A Masked Deception by Mary Balogh Page A

her.
    Margaret smiled dazzlingly, fluttering her fan briskly, and forced a spring into her step as she approached him along the path.
    “Angel!” he said, reaching out both hands to grasp hers.
    “Ah, monsieur, you came,” she said brightly, tapping both his outstretched palms lightly with her closed fan.
    “Did you doubt I would?”
    “But yes, monsieur,” she answered pertly. “I know it is ‘ard for a man to be faithful to one woman, n‘est-ce pas?”
    “Ah, but it would not be hard to be faithful to you, I think, little wretch,” he said, and he grasped her elbow lightly and began to stroll with her down the path in the direction from which she had come.
    “Are we to dance, monsieur?” she asked. “I have been granted the permission to waltz. Remember?”
    “Do you really wish to dance?” he asked.
    “But yes,” she said. “It is so lovely to dance beneath the stars, no? With someone special,” she added daringly, flirting her fan at him.
    Brampton was dazzled. He could not decide whether she was a practiced coquette or a delightful little innocent. He hoped the latter. He had not planned to waste time in the gardens with her. He wanted her alone. But he was willing to humor her; he wanted this night to be a long and a perfect one. “Come, then, little angel,” he said, taking her hand and drawing it through his arm, “let us go see if the orchestra will play a waltz.”
    The orchestra was playing many waltzes. The dance was favored by the guests as suited to the romantic outdoor setting and to the masked appearance of many of the revelers, who felt they could relax the strict propriety of their behavior.
    Brampton drew his companion into the circle of his arms as one waltz started. He held her closer than he would have dared to in a ballroom. Her breasts, firmly held within the heavy bodice of her gown, brushed tantalizingly against the black fabric of his domino. Her powdered wig tickled his cheek and chin.
    She moved lightly, her little body picking up the rhythm of his, so that he felt she was floating in his arms. At first, he whirled her through the steps of the dance, exhilarated by the reality of her presence in his arms. Later, his feet slowed, he steered her to the edge of the dancing area, where they were more in the shadow of the trees, and pulled her more firmly against the hard wall of his body. He felt desire stir in him and lowered his head to brush her lips with his. He felt her inhale sharply.
    “Angel,” he whispered against her ear, “I do not want to share you with these crowds. Will you come with me?”
    “Where do you wish me to go with you, monsieur?” she asked, raising her eyes to his so that he had a sensation of drowning.
    “To a quiet place where we can be alone,” he answered, gazing back.
    “I do not know,” she whispered.
    “Yes, my little one, you do know,” he murmured gently. “We both know why we have returned her tonight. Do we not?”
    She held his gaze for a breathless moment. “Yes,” she said softly.
    “Come,” he said, kissing her lightly on the lips again, and he led her in silence down a tree-lined avenue to a different exit from the one at which she had entered. She wondered fleetingly if Jem would be able to follow her, but she was in no state of mind to really care.
    Brampton handed his wife into his oh-so-familiar town carriage and directed the coachman to Devin Northcott’s chambers before springing in to sit close beside her.
    They passed through the lit hallway of the stately old house in which Devin Northcott had his rooms and up to the second story. Brampton took a branched candlestick with them, lighting the candles before they climbed the stairs.
    He set it down on the hall stand, unfastened the single button at the throat of Margaret’s gray cloak, and slipped it from her shoulders. He threw his own black coat to join it on a nearby chair, and removed his mask. He looked so achingly familiar, dressed in the same black evening