Confessions at Midnight (3 page)

"She's agreed to this arrangement?" There was no missing the surprise in Matthew's voice.

"No. Not yet."

"I thought not. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but I think you're in for a disappointment. In fact, I'm certain of it. From everything Sarah has told me, coupled with all I've observed, Carolyn is not the sort of woman to engage in a casual, torrid affair. There are dozens of other women who would welcome your attentions."

"At the risk of sounding conceited, there are. As you well know-or at least you did before you wrapped the matrimonial noose about your neck-being pursued by women comes with the territory of being titled, wealthy, and not hideous in appearance. Actually, being titled is really the only requirement. The other two are merely whipped cream on top of an already frosted cake."

"I always look forward to the cynical pearls of wisdom you cast before me."

"Any cynicism I possess is founded upon unvarnished truth gleaned from acute observations of human nature. And clearly someone needs to drag you down to earth." He shot his friend a speculative look. "Good God, you're practically… glowing."

"That's called happiness."

"How leg-shackling yourself to the same woman for all eternity could induce any sensations other than dyspepsia and nausea is beyond me."

"You say that because you haven't met the right woman."

"Of course I have. Many times."

"By right I mean a woman with whom you can share your life-not just your bed."

"Ah. Obviously our definitions of 'right' differ greatly."

"As recently as a few short months ago I might have agreed with you, but no longer. You'll feel differently after you fall in love."

"Are you foxed?"

"Not a bit."

Daniel shook his head. "My dear bedazzled, bamboozled, besotted friend-just because you plunged into the sticky quagmire that is love doesn't mean I plan to succumb."

"Ah, but that is where you shall meet your nemesis, because as I discovered, falling arse over backward in love isn't something you can plan-or not plan. It just… happens."

"Perhaps to you. I, on the other hand, am extremely adept at sidestepping all manner of unpleasantness."

"Including sticky, messy emotions."

"Absolutely. If you'd kept your head about you, you'd still be an eligible man about town."

"Yes. And I'd be missing out on sharing my days and nights with the most amazing woman I've ever met."

"And where, pray tell, is your amazing woman? Why is she not keeping you occupied so you don't torment me?"

"She is chatting with Lady Emily and Lady Julianne, no doubt concocting some scheme or another."

"My sympathies."

"On the contrary, I find Sarah's schemes most entertaining. Especially one she mentioned to me this morning."

"And what is that?" Daniel asked without much interest.

"It concerns a note she wishes to receive from me, one that simply states a time and place."

"Good God, women request the most ridiculous things. For what possible reason would she want such a missive?"

"So we can meet at the appointed time and place, where I'll… remind her how glad she is to be my wife."

That got Daniel's attention, and he turned toward his friend. "Intriguing. Wherever did she get such an idea?"

"Some book she recently read which is apparently very popular with the ladies. A note of that sort was mentioned in the story and is now all the rage."

Daniel returned his gaze to Carolyn then said in his blandest tone, "Perhaps your wife suggested this little game because she's grown bored."

"I doubt it. I keep her quite busy. You, on the other hand…" He made
tsking
noises.

"What?"

"Do you even know
how
to seduce a woman?"

Daniel swiveled his attention back toward his friend then leaned forward and sniffed. "How is it that you don't reek of brandy?"

"I told you, I'm not foxed. On the contrary, I'm perfectly sober, and perfectly serious. Obviously you're experienced in the bedchamber, but have you ever had to actually work to get a woman there? From what I can tell, you've never needed to expend more effort than to crook your finger toward a female to entice her to do your bidding. One look at your exceptionally handsome visage, your devastating smile, and they fall at your feet like raindrops."

Daniel blinked, nonplussed. Bloody hell. Of course he'd had to charm and convince women to become his lover. Surely he had. Of course he'd been the instigator. Many times. Exactly when, he couldn't quite recall at the moment, but that didn't mean he hadn't.

Shooting his friend a glare, he said, "Why I converse with you remains a mystery, as I already have two annoying younger brothers."

Rather than looking abashed, Matthew grinned. "Neither of them possess my charm. Besides, you've clearly forgotten that I'm older than you."

"By a fortnight."

"Admittedly a narrow margin, but one that renders me older nonetheless. Which would actually cast
you
in the role of the annoying younger brother. Lucky for you I've always considered you a sibling."

"Yes, lucky is precisely what I'm feeling right now. As to your question, of course I know how to seduce a woman. And as soon as I manage to shake loose of you, I intend to get on with it."

"I don't believe I've ever seen you quite so undone." Matthew chuckled and clamped a hand on his shoulder. "You know, it's going to give me a great deal of pleasure to someday say 'I told you so' while watching you slip into the sticky quagmire."

