Masquerade by Sheri Whitefeather

Author:Sheri Whitefeather
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Was Mr. Wells my groom? Was I truly his bride? Or had I merely created a farce in my mind?

The door to his chamber was closed, and I’d yet to open it. I remained in the sitting room, contemplating my actions.

I wanted him, Heaven help me I did. But was I doing the right thing?

Whatever the answer, my need was too great to turn back. My only recourse was to move forward, to take a heartfelt chance, no matter what the eventual outcome.

Holding to that thought, I opened his bedchamber door, slowly, cautiously, and it creaked softly from my effort.

The low-burning lantern in my hand cast a small ray of light in an otherwise pitch-dark room. I lifted it a tad higher, scanning the interior.

The bed was rumpled, the heavy brocade quilt and satin sheets bunched. I looked closer and realized that it was empty, that there was no strong, swarthy man heaped within its finery.

Where, pray tell, was Mr. Wells? Had he gone for a midnight walk? Was he in the garden, strolling solemnly amongst the roses? Or was he exploring the moonlit shore and gazing out at the sea?

Confused, I placed the lantern on his nightstand, wondering what I should do. Should I slip outside and search for him? Or should I crawl into his bed and wait for his return?

Just then, I heard a familiar voice emerge from the corner behind me. “What are you doing here, Lady Ellen?”

“I’m here to see you.”

“See me?”

“Be with you.” I wanted to turn around, but I was too nervous to meet his gaze. I surmised that he’d heard someone enter his suite and had gotten out of bed to investigate. Taking to the shadows, he’d discovered the person invading his privacy was me.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” he asked.

“Yes.” Fearful as I was, I’d never been more certain of anything. I could hear him moving closer. Soon his arms would encircle my waist and his breath would flutter across my nape.

“The guilt will be ours to share,” he said, acknowledging our wrongdoing. “But, damn, you tempt me so.”

Would it ease his conscience if I told him about the vow I’d made? Or would being a husband again, even a make-believe one, only heighten his burden?

Needless to say, I kept quiet. My secret wouldn’t absolve us.

As predicted, he pressed the front of his body to the back of mine and slipped his arms around me. When he buried his face against my neck, I knew he was drinking me in.

“Are you bare beneath your dressing gown?” he asked.

Unable to find my voice, I nodded.

He undid the tie and the luxurious garment fluttered open. “You’re wicked. More wicked than I am.”

I forced myself to speak. “That isn’t possible.” By now, he was caressing my breasts and running his thumbs over my nipples, making me ache for more. “What you’re doing to me.”

“Likewise, my lady.” He bumped my bottom with his arousal and made me gasp. I could feel him through his drawers, and he was as hard as a wand from a hawthorn tree.

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