Chapter Thirteen
Kitty almost changed her mind about the masquerade several times.
First, when Baroness Ferron raised a fuss about an imperceptible tear in the lining of her evening gown and demanded Kitty fix it immediately.
Second, when Cordon’s carriage rattled up in front of her shop and a footman opened the door for her, as if she were the lady her mother had always wanted her to become.
Third, when she entered the carriage that had rattled up to her shop and beheld Cordon in all his glory, wearing the garment she’d finished that evening—a task that had only been possible because she’d used a costume that had been in her trunk for several years as a starting point.
“Well?” he asked, crossing legs clad in billowing trousers sewn with tufts of unspun wool in the seams, creating an illusion of fur. A matching chesterfield coat and a silver dog-eared mask completed the ensemble.
If she’d thought him handsome before, now he was resplendent.
Her own costume was terribly plain in comparison, a basic black wool gown with long sleeves, matching tufts, and a feline mask. He’d asked for a sheep, but she’d run out of time.
“I see you chose an alternative costume,” he said.
She lifted her chin. “My temperament is much closer to that of a cat.”
“No matter. I’ll still devour you.”
“Miss?” a soft voice asked.
The footman was waiting for her to enter. She stepped inside the carriage, carefully maneuvered her skirts into position, then tugged her mask. Already, her face was sweating. She was supposed to wear it for hours? She would be drenched by the end of the night.
The carriage lurched forward, and it was too late to turn back. She leaned back and tried not to think about how she’d consumed nothing but brandy all day.
Cordon leaned forward and grasped her hands. “You have nothing to fear.”
Her throat squeezed. “If anyone discovers who I am—”
“This night is not about status. It’s about excitement.” His lips curved beneath his mask. “If you are discovered, simply run away. That is the expected behavior.”
His words, probably intended to ease her nerves, had the opposite effect.
She could already imagine how the other guests would laugh when they discovered her milling among them.
It would be mortifying. Of course she would flee, if she could even run in her restrictive gown.
It was equally likely she’d fall on her face.
She was worrying herself into a fit, and they hadn’t even arrived.
She peered out the window and watched the trees blur past until they reached a familiar sprawling estate.
It went on as far as she could see, surrounded by carefully tended grass.
Topiary lions guarded the entrance, far more imposing at night than they’d been when she’d seen them last during a tour of the grounds.
Her mother had preened about securing that particular visit for months.
The carriage stopped, and a footman opened the door.
“Follow my lead,” Cordon whispered before exiting. She plastered herself to her seat. The moment she followed, she would become someone else. Was she really capable of this? Was it worth the fortune he was paying her?
“Miss?” the footman asked.
She was already embarrassing herself. She peeled herself away from the interior of the carriage and allowed the footman to take her hand—damp and sweaty beneath her black kidskin glove.
When she was outside, she gulped. The grand estate loomed over her.
Someone would notice she wasn’t one of them.
They would hear it in her voice or see it in the awkward way she walked.
Cordon hooked her arm through hers and drew her forward. Instead of approaching the enormous building, they followed a slowly moving line of guests. Torches on long sticks lined the winding pathway.
She focused on her steps. She hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to move in her skirt. The ruffled fringe of her gown brushed the damp grass. She had to place each step carefully to avoid falling.
Perhaps if she added a hook to lift her skirts when one was walking… All the other guests appeared to be struggling with the same problem. One lady, far ahead of them, stumbled and would have fallen were it not for the intervention of the man at her side.
“I never considered that my dresses might cause their wearers to trip,” Kitty whispered.
“Must you always think of your business?” Codon asked.
She exhaled through her nose. “I cannot help it. Fabrics, dresses, that is my world. Not…” She gestured to the hedge maze that was appearing at the end of their path. “All of this.”
He sniffed. “Then be someone else tonight. Not Miss Carter, but Felicity Trellwood, my guest.”
She scraped her teeth along her unusually fuzzy tongue. “I am a terrible actor.”
Whatever he was going to say next was lost as they arrived at the party.
