But the guests arrived in a flood rather than a trickle, and Elizabeth knew Lady Danbury well enough to know that the countess would drag her downstairs by the hair if she put off her appearance much longer. So she donned the shepherdess costume, affixed the feathered mask Lady D had also purchased for her, and stood in front of the mirror.
“I look ridiculous,” she said to her reflection. “Utterly ridiculous.” Her white dress was a mass of tucks and frills, adorned with more lace than any shepherdess could afford, and the bodice, while certainly not indecent, was cut lower than anything she’d ever worn before.
“As if any shepherdess could run through the fields wearing this,” she muttered, tugging at the dress. Of course it was unlikely a shepherdess would be wearing a feathered mask, either, but that seemed neither here nor there compared to the expanse of bosom she was showing.
“Oh, I don’t care,” she declared. “No one will know who I am, anyway, and if anyone tries anything untoward, at least I have this blasted crook.”
With that, Elizabeth grabbed the crook and jabbed it in the air like a sword. Satisfactorily armed, she marched out of the room and down the hall. Before she reached the stairs, however, a door swung open, and a woman dressed as a pumpkin came dashing out—right into Elizabeth.
They both hit the carpet with a thud and a flurry of apologies. Elizabeth clambered to her feet, then looked back down at the pumpkin, who was still sitting on her behind.
“Do you need a hand up?” Elizabeth asked.
The pumpkin, who was holding her green mask in her hand, nodded. “Thank you. I’m a bit ungainly these days, I’m afraid.”
It took Elizabeth a couple of blinks, but then she realized what the pum—the lady! she had to stop thinking of her as a pumpkin—meant. “Oh, no!” Elizabeth said, dropping to her knees beside her. “Are you all right? Is your…” She motioned to the lady’s middle, although it was difficult to tell what was the middle under the pumpkin costume.
“I’m fine,” the lady assured her. “Only my pride is bruised, I assure you.”
“Here, let me help you up.” It was difficult to maneuver the costume, but eventually Elizabeth managed to get the lady to her feet.
“I am terribly sorry for crashing into you,” the lady apologized. “It’s just that I was running so late, and I know my husband is downstairs tapping his foot, and—”
“It was no trouble, I assure you,” Elizabeth said. And then, because the lady was such a friendly pumpkin, she added, “I’m rather grateful to you, actually. This might be the first time I haven’t been the cause of such an accident. I’m terribly clumsy.”
Elizabeth’s new friend laughed. “Since we are so well-acquainted, please allow me to be terribly forward and introduce myself. I am Mrs. Blake Ravenscroft, but I would be most insulted if you called me anything but Caroline.”
“I am Miss Elizabeth Hotchkiss, Lady Danbury’s companion.”
“Good gracious, really? I had heard she could be quite a dragon.”
“She’s really very sweet underneath. But I shouldn’t like to get on her bad side.”
Caroline nodded and patted her light brown hair. “Am I mussed?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No more mussed than one would expect of a pumpkin.”
“Yes, I suppose pumpkins can be allowed greater latitude in neatness of coiffure.”
Elizabeth laughed again, liking this woman immensely.
Caroline held out her arm. “Shall we go down?”
Elizabeth nodded, and they made their way toward the stairs.
“My stem is definitely off to you,” Caroline said with a laugh, lifting her green mask in salute. “My husband spent quite a bit of time here as a child, and he assures me that he is still terrified of Lady Danbury.”
“Was your husband friends with her children?”
“Her nephew, actually. The Marquis of Riverdale. I hope to see him this evening, actually. He must be invited. Have you met him?”
“No. No, I haven’t. But I heard a bit about him last week.”
“Really?” Caroline began to step carefully down the stairs. “What is he up to? I haven’t heard from him in over a month.”
“I don’t know, actually. Lady Danbury held a small garden party last week, and he sent a note asking one of the guests to meet him in London immediately.”
“Oooh. How intriguing. And how very like James.”
Elizabeth smiled at the mention of the name. She had her own James, and she couldn’t wait to see him again.
Caroline stopped on a step and turned to Elizabeth with a very sisterly, and very nosy expression. “What is that about?”
“What?”
“That smile. And don’t say you weren’t. I saw it.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth felt her cheeks grow warm. “It’s nothing. I have a suitor whose name is also James.”
“Really?” Caroline’s aquamarine eyes held the gleam of a born matchmaker. “You must introduce us.”
“He isn’t here, I’m afraid. He is Lady Danbury’s new estate manager, but he was recently called to London. Some sort of family emergency, I believe.”
“That’s a pity. I already feel that we are the truest of friends. I should have liked to have met him.”
Elizabeth felt her eyes grow misty. “That was such a lovely thing to say.”
“Do you think so? I’m so glad you don’t think me too forward. I wasn’t raised in society, and I have the most appalling habit of speaking without thinking first. It drives my husband mad.”
“I’m sure he adores you.”
Caroline’s eyes glowed, and Elizabeth knew that hers had been a love match. “I’m so late he’s likely to bite my head off,” Caroline admitted. “He can be such a worrier.”
“Then we had best be on our way.”
