Chapter 3
M ost who held membership at the infamous Donville Masquerade wore masks when they attended the hell’s gatherings. After all, a great many of them had something to lose when it came to the games of passion and pleasure that were always encouraged within.
But Silas had never worn a mask here. He was the bastard son of a man of title. In some ways, he was expected to ruin himself in whatever way he chose. Living up to that reputation had been his pleasure. Or at least it had reduced his pain.
Tonight, though, still stinging from the encounter with his brother, the pain was not as dulled by the erotic images around him as it would normally be.
He felt disconnected, like he was watching the writhing bodies and hearing the moans through deep water.
It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the eyes on him, those who would seek his touch, it was that he found he didn’t really care.
There was no spark when all he wanted was that fire of desire to burn over him and make him forget everything else.
Just as he had the previous night he’d come here, it left a bad taste in his mouth. A fear that perhaps he no longer belonged in any corner of what was once his world. Perhaps he never would again.
With those maudlin thoughts cascading through his mind, he began to make his way through the pulsing crowd toward the bar in the back of the main hall. A few drinks and this would pass.
He was trying to believe that when he turned his head and everything else faded away. A woman stood at the wall near the end of the bar. She wore no mask, which was shocking enough at the masquerade. Women almost always wore one, though some of the courtesans and lightskirts didn’t.
This woman wore a pretty blue gown that was the height of fashion and clung to seductive curves. She had dark hair and even darker eyes, though from the distance he couldn’t make out their color.
She was gorgeous, the kind of woman that drew every eye of any room she entered. This one was no different, for she had admirers staring at her from every direction. She, on the other hand, was entirely focused on him. Their gazes met and he realized who she was in a rush of heated memories.
The woman at Vauxhall Gardens all those years ago. The night before everything changed when he’d fucked Simone Stanhope in the alcove and looked up to find a fallen angel watching him with a hooded, heated stare. With her focused attention on him, he’d come so hard he’d seen stars.
Under normal circumstances, he might have pursued her after that.
Discovered her name, found her location, pursued until he could make her shake with pleasure.
But his father had died that same night.
He’d been called to the house the next morning and then he’d departed from the country.
Left everything in this life behind as he stewed in his anger and pain and loss.
But now she was here, almost like a phantom drawn forward from the past and she was watching him just as she had that night. Her expression was almost as stunned as he feared his own was, too.
But then she shook it off and that shrewd playfulness that many of the courtesans he’d known in his life came over that lovely face.
She started toward him, hips twitching just so as she licked her lips like he was a feast she was about to devour.
Normally he had his own reactions to such things, but at present he felt a little stunned.
“There you are,” she breathed as she reached him, standing a little too close to be proper, not that it mattered in this room where couples were actually copulating against walls.
“Here I am,” he agreed, wondering at the fact that his voice had any heft when he could scarcely breathe. “And how did I manage to grab the attention of the most beautiful woman in this room?”
She placed a palm flat on his chest and laughed, the sound as gorgeous as the music around them. “Aren’t you a flatterer.”
“Somehow I think you know that I’m telling the truth.”
“Hmmm.” She looked around. “There are women of great power and beauty here. I suppose I am one of them. A lady must know her strengths in order to exploit them.”
“A very clever lady must, at any rate,” he said.
He couldn’t stop staring at her, taking in every new detail now that she was practically climbing his chest. God, her eyes were a beautiful midnight blue.
He’d never seen anything like it. She had a little freckle on the corner of her lip that looked infinitely kissable.
But it was more than her beauty that captured his attention and wiped away every other distraction and thought that had been plaguing him. There was something electric about her. Immediately attracting and made a man unable to look away.
“I think you must know something about exploiting your strengths, don’t you, Silas?” she asked.
He started. She knew his name, so she obviously recognized him just as he did her. The way she said it felt like a caress, as intimate as if they were picking up some conversation they’d started all those years ago. “I think people like us must.”
She nodded slowly. “Is one of your strengths the ability to dance? I think I know the answer to that, but I thought I should ask.”
“I would very much like to dance with you,” he said, and took her hand.
Just as when she’d placed her palm to his chest, the shock of her touch worked through him with a rushing, electric power. Every hair on his body felt like it was standing on end and the heating of his blood was powerful and instant.
She led him to the dancefloor and he almost laughed.
Dancing at the Donville Masquerade was practically a euphemism, especially as the night drew on.
Couples ground together, they kissed with abandon, they made it clear what they would do when they were alone…
or perhaps just in a corner with a place to lean.
But hardly any of it could be called dancing.
Still he pulled her close and cupped her hip, loving her tiny intake of breath and the way her pupils dilated in response. She never took her eyes from his, and it was intensely intimate to feel so absolutely drawn into another person.
“You know me,” he said after they’d taken a turn to the music, somehow dodging the couples who weren’t paying attention to anything but each other. “You said my name.”
“Yes, I know you, Silas Windham,” she said softly, a tiny smile tilting the corner of her full lips.
“And I know you,” he said.
She blinked, the only crack in the sensual mask that wasn’t of the cloth or leather kind. “Oh, do you?”
“I think you know what I mean. You and I shared a moment during a night a very long time ago. A lifetime ago.”
There was a moment when he thought she might deny it. Her gaze dipped down, her steps slowed, but then she lifted her eyes back to his and nodded. “There is no point in denying it. I saw you at Vauxhall Gardens with Simone Stanhope almost six years ago now.”
“You’re the one she was talking about,” he breathed.
She tilted her head. “You mean tonight when you were at Vivien’s together?”
He blinked. It seemed she’d been asking about him. Or at least aware of him being back in London. “No, I didn’t end up going,” he said. “When I saw her a few days ago, she teased me that someone would be happy I was back.”
“Simone, Simone,” the woman breathed. “Well, I admit I am happy. I’ve had a great many thoughts of you since that night.”
He leaned closer and drew a deep breath of her scent. Jasmine and vanilla, a sensual combination that spread increasing warmth through his entire body. “What is your name?” he whispered.
She licked her lips and he almost went mad with the desire that was increasing with every moment with her. When was the last time he’d felt so out of control with need? He couldn’t even remember.
“Arabella Comerford,” she said softly.
“Arabella,” he repeated, letting the pretty name roll on his tongue. “Is that your real name or just the one you give here?”
“It’s my real name,” she said. “I’ve no reason to have a false one, even here. I think we both know what I am, don’t we? You could guess it from my not wearing a mask, from how bold I am.”
“I have experienced many a lady of many a rank who was bold.”
“Yes, I assume you bring that out in women,” she said, almost thoughtfully. “You draw them to the edge of what they believe is reason and then make them jump. What a fall, though.”
“It’s a lovely name,” he said. “I think it would be lovely to moan while you shatter around my cock.”
Her smile became mischievous. “There he is. There’s the man who I first saw all those years ago, watching Simone as she came, holding my stare while he did the same. That wicked, wicked man who didn’t give a damn who was watching.”
“I don’t give a damn who’s watching,” he murmured as he lowered his mouth toward hers.
“Neither do I,” she answered, and then their lips met.
Silas had experienced many a passionate kiss in his lifetime.
The most powerful ones came after a chase, a game where he wasn’t entirely certain if he would obtain his heart’s…
or perhaps it was always only his body’s…
desire. But there had been no chase here tonight.
The moment they’d begun talking, Silas had known they would end like this.
And yet it was one of the most passionate kisses he’d ever experienced. It was a kiss after being separated for a hundred years, a kiss after counting every graze of a hand and meet of a gaze across ballrooms and gardens. A first kiss, a last kiss and a lost kiss all rolled up into one.