Dozens of people dressed in glittering outfits gathered in groups, holding flutes of amber liquid.
A footman holding a tray with several more glasses appeared.
Cordon stopped and daintily accepted two.
Kitty grabbed hers and consumed the whole thing in a single gulp.
Anything to help her feel less like an intruder.
She had never felt so anxious in her life.
Perhaps focusing on work would help.
She wasn’t surrounded by terrifying strangers, but potential customers. She needed to understand their desires, figure out not just what they wanted, but what they craved. Then she could succeed where so many other dressmakers, including the master to whom she had apprenticed, had failed.
Her tense shoulders relaxed. Yes, this was better. She was not a guest. She was a spy gathering information crucial to the future of her business.
“Come, let’s see whom we can recognize.” Cordon moved forward, pulling Kitty along with him.
He walked with the confidence of someone who had nothing to fear. She envied that ease. She’d attended many events at her mother’s urging, but none of them had been enjoyable. It had been too important to make a good impression, to make her mother proud.
Being herself had never been an option.
“This way,” Cordon said.
He was leading them toward the open mouth of the hedge maze.
“Why in there?” she asked. “We won’t be able to see anyone.” That would make it difficult to analyze the other guests’ costumes.
He laughed again. “My dear, anyone who matters will not be out here.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
The distant sound of a moan reached her.
Her cheeks warmed, despite the chill.
“Privacy, my dear,” he said. “A most precious commodity if we are to observe a couple engaging in amorous congress inside a hedge maze.”
So, it was that kind of party. The kind her customers sometimes whispered about while perusing her shop, not realizing or caring that she might overhear. She winced. Before the night was up, she feared she would embarrass herself several more times.
As they entered the hedge maze, the path diverged.
“Which way?” she asked. She would have suggested the path that led to the solution she’d derived on her last visit a decade prior, but she doubted the maze had remained the same all those years.
The only reason she’d attended the duke’s country party then was because her mother had earned a rare audience at an event and had all but begged him for an invitation.
He turned left, and she followed, although the lack of any sense of purpose made her nervous. What if they got lost? What if they went in circles all night and she didn’t get to see what kinds of garments the other guests were wearing?
He sped up, pulling her around several turns, until her head spun with all the movement. She was about to beg for a break when he halted.
“I have found what I have been searching for,” he whispered.
She peered around him and gasped.
A man in a dove-gray suit had his arms wrapped around a woman in a peach gown. The man was fully clothed, but one of the woman’s breasts was exposed. The man’s fingers worked on her nipple. From the sounds the woman was making, she was enjoying the attention.
Kitty squeezed her thighs together. The woman’s face was flushed with pleasure and her hands were splayed at her sides, digging into the hedge. Several locks of her long, auburn hair tumbled free and fell onto her bosom. The man clasped the woman’s hips and thrust her against him.
“Should we try that?” Cordon whispered.
Kitty’s whole body flushed with heat. She was about to suggest they find a quiet corner to do as he’d suggested, when the couple moved closer to them, and her heart leaped into her throat.
She squeezed Cordon’s hand. “Is that…?”
“I believe so,” he said, his voice husky.
The front of the “man’s” suit jacket and shirt was unbuttoned, revealing ample cleavage.
It was no man, but a woman. More shocking, however, was that Kitty recognized the woman.
Her clothing was masculine, and her deep-brown hair was tucked beneath a straw hat, but there was no denying those hazel eyes and the mole below her lip.
It was Mrs. Rothwellan, the mother of a shy, young woman Kitty had befriended in her first season.
Kitty had spent many long nights giggling with Miss Rothwellan as they’d shared stories about their managing mamas.
Cordon chuckled. “Had I known Mrs. Rothwellan was of a liberal mind, I would have invited her to one of my more discreet events.” He looped his arm through Kitty’s.
“Well, that’s unexpected, but items number fifty-seven and thirty-four completed.
