CHAPTER TWO

 

 

Harry hadn’t wanted to accompany his brother to the Cavanagh ball this evening; he found the event boring and the people equally so. Phillip loved it, loved the anonymity and how a young lady could lose her inhibitions—and chaperone—long enough to let him steal a few kisses. He’d come because his brother had begged him to, and as it was on the way to his estate, he had agreed. Christmas was nearly upon them, and as Phillip’s social activities would be seriously curtailed in the country, he’d relented. His brother had sealed his acceptance by telling Harry it would do him good to unbend and tarnish his lofty crown. Just to prove he was not lofty, Harry had dressed in the costume his valet had organized on his behalf. It was not his choice, but there was a certain amount of irony in the fact that he’d never broken a law in his life and was not what a person would call reckless, and here he stood dressed as a highwayman. Phillip had laughed so hard he’d cried when he’d seen him.

“You must tell me your name, my highwayman.”

“But, Madam Shepherdess, our identities must remain secret or where would the fun be?” he said, easing her back from his chest once more. Phillip was right; women seemed to lose their inhibitions when they donned a disguise. Her little mew simply annoyed him, so he searched again and failed to locate the Grecian goddess.

The jolt of awareness he’d felt when their eyes met had shocked him. Harry was not the type to feel jolts of anything. How was it possible that he’d felt her eyes on him earlier whilst he was dancing with a cherub? He’d instinctively looked over his dance partner’s head and found her standing alone across the room. Her hair was the color of honey and hung in a long braid over one shoulder, coming to rest on the lush swell of her breast. Soft white material caressed and clung to her full curves, and her skin seemed to glow in the light from the chandelier above her head. She’d been looking at him, and he’d swear on his brother’s life that she felt the awareness between them too. Harry had smiled, she’d lowered her lashes and turned away, and he’d been able to draw a breath.

She’d then danced with a man dressed as a gladiator, her beauty eclipsing all others around her, and he’d had the irrational urge to stomp to her side and make her partner him. Harry wondered if he was coming down with an ailment because he wasn’t a man for irrational impulses. She’d seemed to glide around the floor, and Harry had struggled to pull his eyes from her.

When the music finished, he looked for her, but she and her partner had disappeared, so he returned his shepherdess to her friends, and went in search of the goddess. He found her with a group, the gladiator still at her side. She was not overly tall; the top of her head would brush his chin, and he wanted to grab her to test his theory.

Control was important to Harry. He refused to relinquish it to anyone or anything—at least, he had until now. His control had fled with his first look at the Grecian goddess.

Moving behind her, he whispered in her ear, “Good evening.”

She turned quickly and stumbled, luckily it was toward him so he could reach out a hand and steady her. He briefly held her against his chest, enjoying the lush curves before placing her back on her feet. What would it be like to have her naked and pressed along the length of his body?

“Good evening.”

Her curtsey was elegant, and her voice cultured, although he heard the little hitch.

“May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

“I should not,” she said, and then her eyes darted left and right as if looking for someone.

“’Tis only a dance, madam, and as I have already witnessed you doing just that surely you can do so with me. Unless you are to dance with another?” Harry held out his arm.

“No, I am promised to no one else.”

“Excellent,” he said, capturing her hand and placing it on his arm. He walked them through the other guests.

“Do I get a say in this?”

“Is there a reason you don’t want to dance with me?” Harry looked into the small holes in her mask. He thought her eyes were brown, or possibly a dark green.

“No, I had just not thought to dance again so soon.”

“Are you ill or injured?”

“No.”

Her voice was not familiar, so that did nothing to help Harry identify her.

“Then is it me you have no wish to dance with?”

She hesitated and Harry knew his words for the truth.

“Now that would be a tragedy, considering you are the most beautiful woman present, and I wish to hold you in my arms.”

She laughed.

“You surely do not expect me to believe that, sir, considering the beauties who are here this evening?”

“I do because it is the truth,” Harry said, wondering who the hell she was. She was not shy, wasn’t playing coy with him, and he found himself even more intrigued as to her identity.

“I think not, but thank you for the kind words just the same.”

He swung her into his arms as the waltz started. Harry felt a need to be close to this woman, and as he rarely had that urge, it was a disturbing thought.

“Are you usually so forceful when a woman tells you she has no wish to dance, sir?”

“Only when I know she is misleading me.”

“Do you read minds then?”

“I can read yours,” Harry said, closing the small gap between them so he could breathe in her scent. Sweet and alluring, he thought it would stay in his head forever.

“And what am I thinking now?”

“You wish an encounter with a dark stranger.”

Christ, he was flirting. When was the last time he had done that? Phillip would be proud of him.

She sighed, and it was a soft sound, her breath brushing his throat, and stirring his body to life. “It seems my earlier belief in your powers of observation was incorrect, sir, as I vastly prefer fair men.”

Her lips curled into a secretive smile.

“I do believe that hurt me, madam.”

“I am sure you have your fair share of adoring females commenting on your raven locks, sir, that you do not need me to also.”

“Tell me your name?”

“I have no wish to do so.”

Harry’s body felt alive, every inch aware of her. He took her hand in his and rested it on his chest; the other he held, engulfed in his fingers.

