A Masked Deception Read Free Page A

had been taking a night off from her training. She had stopped close to a door, consulted her booklet, shut it with a decisive snap, and smiled dazzlingly at the earl.
    “But what a coincidence, monsieur,” she had lied smoothly. “I see that the next six dances are free.” He had leaned closer so that he could speak directly into her ear. “You are a little minx, my angel,” he had murmured, drawing her hand through his arm and stepping out onto the terrace with her.
    Other couples had been walking quietly on the terrace, the ladies fanning themselves in the cool night air. Brampton had led his prize down into the garden, where they could find a more secluded walk among the trees and flowers. He had drawn to a halt among some shady trees, leaning his back against a sturdy trunk and drawing her into the circle of his arms. Margaret had suppressed a quiver of panic.
    “My little angel, let us dispense with the masks, shall we?” he had said, lifting his own away from his face so that she had gasped at the closeness of his very handsome face and blue eyes.
    “No, no, monsieur,” she had cried in alarm, putting a protective hand, palm outward, in front of her face, “it is vital that my identity be not revealed. We French have to beware of spies, n’est-ce pas?”
    He had chuckled. “Ah, yes, Madame Guillotine is not kind to French angels. Well, let me taste these lips, little one, and see if I can guess your identity. Have they been kissed before?”
    They had not. But they were soon being kissed, very thoroughly. Margaret had been thankful for his strong arms about her. She might have buckled at the knees otherwise. His lips had been firm and warm on hers, his breath fanning her cheek through the silk of the mask, and she had been headily aware of the very masculine smell of his cologne.
    He had drawn his head back finally, but not very far. “Very nice,” he had murmured, “but too much like an angel. Come, little one, show me your fire.”
    And his mouth had been on hers again, open this time, his tongue lightly tracing the line of her closed lips. Margaret had told herself that she was going to pull away and run back to the safety of the ballroom, but she had found herself instead parting her lips to allow his tongue entrance. And when its warm moistness had circled her own tongue and teased its tip and stroked lightly over the roof of her mouth, she had found herself without will, acting from an instinct to be closer to him. He had molded her body against his, her breasts pressed against his coat, the bare skin above the low neckline of her dress tickled by the soft folds of his neckcloth, her thighs touching the hard muscles of his. She had heard him draw in his breath sharply.
    Brampton had loosened his hold on her while his mouth deepened the kiss. She had not even been shocked when she felt his hand reaching inside the low bodice to touch her breast. It had just been a natural progression of what she craved. It was only when both his hands had moved down to mold her waist and her hips and finally to pull her hard against him that her head had jerked back involuntarily. Even in her state of awakened desire, she had been frightened by the evidence of his very obvious arousal.
    Brampton had loosened his hold immediately, cradling her body against his, lightly holding her head against his shoulder.
    “I am sorry, my angel,” he had whispered softly into her ear, “I did not mean to frighten you. Are you just a little innocent after all? But a very passionate little innocent,” he had commented, kissing her temple gently. “Will you remove your mask for me, little sweet?”
    “No, monsieur,” Margaret had replied, remembering the French accent, but her voice shaking slightly.
    “Ah, but I shall discover you at unmasking time,” he had teased, smiling down into her eyes, “and I shall be coming to call on you, my angel.”
    “Please, monsieur, I think we should go inside now,” Margaret had said,