Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (7 page)

Her bare feet slithered silently across the aged wooden planks as she blindly sought the plush comfort of the velvet chaise lounge. A small wicker table stood beside the sofa, and Leslie's fingers rustled across the reedy surface until she found the candle and flint, she'd placed there earlier. Her hand shook slightly as she struck a light, but as the wick caught, she breathed a steadying sigh of relief.

The semi-darkened room was filled with haunting memories of other flirtations and gayer times. The wind picked up as the storm grumbled closer. Monstrous shadows climbed the wall in the flickering candlelight. The night sounds warned her that there was still time to flee.

"Stuff!" Leslie snorted. "It's just like a play."

She was no frightened spinster, peeking under the bed hangings for a feared, though hopefully anticipated, interloper. Closing her eyes, Leslie tried to remember how she had pictured the farce. She should be reclining on the chaise. She was sorry now she had chosen to leave her cloak with the clothes in the boatshed. Although the April night was unseasonably warm, the air was damp, giving her goosebumps. Shaking the moisture from her skirt, Leslie sat down and spread the material around her like the petals of a flower. Her bare feet were chilled from the wet grass, and she snuggled them against the soft petticoats. After fluffing out her hair and adjusting the mask more securely over her eyes, Leslie lay back against the cushions, draping her hand languidly across her lap. Squinting through the mask, she tried to see if she portrayed a seductive temptress.

"Devil take it," she muttered in exasperation, tightening the laces at the neckline that gaped to reveal her young bosom. "Ah, that's better!"

A loud clap of thunder overhead nearly catapulted Leslie off the chaise. The silence that followed hovered oppressively in the room. The candle flame shot up, threatening to extinguish itself as the door of the gazebo was flung open. Pax stood outlined in the doorway.

Although Leslie had played this scene endlessly in her own mind, the reality of the moment was frightening. Her pulse began to race, and her mouth felt dry. She wanted to scramble to her feet and flee but knew her traitorous legs would never bear her weight. Seeing Pax's tall figure silhouetted against the rain-darkened night made her plan seem childishly stupid. Leslie squeezed her eyes shut wishing herself in bed, but when she opened them the nightmare was still with her.

"What a night you picked for a rendezvous, my dear."

Pax's voice was low with a throbbing timbre Leslie had never heard before. She tried to laugh flirtatiously, but the sound was more of a hiccup. Why was she behaving like such a ninnyhammer? Pax was here, and she sat like the veriest lackwit. Remember Cecily, Leslie ordered her soggy brain. If she herself didn't put on a good enough act, Pax would be justified in offering for that nasty piece of goods.

The candle flickered again, and Pax closed the door.

As he stood poised in the charged atmosphere, Leslie had time to admire Pax's pirate costume. A red satin shirt with wide ballooning sleeves was unbuttoned, revealing a tanned muscular chest. A barbaric gold medallion nestled in the black hair bristling above the open neckline. His face was shadowed, but his black eyes glittered wickedly in the semi-darkness.

"Tis fitting," he said eyeing the girl on the couch. "A gypsy for the pirate."

Leslie's tongue could not have formed words had she tried. There was something different about Pax, a quality about him that she did not recognize. He walked toward her, a panther stalking a lamb. In sudden fear, she pressed her hands into the cushions prepared to run, but her movements were too slow. Pax eased himself onto the couch and reached for her with one motion.

"I suppose, my lovely, I must guess your identity."

Pax stared down at her masked face, but no flicker of recognition appeared to smooth away the puzzled furrow on his brow. Tension drained out of Leslie, and she realized that up to this moment, she had been afraid he would know her immediately. But apparently her disguise was iron clad. Now she could relax and play her part in this scenario. Secure in her anonymity, Leslie's pursed lips flowed into a welcoming smile, and her eyes behind the mask took on a flirtatious glint.

Pax caught his breath as the girl in his arms smiled up at him. What a glorious picture she made! Wildly tousled black curls touched the creamy soft skin of her cheeks. White teeth gleamed against full lips which seemed swollen with remembered kisses. Everything about her spoke a ripe lushness that, like a raiding pirate, he ached to plunder.