“I cannot wait to introduce you to Blake.”
“That would be lovely. But first I must find Lady Danbury and make certain she doesn’t need anything.”
“Duty calls, I suppose. But you must promise that we shall meet up again later this evening.” Caroline smiled wryly and motioned to her costume. “I’m fairly easy to spot.”
Elizabeth reached the bottom of the steps and unlinked her arm from Caroline’s. “It’s a promise.” Then, with a smile and a wave, she dashed away from the ballroom. Lady Danbury would be out front receiving her guests, and it would be easier to scoot outside the house than to try to battle the crowds within.
“What the hell?” James followed that query with considerably darker and louder curses as he steered his horse around the crush of carriages slowly rolling toward Danbury House.
The masquerade ball. The bloody, annoying, inconvenient masquerade ball. He’d forgotten all about it.
He’d planned the evening to the last detail. He was going to go to his aunt, tell her that he’d failed, that he hadn’t been able to flush out her blackmailer, and promise her that he would continue to try, but that he could not put his life on hold while doing so.
Then he would ride out to Elizabeth’s cottage and ask her to marry him. He’d been grinning like an idiot the entire ride home, planning his every word. He had thought to take Lucas aside and ask him for his sister’s hand. Not that James planned to let an eight-year-old dictate his life, but somehow the thought of including the little boy left his heart warm.
Plus he had a feeling that Elizabeth would be charmed by the gesture, which was probably his true motive in the entire affair.
But he was not going to be able to escape Danbury House this evening, and he certainly wasn’t going to be able to gain a private audience with his aunt.
Frustrated with the clog of carriages, he nudged his horse off of the main road and cut through the lightly forested field that ran alongside the main lawn of Danbury House. The moon was full, and enough light spilled through the many windows of the mansion to light his trail, so he didn’t have to slow down overmuch as he made his way to the stables.
He took care of
his horse and trudged into his little cottage, smiling as he remembered the time he’d caught Elizabeth snooping there weeks earlier. He still hadn’t told her about that. No matter; he’d have a lifetime to share and make memories with her.
He tried to ignore the sounds of the party, preferring the peace and seclusion of his temporary home, but he could not ignore the rumblings of his empty stomach. He’d rushed back to Surrey, eager to see Elizabeth, and hadn’t stopped for so much as a bite of bread. His cottage, of course, held nothing edible, so he allowed himself one loud curse, and then trudged back outside. With any luck, he could make it to the kitchen without being recognized or waylaid by a drunken reveler.
He kept his head down as he weaved through the crowds spilling out onto the lawns. If he acted like a servant, Agatha’s guests would see a servant and, with luck, leave him alone. Lord knew, they wouldn’t expect the Marquis of Riverdale to be quite so dusty and rumpled.
He’d passed the edge of the crowd, and was about halfway to his destination, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a blond shepherdess trip over a rock, wave her left arm wildly for balance, and then finally right herself by jamming her crook into the ground.
Elizabeth. It had to be. No other blond shepherdess could be quite so enchantingly clumsy.
She seemed to be scooting along the perimeter of Danbury House, heading for the front. James changed tack slightly and headed in her direction, his heart soaring with the knowledge that she would soon be in his arms.
When had he grown into such a romantic fool?
Who knew? Who cared? He was in love. He had finally found the one woman who could complete his heart, and if that made him a fool, so be it.
He crept up behind her as she scurried toward the front of the house, and before she could hear his footsteps crunching along the gravel, he reached out and grasped her wrist.
She whirled around with a shocked gasp. James watched with delight as her eyes melted from panic to joy.
“James!” she cried out, her free hand reaching out to grab his. “You’re back.”
He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them in turn. “I couldn’t stay away.”
Their time apart had made her shy, and she didn’t quite meet his eyes when she whispered, “I missed you.”
Propriety be damned. He gathered her into his arms and kissed her. And then, when he could actually force himself to tear his lips from hers, he whispered, “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
She went.
Chapter 17
The night was hung with magic. The moon glowed bright, the air was dusted with the delicate scent of wildflowers, and the wind was a romantic whisper against the skin.
Elizabeth thought she must be a princess. The woman tearing across the field, hair streaming like a golden ribbon, could not be plain and ordinary Elizabeth Hotchkiss. For one night, she was transformed. For one night, her heart held no worries, no burdens. She was bathed in laughter and passion, enveloped by pure joy.
Hand in hand, they ran. Danbury House dipped out of sight, although the sounds of the party still drifted through the air. The trees around them grew more dense, and finally James stopped, his breathing heavy from exertion and excitement.
“Oh, my goodness,” Elizabeth gasped, nearly crashing into him. “I haven’t run so fast since—”
His arms snaked around her, and her breath stopped. “Kiss me,” he ordered.
Elizabeth was lost to the night’s enchantment, and any hesitations she might have had, any notions of what was proper and what was scandal, melted away. She arched her neck, offering him her lips, and he took them, his mouth capturing hers in the sweetest mix of tenderness and primitive need.
“I won’t take you. Not now—not yet,” he vowed against her skin. “But let me love you.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what he meant, but her blood ran hot and fast in her veins, and she could deny him nothing. She looked up, saw the fire in his chocolate eyes, and made her decision. “Love me,” she whispered. “I trust you.”