"Absolutely, positively, not going to happen."

"Hmmm. Isn't there some saying about pride going before a fall?"

"Yes, but it doesn't have any bearing on this situation."

Matthew smirked. "I disagree. Care to make it interesting?"

Daniel narrowed his eyes. "How interesting?"

"Twenty pounds says you'll be betrothed by the end of the year."

Daniel stared, struck momentarily mute with amazement. Then he threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, by all means. Only please let's make it fifty pounds."

"Very well. Fifty pounds."

Daniel grinned, held out his hand, and they shook on it. "This is going to be like taking a sweet from a child."

Amusement glittered in Matthew's eyes. "Clearly you've never actually attempted to take a sweet from a child. I wish you luck."

"That fifty pounds is as good as mine already."

"We shall see. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to ask my wife to dance."

Chuckling, Matthew moved off. Daniel turned toward Carolyn and Jennsen, but before he could take a step, a costumed Julius Caesar blocked his path.

"I heard you'd be garbed as a highwayman, Surbrooke," said a familiar male voice in a slurred undertone that hinted of bitterness. "How appropriate, considering all you stole from me."

Daniel resisted the urge to step back from the brandy fumes that pelted him with Lord Tolliver's every word. He'd heard the earl had taken to drinking heavily since his shipping venture failed, and clearly those rumors were true. "I've no idea what you're talking about, Tolliver."

"Of course you do. Been told you had a meeting with that bastard Jennsen just before you pulled out of our deal. I'd wager he's the one who told you to not to invest with me."

"My decision was my own. And a wise one, as it turns out."

Tolliver's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "I know you, Surbrooke. Know
all
about you. You'll be sorry."

Daniel shot him a cold glare. "Blackmail and threats don't become you. Although you're so foxed you most likely won't even remember this unfortunate exchange. God knows I intend to forget it."

Without another word, he moved away from Tolliver. He could feel the earl's stare boring into his back, but Tolliver made no move to follow him. Daniel's attention returned to Carolyn and Jennsen, who stood less than twenty feet away. Determined not to be waylaid again, he headed toward the woman who'd ignited his fantasies for far too long.

Let the seduction begin.

C
arolyn stood near the edge of the dance floor with the dashing pirate. She'd recognized Logan Jennsen by his distinctive American accent the instant he spoke to her, and now she couldn't help but laugh at his disgruntled words and expression about donning a costume.

"Utterly ridiculous," he said, shaking his head and waving his hand to encompass his pirate garb, complete with tall boots, rakish hat, and a long black cape. "Wouldn't be caught dead wearing something like this in America."

"It could be worse," she replied in an undertone, nodding toward a rotund frog passing in front of them.

He tossed back a generous swallow of his champagne. "Good God." He turned toward her, and she felt the weight of his regard. "You, however, are stunning, Lady Wingate. Indeed, seeing you looking so lovely is about the only thing making this soiree bearable."

Carolyn blinked at his use of her name. "Thank you, Mr. Jennsen."

He winced. "I suppose my American accent gave me away?"

She smiled. "I'm afraid so. But I have no such accent. How did you guess my identity? I believed myself quite unrecognizable."

"Oh, you absolutely are. If your sister hadn't told me what you were wearing, I never would have known this exquisite creature was you."

"Because I normally look so
un
exquisite?" she teased.

"On the contrary, I've never seen you look anything less than stunning. However, you are normally less… uncovered." His gaze skimmed down her gown, which left one entire shoulder bare and hugged her body to her hips before falling in a straight column to the floor. There was no missing the appreciation in his eyes. "Your ensemble is extremely becoming."

Heat flooded her cheeks at his admiring assessment and compliment, followed by a sense of relief that he wouldn't have recognized her. She felt disconcertingly
bare
in her costume and had no wish for people to know that the normally demure Lady Wingate would don such a revealing outfit. Botheration, she should have dressed as a shepherdess. If she had, surely Mr. Jennsen would not be eyeing her in such a speculative manner. Although she couldn't deny the unexpected fissure of feminine satisfaction at his open admiration.

"Thank you, sir. And although you might not care for masquerades, you make an excellent pirate."

His eyes gleamed behind his mask. "Thank you. Perhaps because I've spent a fair amount of time on ships." He returned his attention to the swirling couples. "Forgive me for not asking you to dance, but I haven't yet learned the intricacies of your English steps. I would only embarrass myself and bruise your toes."

"No need to apologize. Pirates are more renowned for their sea legs than their dance legs."

