As a man who could not recall the last time he’d taken a woman to his bed, he scanned the delightful swell of her breasts once again. “If I’m to spend the evening feigning love, Miss Darling, permit me a moment to bathe in the lust flowing through my veins.”
The lady arched a coy brow. Had Lissette been giving her lessons? After all, the maid had dressed the finest whores in France.
“I wonder if I was not mistaken,” she said. “Perhaps when a man loves his wife he lusts after her, too.”
Lockhart had to agree. He could not envisage living with a woman he did not want to bed. “I imagine if I loved you, my darling, I would want to pleasure you until you clasped my buttocks and cried my name.”
Despite sucking in numerous breaths, Miss Darling’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. Ah, there she was, the woman in the ugly dress who brought him supper each night and panicked about pheasant. The woman who struggled to look him in the eye.
“Then I am thankful we are only pretending,” she said, as the naive maiden shrank back behind the curtain to give the actress centre stage.
Lockhart laughed. If only his task were to bed Claudia Darling. It would make for a far more interesting game than a need for vengeance.
“You may have a different view once the week is out,” he said, for he relished a challenge.
“Yes, in a week I may hate you.” Thankfully, her voice lacked conviction.
“But for now you love me. Let’s not forget that. Let’s not forget why we’re here.”
“I have not forgotten.”
Silence ensued.
“You look beautiful,” he said, and he meant it.
Rather than accept the compliment and smile as other ladies were wont to do, a sadness passed over her features.
“Are you thinking about Miss Emily, about Falaura Glen?” he asked.
She exhaled. “I am always thinking about Emily.”
“No doubt she will enjoy hearing your tales of the ball tonight.” Lockhart offered his arm. “We really must be on our way. Come, our carriage awaits.”
Miss Darling wrapped her fingers around his biceps rather than place her hand lightly in the crook. “Let us hope we cause a stir tonight.”
“Cause a stir? Madam, we will be the talk of the ton.”
* * *
The Comte de Lancey was a man possessed of extravagant tastes coupled with a desire to please. Consequently, a horde of eager revellers had squashed into the elaborate ballroom of his Mayfair mansion. Hermits, magicians and many characters from Greek mythology mingled with those whose desire to dress for the occasion extended to naught but a simple mask.
Buffoonery topped most people’s agendas. Fools believed their masks rendered them invisible. The rakes and scoundrels grasped any opportunity to make mischief. As with all masquerades, the air in the room carried a licentious undertone that infected all those in the vicinity.
Greystone had secured Lockhart’s invitation. The comte cared more about the quantity of guests than their quality. Assured of Terence’s attendance, Lockhart had specifically chosen this event to make his appearance. The black domino and mask gave him anonymity until the grand reveal. While the masquerade made it more difficult to locate Terence in the crowd, Lockhart’s friends had gathered to offer support and assistance.
Had Devlin Drake hidden himself beneath a shroud, Lockhart would recognise him in a room packed with people. The giant stood a head taller than most men. As a man unamused by tomfoolery, Drake had forgone a costume.
“Come, let me introduce you to my friends,” Lockhart said as he led Miss Darling to the far side of the room. The lady gripped his arm as if they were walking through Whitechapel at midnight draped in diamonds and pearls. “Relax. I shall not leave your side.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
They squeezed past a monk telling bawdy tales to anyone willing to stop and listen, past a Roman emperor with knobbly knees intent on flashing them to every passer-by. Numerous men raised their masks. None were interested in the man dressed in the same black domino as a hundred other guests. All focused their hungry gazes on Miss Darling’s luscious breasts.
Devil take it. Lockhart would lay odds he’d have a fist fight before the night was out.
“You look ready for your bed, Drake.” Lockhart raised his mask as he joined his friends. It had been a little over a month since he had last set eyes on the men who’d dragged him from a pit of despair and given him a reason to live.