Who was she? Pax wondered. He could have sworn he had never met her, yet there was some quality in her that he recognized. He felt he knew everything about the girl and yet knew nothing. She was definitely a young woman. Her skin had the dewy tautness of youth, and her breasts beneath the lacy blouse were small but firm. For a moment he hesitated, warned by an indefinite quality of innocence that clung to the girl.

Lightning flicked beyond the wooden shutters; the air pulsed with a waiting tension. Pax stared intently at the girl on the chaise. He had come to the gazebo expecting an interlude of seduction. But the little gypsy did not fit the picture of some jaded matron wanting only a bout of secret lovemaking. From years of experience he recognized the signs of fear and uncertainty that emanated from the girl. A fledgling temptress trying out her wings.

For a moment he felt an angry desire to shout at the child. It crossed his mind that she was attempting to trap him in a compromising situation. But he had evaded too many of those to mistake this for anything more than an adventure. Suddenly the boredom of the evening was lifted as he saw the humor of his predicament. He would give her the romance she craved but he would also give her some idea of the danger of this sort of flirtation.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as Pax reached out his hand. Capturing her chin, he turned her face up toward him. "Could I have forgotten someone so lovely?"

"Monsieur knows many ladies," Leslie whispered, her laugh gently chiding.

"You would prefer a monk?" Pax chuckled, the sound reassuring against the background of the rising storm.

"Gisella never shares her man." Leslie struggled to achieve a haughty whisper, delighted with her inspiration for a name.

Pax's thumb smoothed gentle circles on her skin and he watched in amusement as the blue eyes widened at the contact. "I would have remembered skin as soft this."

Leslie's smile faltered when Pax touched her. She thought she had planned everything, but control of the situation was slipping away from her like elusive tendrils of fog. Her nostrils flared slightly as though scenting danger, and a tremor started within her body. The feel of Pax's hands moving on her face had a mesmerizing effect that made her limbs weak and shaky.

"Hair like midnight." Pax's fingers twined in her hair, drawing her face closer to his hawk-like features.

"Does mon ami prefer ze blondes?" Leslie felt dizzy, wondering why her senses should reel at his closeness.

"A mouth just waiting...."

His lips descended on hers before finishing the thought. It was a featherlight kiss, soft as a butterfly's touch. For a moment Leslie lay in the circle of his arms, knowing only surprise. She had rarely been kissed and then, only by her father. She was curious at the feel of Pax's mouth against her own. His lips were firm, feeling softly moist against hers. A faint masculine scent clung to his skin, and she filled her lungs with the smell of him. She had always wondered what lovers did, and now she knew the joy of this intimate touching. When she left, she would treasure this memory always.

Rain spattered softly on the shingled roof, and thunder echoed nearby. The storm sounds heightened Leslie's feeling of isolation, the events in the gazebo a moment out of time.

Then slowly his lips moved. A wild fluttering wave brushed across her abdomen, and Leslie sighed with satisfaction as his tongue flicked the corners of her mouth. Unknown feelings awakened in her body and she was filled with excitement. Instinctively, her arms tightened around his shoulders, and she pulled him closer. She reveled in the touch of him as his hand stroked her throat.

Pax raised his head, staring in surprise at the girl in his arms. He had realized at the touch of her lips that it was her first kiss. He meant to go no further but there was something about the girl that awakened a response within him. Her mouth was velvet, the scent of her rising to fill his senses. Conscious of danger in becoming involved, he yet lowered his head and returned to her honeyed lips. His mouth rained kisses across her face to her ear where he sucked the lobe, biting it tenderly. His fingers slid along her neckline, then covered her breast, massaging the gentle swelling beneath the filmy muslin.

The touch of Pax's hand jolted Leslie back to reality. One moment she was drowning in a sea of eroticism and the next she was alerted to the danger of her situation. Although she knew little of the actual details of lovemaking she knew instinctively that she should not be permitting such intimate caresses. But her body throbbed with the urgency of her need for Pax's touch. Even in her ignorance she knew that she wanted him to love her.

Leslie nearly swooned, stunned by a sudden realization.

