Chapter 23
It was an irrefutable fact that wearing a mask freed inhibitions.
Alistair was reminded of this over and over again as he stood by a Doric column in the Treadmore ballroom and dealt with the pressing crush of guests who greeted him. He was tempted often to place his hand over the letter he’d tucked into his pocket, but he refrained. Jessica’s words contained therein gave him the strength and patience to deal with the overly accommodating and facetious guests eager to make a good impression on the future Duke of Masterson. They apparently weren’t aware of how sharp a memory Alistair possessed. He remembered those who’d thought nothing of him when he was merely a fourth son. He remembered those who’d paid him to fuck them and made him feel unclean in the process. He remembered those who had inflicted pain and wounded his pride.
My beloved, determined Alistair,
Your gift and the words accompanying him both broke my heart and filled it with joy. When I see you next, I will show you the depth of my gratitude.
As for the masquerade, nothing could keep me from you. Then or at any time or event in the future. You have been duly warned.
Irrevocably yours,
Jessica
To his left, Masterson stood, so stoic and austere. To his right, his mother worked her charm on all who approached them. She hadn’t, however, written to Jessica. Not that he had truly expected her to.
“Haymore’s daughter is lovely,” Louisa murmured now, using her fan to gesture at the young woman walking away from them.
“I do not recall.”
“You met her scarcely a moment ago. She deliberately lowered her mask so you would see her.”
He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “I will take your word for it.”
The orchestra in the balcony above signaled the onset of dancing with a few opening notes. The crush of guests somehow cleared the dance area by converging on the perimeters of the room.
“Beginning with a quadrille,” his mother said dryly. “I wish you had asked at least one of the young ladies you met to dance. It would have been polite.”
“I was exceptionally polite to every one of them.”
“You are a beautiful dancer. I enjoy watching you. So would everyone else here tonight.”
“Mother.” He faced her as the orchestra began to play. “I will not have every gazette and scandal rag speculating over the significance of my selection of dance partners. I am not on the market, and I refuse to give any impression that I am.”
“You haven’t even perused the wares!” she protested in a low whisper that was hidden beneath the enthusiastic surge of music. “You are infatuated with a beautiful, older, worldly woman. I appreciate the appeal, especially under the circumstances. Certainly her expertise at maneuvering through Society seems exceptionally valuable to you now. But, please, consider the long-term ramifications of your decisions. She is a widow, Alistair. She has far greater license than a debutante and can be useful to you outside the bonds of matrimony.”
Alistair inhaled a sharp, deep breath. Then another, fighting for control of the fury threatening to make an appearance in such a public place. “For both our sakes, I am going to forget what you just said.”
Glancing at Masterson, his jaw clenched when the duke appeared unaware of the conversation taking place right beneath his nose. “How far must this hypocrisy go before you absolve my mother of her sins? Hasn’t she paid penance enough?”
The duke continued to look straight ahead. Only a muscle tic in his jaw gave any hint that he’d listened at all.
Alistair looked at his mother and removed his mask. “I’ve damn well paid enough. I have wished for your happiness all of my life, Mother. I have tried to facilitate it in every way I can, but in this matter, I will not be swayed.”
Louisa’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. They cut him, but there was no help for her distress. Leastwise none that he could give her.
A swell of murmurs surrounded them at the same moment a ripple of awareness coursed down his spine. Anticipation slid through his veins, potently fierce and delicious. He looked at his mother’s face and saw the wide-eyed astonishment with which she stared over his shoulder. He pushed his mask into her lax fingers and began to turn about. Slowly. Savoring the fine tension he felt only when Jessica was near.
The sight of her struck him like a blow, purging all the air from his lungs. Red. She was draped in it. Wrapped in silk like a gift. Her shoulders bared, exposing creamy skin and the lush upper swell of her breasts. Her luxurious hair was styled into a mixture of upswept curls and long, glorious strands. There was something slightly disheveled about the whole, reinforcing the overall impression of sin and seduction and sex. The pristine white gloves that stretched midway up her arms did nothing to mitigate the overwhelming carnality of her appearance.
Although he knew from the dancing in progress that the music continued, Alistair couldn’t hear a single note over the roaring of blood in his ears. Nearly every eye was riveted to Jessica, who walked along the edge of the dance floor unimpeded, her stride slow and sensual. Erotic. Beckoning.
He sucked in a deep breath when his lungs burned. His chest was constricted with yearning, his gaze devouring every detail in a vain effort to appease the hunger that had grown ravenous over the many days without her.
A simple red satin mask was tied around her eyes and as she approached, she reached up and untied it. Letting it dangle from her fingers by the ribbons. Letting everyone get a good, long look at her while she looked at him. Letting them—the peers whose censure he’d feared she could not bear—see the deeply intimate manner in which she regarded him. Her gray eyes were luminous, lit from within by the surfeit of emotion she made no effort to hide. There wasn’t a person who saw her who could doubt what he meant to her.
By God, she was brave. She’d been beaten to deafness and disfigured into conforming to the dictates of the people milling around them, yet she came to him without any hesitation or reservation. Without fear.
There was no one else in the room. Not for him. Not with her looking at him in that way of hers that spoke more clearly than words—she loved him with all that she was. Completely, unequivocally, unconditionally.
“Do you see, Mother?” he asked softly, riveted. “Amid all of these lies, there is no finer truth than what is bared before you now.”
He was moving toward Jessica before he realized it, drawn inexorably. When he drew close enough to scent her, he stopped. There were mere inches between them, and the urge to reach for her, to pull her close, was a writhing thing inside him.
“Jess.” His fingers clenched and released against the need to touch her soft, smooth skin.
Dancers cleared the floor around them, gawking, but he paid them no mind.
Her dress was a statement, and he would never fully be capable of putting his gratitude for it into words. She was not the same woman who had stepped aboard his ship. She no longer saw him as being “too much” for her, or herself as inadequate for him. And he loved her more now than he had then. He would certainly love her more tomorrow than he did today, and the day after that would find him only loving her all the more.
“My lord,” she breathed, her gaze sweeping over his face as if she had been as starved for the sight of him as he’d been for even a glimpse of her. “The way you’re looking at me …”
He nodded curtly, knowing he was wearing his heart on his face. It had to be obvious to all and sundry that he was mad for her. “I miss you abominably,” he said gruffly. “The greatest torment ever devised is the withholding of you from me.”
A few opening notes of a waltz played. He seized the moment, catching Jessica by the waist and carrying her onto the dance floor.