In truth, she'd been relieved to skip the dance. Despite her determination to move on with her life, she hadn't yet ventured onto a dance floor since Edward's death, and she feared the first time she did so might prove emotionally draining. But she was enjoying Mr. Jennsen's company, as she had at Matthew's house party where she first met him. He was unpretentious, outspoken, and sprang from humble beginnings, as did she.

The first strains of a waltz lifted over the crowd, and Carolyn craned her neck, despairing of ever locating her sister, Emily, or Julianne in the crush.

"You mentioned seeing my sister," she said. "Where was she?"

"I saw her outside, before I entered the house. A carriage bearing the Langston crest arrived just ahead of mine. If not for that, I wouldn't have recognized her, either." He smiled. "Although, the fact that Juliet wore spectacles over her mask was a rather broad clue."

Carolyn laughed. "I suppose so." Given his imposing height, she was about to ask Mr. Jennsen if he might be able to see a costumed Juliet, Ophelia, or an angel when a deep, masculine voice behind her said, "Good evening, my lady."

Although only four words had been spoken, the way her heart tripped over itself and a warm tingle skittered down her spine made her suspect they'd been said by Lord Surbrooke. She'd wondered if they would encounter each other this evening. Indeed, while searching the crowd for her sister and friends, she found herself examining the gentlemen as well, wondering which mask he might be hiding behind.

She turned, and realized that even if she hadn't known his voice, she would have known his eyes. Through a black mask that covered the entire upper half of his face, they gazed at her with the same heated intensity that stole the air from her lungs every time he looked at her. She'd have known his mouth as well. Not only because it was perfectly formed, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the upper, but because of how one corner tilted upward, skewing all that perfection with a hint of lopsidedness that shouldn't have been attractive but was. Annoyingly so.

Her gaze skimmed over his all black highwayman costume. He looked tall and dark and dangerous-as if prepared to abscond with whatever might take his fancy and the consequences be damned. A thrill she couldn't name raced through her.

"Rather than good evening, shouldn't you say, 'Stand and deliver'?" she retorted, proud that she sounded so calm when she suddenly felt anything but.

He made her a formal bow. "Of course. Although by 'Stand and deliver' I actually mean 'May I have this dance?'"

Carolyn hesitated, surprised at how much she wanted to accept his invitation. If this had been any occasion other than a masquerade, she most likely would have refused. She was well aware of Lord Surbrooke's reputation, and had no desire to say or do anything that might lead him to believe she would consider being his next conquest.

Of course, it was quite possible he didn't know who she was. Hadn't Mr. Jennsen stated he never would have recognized her? She gazed into Lord Surbrooke's eyes and detected only heat-not recognition. Surely a man with as many past mistresses as he was purported to have had looked at most women in such a manner. Most likely he was just attracted to her costume. Even more likely, she was the tenth woman he'd gazed upon so warmly and asked to dance this evening.

Still, the idea that they were completely anonymous ignited a strange thrill inside her. If she accepted his invitation for her first dance in the arms of a man who wasn't Edward, she could hide behind her mask.

Before she could reply, a large, warm hand cupped her elbow. "Do you wish to dance with him, or would you prefer he go away?" Mr. Jennsen asked in a low voice close to her ear.

"I appreciate your concern, but I am well acquainted with him and believe I'll accept his invitation," she replied in an undertone. Then her lips twitched as she saw someone approaching. "Prepare yourself, Mr. Pirate. A damsel in distress is sailing toward your port side with a very interested gleam in her eye."

"Indeed? My favorite sort of wench. Do you know who she is?"

As the woman wore the slimmest of masks, Carolyn found her identity easy to discern. "Lady Crawford," she replied to Mr. Jennsen. "She is a widow and very beautiful."

"I'll leave you to your evening then, my lady." He made her a formal bow, nodded to the highwayman, then turned toward the costumed damsel.

Carolyn faced Lord Surbrooke. He was frowning at Mr. Jennsen's back, but quickly shifted his attention to her. Then he extended his elbow. "Shall we?"

She paused, assailed by doubt now that the moment was upon her. Torn between a sudden, nearly overwhelming need to run from the room, to return to the safety and security of her quiet existence, ensconced in her memories, and the equally strong desire to step from the shadows.
It's time to move on with your life
, her inner voice whispered.
You
need
to move on
.

"I don't bite," came the highwayman's amused voice. "At least not very often."

Her gaze settled on his lopsided grin, and for several seconds her lungs ceased to function. She shook herself from her brown study and smiled in return. "You merely pilfer and purloin."

"Only when the occasion calls for it. Tonight the occasion calls for waltzing… I hope." He lifted her hand and brushed his lips against the backs of her gloved fingers. "With the most beautiful woman in the room."