“My hand is meant to rest on your shoulder, sir.”

“I like it on my chest.”

“Is this costume in keeping with your personality then?” She tilted her head to the side and looked up at him, their eyes mere inches apart.

“Yes,” he said, because to hell with it. He could be who he wanted this night.

“Are you about to steal something from me?”

Her words were soft, but he heard them.

“Yes.”

She laughed again, this one a little unsteady.

“Tell me your name?” Harry asked her once more.

“No.”

“But I must call you something, surely?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know everything about you,” Harry said surprising himself. He wasn’t a man who spoke pretty words or stroked egos. In fact, he was known to be ruthless with no romance in his soul, according to his brother.

“And what of you, sir? What shall I call you?”

They were barely moving, eyes locked, hands holding, and Harry wondered if he could keep her right there, tucked against his chest, for the remainder of his days.

What the hell was the matter with him?

“I shall be your Leander, sweet Hero,” he said.

She laughed, her eyes twinkling through the mask, and he felt himself fall deeper under her spell.

“It is my hope that you do not meet the same watery death, sir.”

“And mine,” he rasped, looking at her mouth. He felt a desperate need to kiss this woman. To hell with it, they were protected by their disguises, and who would be watching them anyway? He had to taste her. Before she could draw breath, he closed the distance and kissed her.

It was just a fleeting touch, a mere brush of his lips over hers, but Harry felt as if he’d been pitched headfirst into a storm.

“I-I do not think that was wise, nor is it proper.”

Her words were a husky little purr.

“Wise no, necessary yes. Are you casting a spell on me, Hero?”

“No, but I fear you may be over me.”

“Excellent, I should hate to be the only one trapped in whatever madness this is.”

She shook her head, and he lost himself in her eyes until the dance ended.

“Surely it is simply that we cannot see each other, Leander, therefore, are anonymous, and with that comes a falling away of inhibitions.”

“No.” He shook his head. “There is more to this than that. The instant I saw you I felt something, and I believe I’m not alone in that.”

Harry wasn’t sure what madness was driving him to speak this way, but he could not stop. It was as if she’d cast a spell over him, and he was now bound to her in some way. “I want to see you,” he said slowly. “I want to see your face and eyes; I want to read your expression.”

“No.” She shook her head. “That is not possible.” She backed away from him. “I cannot do as you ask.”

She turned, and seconds later she’d gone, disappeared into the crowds of people. He followed; the desperation burning inside him told Harry he could not let her get away from him. It wasn’t just her lovely body that he wanted; there was something more between them, and he knew she felt it. She’d run from him because she was scared. He’d never been possessed by such a reckless need for a woman before, and he was not about to ignore it, so he was following.

He saw her hair ahead, and then watched as she slipped through a door; seconds later, he was on her heels. He had spent time here in the past with Lord Cavanagh and knew a great deal about the layout of the house. Nodding as he walked, he thought she could not be too far in front of him, but when he reached the stairs, he was unsure if she’d gone up or down.

“Down,” he decided, moving quickly. Once at the bottom, he headed left and down a long hall, opening each door as he went. At the last he walked inside. The only light in the room was from the fire smoldering in the grate.

“What are you doing, Harry?” he said, slowly turning a full circle. The woman had walked away from him, so what did that tell him? That she was married or betrothed. The thought was not a pleasant one, but neither was the fact that he was pursuing a woman he knew nothing of. It wasn’t like him to behave in such a rash manner.

“Am I that desperate for companionship?” he muttered, suddenly disgusted with himself. “Get yourself back under control, Harry.”

He inhaled two deep breaths and felt steadier. This behavior was so foreign he could hardly believe it was he exhibiting it. She had certainly bewitched him, and perhaps it was for the best he had lost her. Harry had seen besotted men before. They lost the power of rational thought, and he had no wish to be one of those.

Wandering around the room, he looked at books, noting a few he had read, and then poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the tray. Sipping the liquid slowly, he made for the fireplace, where he warmed his backside.

“Momentary madness,” he muttered. Nothing else could explain what had just occurred.

He heard the door handle rattle and then it was opening. Deciding he had no wish to be involved in a lovers’ tryst, and would much rather sit alone in this room a while longer, he moved closer, prepared to tell whoever it was the room was occupied.

Harry stiffened as her head appeared first, but she did not see him as he stood in the shadows. His Grecian Goddess stepped inside and closed the door behind her, and suddenly the control he thought to regain was gone. Christ, he was feeling it again, all that wonderful tension.

“Don’t run from me, Hero.”

Her eyes found him and then she turned toward the door. He reached her in four strides, placing a hand over her head on the wood.

“Please don’t run.” He’d never heard that kind of desperation in his voice before.

She didn’t look at him, still facing the door, so he stepped closer. Lowering his head, he kissed the side of her neck, pressing his lips to the soft, sweet-smelling skin.

“Stay here with me, Hero.”

She didn’t speak immediately, the breath rushing in and out of her body.

“I am afraid of this.”

“As am I.” Harry moved closer. “But let us be scared together.”

“I can offer nothing but tonight, Leander. Tomorrow my life will take a different direction. D-do you really wish this?”