A couple engaging in amorous congress in a hedge maze and two ladies sharing pleasure. ”
Kitty adjusted her mask as he moved on, although her head remained fixed in the couple’s direction until they turned a corner. Several minutes passed before they stopped at a dead end.
“What now?” she asked.
He twined his arms around her neck. “Now we enjoy ourselves.”
That look in his eyes. The way his voice rumbled. The soft brush of fingers along her ear.
She should’ve guessed he had seduction in mind. Not that she would refuse, especially after watching the couple. She felt as if she would explode in a shower of sparks if he didn’t touch her.
He pushed her back until they were tucked against the hedge. Then he loosened the strings of his mask and shifted it up his face. There were red marks on his cheeks from where the mask had dug into his skin, but he had never looked more handsome.
“How…?” she started, before her mouth dried. She licked her lips and tried again. “How do we proceed?”
She was hardly innocent, but she’d never indulged a man beneath the stars.
He grinned. “I thought I would finish what we started at the store.”
She blinked. “Here?”
He stepped closer until he bumped into her dress. The hoop skirt twisted, making it difficult to embrace.
He scowled. “Well, this is unfortunate.”
She bit back a nervous giggle. Again, she had failed to consider the practicalities of how her garments would work in such a scenario.
That was an interesting marketing opportunity—dresses that would accommodate scandalous activities. The problem would be advertising such garments without drawing the ire of society.
“We will have to make do,” he said. He shoved her skirt behind her until he was close enough to capture her mouth. In that moment, any thought of dresses was chased away by the softness of his lips, and the fur from his mask tickling the back of her neck.
Then he was on his knees beneath her skirt. He laid his cheek on her inner thigh and pressed an open-mouthed kiss on her inner thigh.
“Oh, yes.” She flexed her thighs. “Do that again.”
He raked the tip of his tongue through her curls, just enough to brush the sensitive skin from her entrance to her clitoris.
She clasped his head in her hands. “Cordon!”
He spread her nether lips apart and swirled his tongue in a particular pattern that had her moaning and thrashing.
It went on for so long, her legs became numb, but the pressure still built until she came apart.
The branches dug into her back as she collapsed into them, panting and lightheaded.
Her inner thigh hurt like she’d been scratched, too.
She reached beneath her skirt to probe the affected area, only to have Cordon grab her fingers and kiss them.
A moment later, the pain was gone, and Cordon was gently restoring her skirt and plucking leaves from her dress.
If he thought they were done, he was sorely mistaken. She undid the front of his jacket. This, at least, was easy, as she had learned from the opera and had fashioned his costume with large buttons.
“What are you doing?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“You’ll see,” Kitty said. When she was through his jacket and shirtwaist, she touched his unusually cold bare stomach, then slid her fingers down until she found the band of his trousers. She unbuttoned the fall, then clasped the heavy weight of his erection in her hand.
He threw his head back. “Ah!”
“Do you like that?” she asked. She squeezed gently.
He flexed his hips. “Oh, yes.”
She brought her mouth back to his and thoroughly kissed him, while caressing every inch of skin she could reach, except his throbbing cock.
“Kitty, please,” he said. “Touch me.”
“Where?” she asked. She pumped his shaft. “Here?” She dipped her hand beneath his bollocks. “Or here?”
His cock throbbed.
“Here it is,” she said. She used one hand to caress his shaft while gently massaging his bollocks. Then she trailed open-mouthed kisses down his neck until she reached his nipples. She rasped first one, then the other.
“What do you want me to do now?” she whispered. “Should I touch you here?” She leaned down and touched her lips to the head of his cock. Like the rest of him, it was as cold as ice.
He gasped. “Kitty!”
She circled the tip of her tongue on his member while sliding her hands up and down his length.
It was an awkward pose, but the sounds coming from him urged her on.
She worked him until her hands and jaw ached, but the faint throbbing of his cock warned her not to stop.
She continued at an even pace until he moaned and came inside her mouth.
Even then, she did not stop, but slowed, coaxing every cry from his lips until he wrapped her arms around her shoulders and heaved a heavy sigh.