James’s fingers trembled as he brought them reverently to the smooth skin of her temples. Her hair was golden silk beneath his fingers, and she looked so achingly small and fragile beneath his large, suddenly awkward hands. He could break her, he realized. She was tiny and fine, and his to protect. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, barely recognizing his own voice. “I will never hurt you. Never.”
She trusted him. It was a powerful, soul-changing gift.
He let his fingers trail lightly down the planes of her cheeks to the bare skin of her neck. Her costume was like nothing she’d worn before, teasing him with the hint of her bare shoulders, threatening to slip over and off with just the slightest nudge. He could hook his finger around the soft white fabric and reveal one delicate shoulder, and then the other, and then he could pull the gown ever downward, baring her—
Blood pooled in his groin. Good God, if he was growing this hard just thinking about undressing her, what the hell was going to happen when he actually had her naked and willing in his arms? How would he ever manage to make love to her with the gentleness and care she deserved?
His breath burning in his lungs, he slowly slid her gown over one shoulder, never taking his eyes off the skin he bared. She glowed in the moonlight like the rarest pearl, and when he lowered his head to nuzzle the warm, seductive curve where her neck met her shoulder, it was like coming home.
As he kissed her, his hand worked the same magic to the other side of her dress, and he heard her gasp as the fabric inched down, revealing the gentle swell of the tops of her breasts. She murmured something—he thought it might be his name—but she didn’t say no, and so he undid the single button nestled between her breasts, loosening the neckline of her dress just enough to allow it to fall away.
Her hands rose up to cover herself, but he caught them in his and held them away as he leaned forward to press one feather-light kiss on her lips. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, the heat of his voice entering her mouth. “So beautiful.”
Still holding both her hands in one of his, he reached out and gently cupped one of her breasts, allowing it to fill his palm. She was surprisingly lush and full, and he could not stop his groan of pleasure as he felt her nipple pucker in the hollow of his palm.
He looked up at her face, needing to see her expression, needing to know that she loved his touch. Her lips were parted and glistening as if she had just wet them with her tongue. Her eyes were dazed and unfocused, and her breath was coming in tiny fast gasps.
He slid one of his hands to cup her bottom, supporting her as they sank to the ground. The grass was a soft, cool carpet beneath them, Elizabeth’s hair spreading out like a priceless golden fan. James just stared at her for a moment, murmuring a soft thanks to whatever god had led him to this moment, and then he lowered his head to her breast, making love to her with his mouth.
Elizabeth let out a startled “Oh!” as his lips closed around her nipple. His breath felt hot on her breast, and her blood felt hot beneath it. Her body became utterly foreign, feeling almost as if she were growing too big for her skin. She was overcome by the need to move, to point her toes and rub the soles against the grass, to flex her hands and then sink them into his thick brown hair.
She arched her back beneath him, consumed by some passionate devil urging her to reach for whatever it was he was offering. “James,” she gasped, and then she whispered it again. His name was the only word that came to her lips, and it sounded like a plea and a prayer.
Her dress had been pulled down as far as it could go, and so one of his hands moved to her leg, stealing over her calf before sliding up to the outside of her knee. And then, so slowly she ached from the anticipation, his hand slid over her knee to squeeze the soft skin of her lower thigh.
His name passed over her lips again, but his mouth was on hers, and so her words were lost in his kiss. His hand traveled farther along her leg, moving to the so
fter skin of her inner thigh. She stiffened, sensing that she was nearing the edge of something, traveling to some secret place from which there was no return.
James lifted his head to look at her. She had to blink several times before she could even focus on his beloved features, and then, a rakish smile adorning his lips, he asked, “More?”
Heaven help her, she nodded, and she saw his smile widen just before his mouth lowered to the underside of her chin, nudging it up until his lips could explore the entire expanse of her neck.
And then his hand moved higher.
He was nearly at the top of her thigh now, so close to the very core of her privacy and womanhood. The proximity was unnerving, and her legs began to tremble in anticipation.
“Trust me,” he whispered. “Just trust me. I’ll make this good for you. I promise.”
Her trembling didn’t stop, but her legs parted slightly, allowing him to settle his body between her thighs. She hadn’t realized until that moment that he had been holding himself away from her, using his powerful arms to support his weight.
But all of that changed as he lowered his body onto hers. The weight of him was thrilling, the length, the heat. He was so much larger than she; she’d never understood the full extent of his power and strength until it was pressed up so intimately against her.
His hand spanned the entire breadth of her thigh, his thumb coming dangerously close to the curls shielding her womanhood. He squeezed, he teased.
And then he touched her.
Elizabeth was completely unprepared for the bolt of pure electricity that shot up her spine. She’d never known she could feel so hot, so tingly, so desperate for the touch of another human being.
His fingers tickled her until she was certain she could take no more, and then he did it some more. His hot breath teased her ear until she was certain it would burn right off, and then he kept on whispering—words of love and words of passion. Every time she was certain she had reached her limit, he lifted her higher, rushing her to a new level of passion.