She was in love with Pax! The truth of the statement was overpowering. It was impossible that she hadn't seen it before. Why had she never thought of Pax in any other context than as her guardian and companion? She had always worried and thought about Pax but she had never recognized her feelings for love. Her mind whirled with a host of questions, but she had no answers. Leslie didn't understand how it had happened, but she knew that she loved Pax without doubt or reservation.

A crash of thunder reverberated in the room, and Leslie squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her face into Pax's shoulder. She had forgotten about the storm and as it broke above them, Pax stroked her hair, whispering gentle words that did little to soothe her. Wind-tossed rain thrashed the sides of the gazebo, but Leslie was numb to the turmoil, imprisoned in her own cocoon of bewilderment. She felt Pax's fingers struggle to gently untie the knot on the satin mask, and was too dazed to resist. But as the sash fell away, a gust of wind tore at the door, flinging it wide to crash against the doorframe. The candle flame shot up and was gone, plunging the room into darkness.

The door slamming against the wall had broken through Leslie's numbness. Outside the storm raged, the walls of the gazebo trembling with the force of the rain gusts. Without conscious thought, she leaped to her feet and tore through the open doorway out into the rain-darkened night.

"Gisella! Gisella!" Pax's shouts were lost in the sounds of the storm. He was filled with exasperation as he realized the sheer futility of chasing after the girl.

Who was the girl? he wondered. It could not be one of his guests. The well brought up ladies of the county would never have considered such an illicit rendezvous. Gisella had not displayed the sophistication or social airs of a gently raised debutante. Even her accent had the earmark of childish playacting. It was more likely that she was the daughter of one of his tenants or even a servant. But he could swear that he knew her. Some quality in her awoke a deep recognition in him that went far beyond casual acquaintance.

Suddenly the humor of the situation overcame him and his booming laughter filled the summerhouse. He had planned to teach the little enchantress a lesson but he seemed to be the butt of his own joke. Still amused he stared down at the gypsy mask in his hand. Crumpling the slippery cloth, Pax cursed as a sharp point jabbed into his palm. Through the fabric, he could feel the outline of a stickpin. He lifted the mask to his lips, inhaling the curious scents which clung to the satin. He thought of leather, soap and---mothballs? Chuckling he folded the material around the pin and placed it inside his shirt. He would keep it as a reminder to beware of virginal maidens. And of course the little gypsy would grow up eventually and he might then have an opportunity to return it.

Rain lashed Leslie's face. Thunder and lightning surrounded her, encircling her with a cacophony of light and sound. Even in her flight, she flew instinctively in the direction of safety, around the lake to the boatshed. She stood at the edge of the woods staring blindly at the whitewashed building. Leaning against the trunk of a tree, she gasped, trying to catch her breath. Rain cascaded off her hair, streaking her clothes with black dye. She lifted her face to the sky, her body a slash of vibrant color against the storm-darkened trees.

Tears mingled with the rain, sad trails of misery rolling down her cheeks. She dropped her head and stared at the choppy waves on the lake. Blindly she walked forward, shuddering uncontrollably when the icy water lapped against her toes. For a moment she hesitated then taking several running steps she dove headlong into the lake. A gasp was torn from her throat as she surfaced but she dove again, a hooked fish fighting to throw off the fisherman's lure. This time when her head broke the water, Leslie lowered her feet until they touched the bottom.

Methodically she scrubbed the blacking from her hair. As the water rinsed away the last traces of dye, it eased the weight of agony pressing against her heart. Overhead the fury of the storm spent itself, leaving behind only a light rain. Leslie resolutely walked to the shore, ready to return to the world.

In the boatshed, she changed quickly, shoving the gypsy costume beneath a tarpaulin in the corner. Outside it was still raining and her hair and clothes were soon plastered to her body as she staggered toward the main house.

"Daffadar?"

Leslie spun at the sound of Manji's voice, sagging in relief as her friend raised a lantern beneath the canopy of trees. The wavering light failed to erase the air of menace on Manji's face as he took in the bedraggled figure before him.

"What do you outside?" he shouted, towering over her. "Are you crazy? There has been a great storm! You have no right to endanger self in such a way!"