Have you gone mad?”

Caroline froze, skirt held above her ankles. It had been too easy. She released the dress and slowly turned. Lady Margaret stood at the top of the stairs, the ridiculous pannier she wore spanning half the width of the steps. Caroline started to speak, then paused when another masked domino and sultana emerged from the ballroom. He pulled the sultana closer and she responded with a giggle. They rushed down the stairs, headed for the seclusion of the gardens. Longing stabbed at Caroline. She was a fool to have thought she belonged here.

Margaret’s gaze followed their retreat, then shifted back to Caroline. “Looking for a bit of privacy?”

Caroline ignored the cold—she had left her wrap inside and had not intended on retrieving it—and leant against the stone pillar. “I am alone, as you can see.”

“Yes, I can see you are…now.” Margaret took two of the steps, stopping so that she towered over Caroline. “Perhaps you have a lover waiting in the garden?”

Caroline sighed. “How did you know it was me?”

Margaret snorted. “We have known one another since the nursery. I would know you in any disguise. Just as you recognised me—and do not deny that is the reason you fled.” She descended to the fourth step so that they were eye level with each other and said in a voice barely audible over the music filtering from the ballroom, “You are to marry on the morrow. What in God’s name are you thinking?”

“As you say, tomorrow I marry. I go from grieving betrothed to wife.”
Unwanted wife
, she mentally corrected. So much so that her future husband’s business had taken precedence over their marriage and he refused to come to England until the very day of their wedding. “Surely, I can have this,” she added, “my last night of freedom.”

Margaret arched a brow. “Do not expect the privileges of rank then flout the responsibilities.”

Caroline snorted. “Responsibilities be damned. I have worn black a full year and will wed the Viscount tomorrow, as my rank dictates. Tonight, I am not Lady Caroline, heiress to twenty thousand pounds a year, soon to be Viscountess. Tonight, I am Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, who indulges her whims as she wills.”

A couple appeared from the garden shadows beyond the light cast by the open balcony doors. The dark wig on the woman dressed as Curiosity was askew and leaves clung to the cape on the gentleman dressed as Death.

Margaret frowned and waited until they’d ascended the stairs and entered the ballroom before saying, “If word of your escapade reaches his lordship, you may well not become Viscountess.”

“By God, I shall rip off my mask now!” Caroline declared.

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Pray, forego the dramatics.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Where is your sense of adventure? What is this spell that has turned you into a prig?”

“Good sense and age,” Margaret replied. “The same spell you should have fallen under long ago.”

Caroline gave an unladylike snort. “A year of mourning has soured me. As if being betrothed to that indifferent man hadn’t been enough,” she added under her breath.

Margaret’s face softened. “Perhaps his brother will be better.”

Better? She’d heard rumours. Lord Taran Robertson demanded obedience. As apathetic as John had been, Taran was forceful in his cravings—his sexual cravings. She’d even heard he’d used a paddle on a mistress when she’d been disobedient. A thrill streaked along her spine. Controlling and dominant, yet virile and passionate. She remembered the new Viscount of Blackhall. Eyes the colour of copper laced with amber strands had darkened to a rich brown when he’d met her gaze in the instant before bending over her hand. She’d been sixteen, too young to recognise the tremor of awareness in her stomach as desire.

When John died, Taran had become Viscount of Blackhall. A prickle skimmed her arms. Odd, that the same twist of fate that had taken her father had repeated itself and saved her from John. Both had died in riding accidents. Despite her lack of feeling for John, his death had come as a shock. Finding herself betrothed to the brother ere the body was cold had been an even greater shock. She’d had her uncle to thank for that. No. Her father. Had he not left his brother-in-law in charge of her fortune, her future might have looked very different.

Loneliness closed around her heart. She missed her father. He had been a good man, who couldn’t accept that his wife’s brother, privateer Phillip Etherton, was the infamous pirate Peiter Everston. The fortune Phillip Etherton had amassed came as a result of blurred lines between protecting the seas for the Crown, and murder. But wealth wasn’t enough. Uncle wanted to join the elite circles of society, and her marriage to the Viscount of Blackhall was the price.

“John cared nothing for me,” she said, more to herself than Margaret. “He was cold and unfeeling.” As would be his brother. A lifetime of cold nights and dreary, lonely days stretched out before her.

Margaret placed a hand on her shoulder. “I have heard otherwise.”

“From his mistresses, no doubt.”

“A man may have as many mistresses as he likes,” Margaret replied. “It is no shame to the wife.”

“I shall provide the required heir,” Caroline replied with an aplomb she was far from feeling. “I am going.” She turned and continued down the stairs.

“Car—Aphrodite,” Margaret called, but Caroline didn’t turn back.

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About the Author

Suzanna Medeiros was born and raised in Toronto, Canada. Her love for the written word led her to pursue a degree in English Literature from the University of Toronto. She went on to earn a Bachelor of Education degree, but graduated at a time when no teaching jobs were available. After working at a number of interesting places, including a federal enquiry, a youth probation office, and the Office of the Fire Marshal of Ontario, she decided to pursue her first love—writing.

Suzanna is married to her personal hero and is the proud mother of twin daughters. She is an avowed romantic who enjoys spending her days writing love stories.

She would like to thank her parents for showing her that love at first sight and happily ever after really do exist.

Email:
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Suzanna loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.total-e-bound.com

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