Chapter 31
Disguised as the legendary Adelaide, Noelle had only intended to stay at the masquerade half an hour or so; but the tight silk gown had made a hasty departure almost impossible. She'd wished for her own Lord Swindle, like Adelaide's, to carry her from the fete.
A discreet, liveried footman escorted her through a back entrance, to the gravel mews where an unmarked carriage waited. She peeked her head outside, desperate to ensure she wasn’t followed.
The footman whispered, “Yer safe, miss, we have someone guarding the entrance per yer request,” he looked at her in awe, his unabashed wonderment broadening his vowels.
She’d been thronged with admirers of Adelaide the entirety of her appearance and wanted to ensure she wasn’t followed.
It had been both hers and Fitz’s idea, to stir up the public, to give them a spectacle.
The party planning and the publicity had been all Fitz.
People would be talking of Adelaide even longer if they believed they’d seen her in the flesh at something as salacious as a masquerade fete.
Adelaide, he posited, could run in The Gladstone as a serial column, that went on past its current pages with other spin-offs and beloved characters making appearances.
Noelle had never been one for spectacles, but she’d become quite a different person since her debut.
She’d never have dared any of what she’d accomplished before…
before Fitz. He gave her courage and he saw a side of her tucked away.
But the awed faces, the calls of “Adelaide!,” the hushed whispers, the glances that saw more than a person but an entire enigma that she’d crafted, had given her everything she’d ever dreamed.
More than she’d dreamed, and Fitz with his flair for dramatic showmanship had planned this night to give it to her.
The footman held out a hand, and she took it. As she made to step into the carriage, a hand was at her elbow.
“My lady,” the voice was low and dark; a sweet, husky rasp. She knew that voice.
“My lord?” She turned to the voice, looking over her shoulder from the carriage block.
A man with a fitted golden mask, still grasping her elbow hovered, planting a kiss on her satin gloved hand. The footman looked to her. He stepped closer to protect her if necessary from a besotted fan, but she stayed him with an upraised palm.
“Your most ardent admirer, my lady, I couldn’t let you leave without a proper farewell,” the masked man whispered, his blonde hair and sparkling eyes setting her aflame. It was just like a scene from her novel.
The footman waited, clearing his throat.
“That will be all, Hawkins. I thank you for your discretion,” she graced his palm with a half-crown and in so doing, graced his vision with a glimpse of her bosom beneath her cloak as she stood above him on the block.
She noticed the masked man shift his weight in impatience, or protectiveness.
He did not own her, and she wanted him to know it.
The thought sounded more like Adelaide than Noelle, but she pushed it aside. “My protector will ensure my safe return,” she spoke to the footman.
When they were alone, the blond, masked man placed a hand above her head on the carriage, awaiting her invitation. So, he had picked up on the message she had sent, that she was not his property. She glanced around her to make sure no one was watching and ordered, “Get in the carriage.”
“Why? Planning to ravish me where no one can see us, Princess?”
Noelle bit her bottom lip. “I just might.”
The smile that washed over his face was delicious. “As the lady commands, I obey.”
He helped her into the carriage and then took his seat across from her. “That was some performance, my lady.” Pride filled his voice, and the carriage with warmth and adoration. What would Adelaide say in return?
“If it’s a performance you want, it’s a performance you’ll get.” She lowered the hood of her cloak and untied the velvet bow at her throat. The action revealed the low cut of her dress and sloping curve of her décolletage. It was altogether freeing to do what she wanted, while channeling an enigma.
Fitz swallowed then loosened his cravat.“Good god.”
Noelle purred with narrowed eyes. “You are rather far away; do you not think?”
Rather too quickly, Fitz was seated next to her as the carriage jolted, sending Noelle sideways. Without thinking, the two of them had grabbed hold of each other, the muscular bulge beneath the fabric of his great coat was taut against her fingers.
“Are you alright…Adelaide?”
“Nothing a kiss can’t mend.”
“I believe I can do a thorough job of that, but first...” He produced a leather case from his jacket, and opened it, revealing her spectacles. “First, you need these.”
“Fitz…” she started, but he stayed her with a hand to her lips.
“You aren’t quite you without those spectacles. Not the girl I…you’re not my Noelle. I like the real you, not the artificial one.”
He made a great show of undoing the buttons of his gloves, placing one finger in his mouth to remove each glove. Parts of her cried out for those fingers, that mouth, anticipating where they would touch her next. Parts of her body warred with each other for the right to be touched first.
His hands stole around her waist, pulling her to him, over him, straddling him. He untied the ribbon fastening of her mask and threw it across the carriage. He replaced the glasses on her face, punctuating the tender movement with a kiss that was anything, everything but.
She leaned over him, taking his mouth, stealing his air as the carriage rocked on the cobblestones and the long hair of her wig fell around them. Excitement hurdled through every part of her.
She could feel him straining against her, the column of him pushing against his breeches at her entrance. She could feel it pulse against her, asking to be closer.
“You were rather magnificent tonight. You stole my breath away.”
“Thank you, Fitz. For tonight. For all of it. I was afraid we could not pull it off, but you thought of everything. Olivia and her convenient cover for my absence at home. Even the other woman to escort me without my spectacles,” she gave a little laugh, “You’re quite clever, really.”
“I hope one day I’ll square with the version of me you had in your head, but I merely made the arrangements. People are talking and excited because of your work, princess. You created something incredible. You merely needed a printing press and someone to believe in you.”
Her fingers traced the familiar, rugged curve of his jaw; the perfectly masculine cleft of his stubbled chin; snaking around the back of his neck to the boyish golden curls at the nape of his neck.
“And you believe in me?”
His forehead pressed against her own. “You know that I do. I don’t believe in much, but I believe in you. I believe in us.”