Margaret McPhee - Temptation In Regency Society - Unmasking the Duke's Mistress

Not once did he move his gaze from her, just watched her following the path her finger was drawing.

And then slowly she inched her fingers higher …

Dominic’s body tightened.

And higher …

His breath shook.

Until at last, her fingertips touched against his lips and stilled. They were light as a feather and trembling.

Dominic ceased to think. He responded in the only way he knew how with Arabella. He kissed those sweet delicate fingers, kissed each one in turn. And when she came into his arms and her body cleaved to his it seemed the most natural thing in the world to kiss her mouth.

Arabella kissed him and forgot that she was only doing this to prevent the discovery of Archie and her mother. She kissed him and everything else ceased to be. He held her as if he cared for her, kissed her as if he loved her. He was the same man she had known, the same man she had loved. And in this moment as she felt the fast beat of his heart beneath her hand and the warmth and the strength of his body, she felt everything that she had done as a girl of nineteen. He worshipped her with his lips and she believed the illusion his tenderness wove—of love and of protection. She slid her hand up around his neck and gave herself up to the kiss, revelling in it, wanting it all the more. All of these years without him. Her heart clung to his and refused to let go.

Lies, all lies, the little voice in her head whispered. And she remembered all that he had done. And her son who had no father. And the memories cooled her ardour like a bucket of iced water.

She stumbled back, clutching a hand to her mouth, appalled at what she had just done.

‘Arabella?’ Dominic’s eyes were dark and dazed. His voice sounded low and confused.

‘I …’ She backed away and shook her head, knowing that there were no words to explain how she was feeling. She did not know what to say to him. She could not even begin to pretend that she was unaffected by what had just happened between them or by anything of this situation.

‘I …’ she tried again and as her gaze lowered she saw the evidence of his arousal within his close-fitting pantaloons and realised that she had seduced him just like the courtesan she was. What she had done meant he would take her now. And she trembled at the thought of it.

Dominic looked right into her eyes, as if he could see every thought in her head, then walked away without saying a single word.

There was the thud of the front door shutting, and Arabella’s eyes closed in anguish.

The night of the Vauxhall masquerade came around too quickly.

Arabella slipped the silver-beaded and feathered mask into place and turned to face Dominic. He had barely said a word since entering the drawing room of the Curzon Street town house and there was an atmosphere in the room thick enough to be cut with a knife.

Dominic’s gaze perused her face, lingering for seconds that seemed too long, so that it was almost as if she had only just touched her fingers to his lips, only just kissed him with such wanton abandon. The sweat prickled upon her palms and the butterflies were flocking in her stomach.

It was not only the mask she was worrying over. ‘My dress …’ She had been so very determined to thumb her nose at him during its ordering; now she was aware that its very respectability might reveal more of her identity when she was by Dominic’s side. ‘It will not attract …’ Suspicion. Speculation ‘… attention,’ she finished, ‘will it?’

She watched his gaze drop to the bodice, then sweep down to the skirt and she bit her lip in worry.

It was a dress like none that Arabella had ever owned. Plain yet elegant. Pale silver silk cut to fit her body perfectly. With its small capped sleeves, bodice scattered with small crystal beads that sparkled in the light and décolletage that teased rather than revealed, the dress was beautiful but pure in a way that made it unsuitable for any courtesan. The irony of its styling was not lost on Arabella.

‘How could you think it would fail to attract attention, Arabella?’ he said in a quiet voice.

Her stomach gave a churn and her gaze shot to his, waiting for his anger.

‘It is beautiful. You are beautiful.’

She gaped in surprise, and blushed and could think of not one thing to say.

Dominic swept the long black velvet domino around her shoulders. She jumped at the brush of his fingers against her collar bone as he fastened it in place, feeling nervous both at Dominic’s proximity and the prospect of the night ahead.

Out there before all those people. At his side. As his mistress.

A wave of uncertainty swept through her. She bit again at her lip.

‘No one will know your true identity, Arabella,’ he said gently, and carefully pulled up the domino’s hood to cover the curls piled high upon her head.

And then he took her hand in his and led her out to where the carriage waited.

The night was cool, but clear and dry. Tiny stars studded the blackness of the sky as they walked down the grassy bank towards the boats and barges that would carry them across the Thames to the carnival. They crossed the river in silence. Nor did they speak when they arrived at the other bank and the pleasure gardens that were Vauxhall. Dominic was too aware of Arabella by his side, and of the tension that flowed between them.

The gardens were more crowded than usual, with guests who had come to witness the Prince of Wales at the masquerade. Dominic made his meeting with the prince and, when he saw how Prinny was looking at Arabella, steered her away again just as quickly.

She had taken hold of the arm that he offered and they strolled together through the night, in a parody of all the other couples around them. But even in the lightness of her touch he could feel the tension that hummed through her body. He took her to the section of the gardens where there were shows and jugglers and acrobats. And something of the strain between them seemed to lessen as they stood there together and watched. Her grip even tightened a little as she watched with fascination a man who could swallow the blade of a sword. And when that display was done, he moved on, wanting to show her all there was to see.

There were jesters and gypsy women selling lucky white heather and offering to read their fortunes.

Near to the supper booths a group of musicians were playing, filling the surrounding gardens with the sweetness of their music. An area close by was ringed with tables and chairs in the middle of which a wooden dance floor had been laid down upon the grassy surface.

‘Shall we dance?’ He realised that he wanted to dance with her, to hold her close in his arms, very much.

She touched a hand against her mask, in the same gesture she had used that very first night in Mrs Silver’s drawing room.

‘No one will recognise you,’ he reassured her and slid the dark voluminous hood down to reveal the glory of her hair. ‘Even like this. Trust me.’

She looked up at him and nodded, and again Dominic felt something he thought to have long been destroyed stir in his heart.

‘It is so long since I danced,’ she said and there was uncertainty in her eyes as she glanced at the dance floor where other couples were moving together in each other’s arms. ‘And I have never waltzed.’

‘Just relax and follow my lead.’ He offered his hand for hers.

She looked at him and it seemed to Dominic as if she were making some pivotal decision in that moment, not merely deciding whether she would dance with him. Then, without saying a word, she placed her hand in his and let him lead her out on to the dance floor.

Arabella gave herself into Dominic’s arms and waltzed with him. There was something soothing about the moonlight and the lilt of the music and the sway of their bodies in the dance. He was holding her scandalously close, so close that the fall of his breeches brushed against her skirts, so close that his heart beat against her breast. But this was Vauxhall and every other couple was dancing just as intimately.