A heated tingle raced up Carolyn's arm, a reaction that simultaneously alarmed, annoyed, and intrigued her. It was ridiculous to feel flattered by the words of such a practiced rogue, yet a tiny, feminine part of her couldn't help but bask in the compliment. Drawing courage from both his open admiration and her anonymity, she inclined her head toward the swirling couples. "The waltz awaits us."

Once her feet touched the dance floor, she barely had time to draw a breath before she found herself drawn into strong arms and swept into the circling tide of dancers. She stumbled slightly, whether from the dance steps she hadn't attempted in so long or the shockingly unfamiliar sensation of being held in a man's arms again, she wasn't certain. But the highwayman held her securely and she regained her footing.

"Don't worry," he said softly, his warm breath brushing by her ear, shooting a pleasurable shiver down her spine. "I won't let you fall."

And with those words he swept her along, turning and spinning. The other dancers, the rest of the room, dissolved into a swirling blur of color that rotated around them. The only thing that remained clear was his masked face. His eyes, intent on hers. She felt utterly surrounded by him. And utterly exhilarated.

His long, strong fingers wrapped around hers, their warmth heating her even through the layers of both their gloves. His other hand, while resting in the exact correct position in the precise proper spot on her lower back, seemed to brand her skin. A breathless sensation seized her, and helpless to do otherwise, she simply allowed herself to be carried away. How could she have forgotten how much she loved dancing?

He led her expertly, effortlessly, and it seemed as if she were floating in the circle of his strong arms, her feet hovering several inches above the floor. A soaring, weightless, almost magical feeling raced through her and a breathless laugh escaped her. Conversation, laughter, and the music buzzed around them, but all of that faded into nothingness. All except him. The way his gaze never left hers. The movement of his muscled shoulder beneath her palm. The brush of his leg against her gown. How his slightly splayed fingers slowly stroked her spine as his palm pressed her just a tiny bit closer with every turn.

His clean scent invaded her senses, a pleasing combination of fresh linen and spicy soap that filled her with the unsettling, overwhelming desire to lean closer. To bury her face against his neck and breathe deeply.

Except that breathing deeply was proving a problem. Erratic puffs of air that coincided with her equally erratic heartbeat escaped her parted lips. A sense of pure elation, combined with a heady, heated awareness of him, infused her. She felt more alive than she had in three long years.

Lord Surbrooke drew her to a stop near the edge of the dance floor, and to her chagrin she realized that the song had ended. How was it possible she hadn't noticed? For several long seconds they both remained still, as if frozen in a posed, motionless dance, their gazes locked. The heat of his hands singed her and she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Could only stare. And feel… the sensation of him holding her. Her hand nestled in his. His palm resting against her back. His body close to hers.

The sound of polite applause broke through the trance into which she'd fallen, and he slowly released her. Snapping from her stupor, she dragged her gaze from Lord Surbrooke's to join in the clapping for the musicians.

"Would you care for a drink, lovely goddess?" his low, compelling voice asked close to her ear. "Or perhaps a turn around the terrace for some fresh air?"

Fresh air sounded not only very welcome but essential, although she suspected his presence would do nothing to help her breathlessness. The desire to go onto the terrace with him was so tempting it both stunned and unnerved her. Yet, why shouldn't she? They wouldn't be alone-surely other couples had ventured outdoors.

"Some fresh air sounds delightful," she murmured.

He extended his arm, and although she placed her fingertips very properly on the curve of his elbow, somehow nothing about this felt proper. Which was utterly ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with her talking to Lord Surbrooke. Dancing with him. Taking a bit of air with him. He was a… friend.

Still, an undercurrent of tension, of excitement, filled her, one she couldn't recall ever before experiencing. No doubt because of their costumes and the masks that hid their identities. She'd only attended one masquerade ball before tonight and it had been years ago, shortly after her wedding. So surely these unprecedented heated flutterings were merely the result of this new experience. Of course, it might also be because in
Memoirs of a Mistress
the author described a steamy encounter with her lover at a masque. An encounter that began with a waltz. One during which the author had felt a heightened sense of freedom due to her anonymity…

She pressed her lips together and frowned. Botheration, she never should have read that book.
You never should have read it half a dozen times
, her inner voice chastised.

Oh, very well, half a dozen times. At least. The blasted book had filled her head with questions she'd never be able to answer. And with sensual images that not only invaded her dreams but flashed through her mind with appalling frequency, suffusing her with an edgy, prickly sensation that made her clothing feel too tight and her skin feel as if it were about to burst, like an overripened fruit.

Exactly the way she felt right now.

She stole a quick glance at Lord Surbrooke. He appeared perfectly calm and collected, which served as a splash of cold water to her overheated skin. Clearly whatever was ailing her was affecting only her.