Lord of the Masquerade by Erica Ridley
Chapter 19
They could barely stay out of each other’s arms as the duke led Unity up the grand stairs and along the balcony promenade to a nondescript wooden panel.
At Julian’s knock, the panel slid open to reveal a hidden doorway leading to the main quarters of his house. Kissing, laughing, they stumbled along the corridor and into an enormous bedchamber dominated by a grand four-poster bed with luxurious deep blue draperies held back against the posts by velvet ropes.
Julian lifted his mouth from hers in order to close and secure the door. When he turned back to Unity, his eyes still sparked with passion, but he did not pull her back into his arms.
“We should talk first.”
She stared at him in disbelief, her heart pounding and her mouth still tasting of his kiss. “You brought me up here to talk?”
He gestured for her to take a seat in a plushly upholstered claw-foot armchair beside an equally imposing dressing table.
She folded her arms instead.
“Listen,” he began, and then said nothing else. His eyes raked her in obvious hunger, and he visibly forced his hands behind his back as though to prevent himself from reaching for her.
She did her best to glower menacingly at him, the way he always did to others.
He winced and rubbed his face.
“What is the matter?” she burst out. “Listen to what? Are musicians supposed to burst in and surprise us with song?”
“No, I...” He started to step forward, then thought better of it. “Unity, I know you’re not a courtesan. You’ve never traded yourself for coin.”
She blinked. “That’s my crime?”
“It’s not a crime. I—”
“Wait.” She narrowed her eyes. “How would you know what I choose to do with my body?”
He made a pained expression. “I had you investigated.”
“You what? To know I’ve ‘never’ prostituted myself means you pried into years of my private life, digging for secrets that have nothing to do with you.”
“I realize it may sound upsetting—”
“Do you?” She could not believe his arrogance and entitlement. “Would it have been acceptable for me to have done the same to you?”
“You don’t have to investigate me,” he said dryly. “My name is everywhere, whether I like it or not. Debrett’s, transcriptions of parliamentary debates, every other scandal sheet...”
“So, because parts of your life are public, I don’t deserve privacy?”
He met her gaze. “I have never misrepresented who and what I am.”
“Nor would you have allowed me a moment of your time if I hadn’t,” she snapped.
“How do you know?” he asked archly. “Did you conduct unauthorized research into what sort of person I might be?”
Unity glared at him.
Oh, very well. She had conducted light “research,” insofar as begging gossip from actresses could be counted as a private investigation. She had not knocked on his door unaware of what sort of man he was. And Julian was right—he had made no attempt to hide his true self.
“Why does my history matter?” she asked. “This is a masquerade. We’re all in costume as someone else. The whole idea is to remain anonymous, without revealing our true identities.”
“I want to be with the real you,” he replied. “That’s why it matters. I can only imagine what you think of me, but I am not a debaucher of virgins. As soon as I realized you were actually an innocent—”
She burst out laughing. “How can you be friends with thousands of people and still not know anything about women? Do you honestly believe the only flavors we come in are ‘whore’ and ‘virgin’?”
“I...” He stared at her in consternation. “Until a young lady is wed, she is typically expected...”
“It wasn’t much of an investigation if it didn’t turn up the tiny detail that I am not an aristocratic young lady with pretensions to the beau monde,” she said dryly. “Your rules are as may be, but you cannot believe the rest of the world abides by them.”
He frowned. “You’re... not...”
“No, not for a long time. And not sorry about it, either. If you are now bothered by the idea that I am not as ‘chaste’ as you imagined, may I remind you that none of your many invited guests flood your ballroom on Saturday nights with any expectation of propriety?”
He looked at her in silence.
“They steal away in pairs or more, out to hidden enclaves in the garden, or up the stairs to the private play chambers. With each other, or, often enough, with you. It would be the height of hypocrisy to have a special rulebook that applies only to me. But if the truth has caused you to dislike me—”
“No,” he burst out. “That is the point I am trying rather bumblingly to make. I do like you. Everything about you. More than I’ve ever liked anyone. There is only one thing I want more than to be naked in those bedsheets with you, and that is make love as ourselves. Not as strangers with secrets. As Julian and Unity.”
She stared at him, speechless, all the fight gone out of her.
“To be clear,” she said slowly. “You brought me to this bedchamber out of the express desire to make love to me, regardless of my personal history?”
“To be clear,” he answered. “You followed me into this bedchamber out of the express desire for that exact carnal circumstance to transpire?”
“There,” she said. “We do understand each other. But in the future, ask me your questions directly. Call off your investigator.”
“I already did.” He cupped her cheek. “Let us waste no more time on the past or the future and enjoy each other in this moment.”
Unity expected him to kiss her, but he waited, letting the choice be hers.
This was The Moment, she realized suddenly. The one and only moment. Of course he had called off his bloodhound. There was no future. Once the Duke of Lambley sampled a woman, he never cared to do so again.
After tonight, he would be done with her.
She had never expected anything more. If anything, she was surprised to have kept his interest for as long as she had. The season was coming to a close anyway. His masquerades would end, and they would part ways exactly as they both had planned.
But first, they would share this moment together.
Rather than kiss him, she placed her palms just below his shoulders and pushed him backwards onto the bed.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he elbowed his way up toward the pillows.
“Ravishing you.” She hiked her skirts above the knees so she could climb up him and straddle his hips.
“Ravishing... me?” He reached for her.
She laced her fingers with his and forced both hands down beside his head. Now she was leaning over him, her bosom brushing against his cravat.
“I suppose you had some notion of ‘possessing’ me in this bed?”
He licked his lips. “The thought might have crossed my mind.”
“I don’t want to be your possession.” She brushed her mouth against his. “The rest of the world is hard enough. I want equality between you and me, or nothing. Especially in the bedroom.”
“Terms accepted.” He lifted his head to try and kiss her fully, and this time she let him.
Or rather—she kissed him back. Kissed him equally. Passion for passion, kiss for kiss.
Finally, she had him where she wanted him. And oh, how she wanted him. She’d known from her first glimpse of him through his spotless mullioned windows that he would be her ruin. She didn’t care. All that mattered was this kiss, this bed, this chance to do what they’d been dancing around from the moment they met.
She untangled her fingers from his and leaned upright to try and unknot his neckcloth. He lifted his hands to do it for her. She pushed his wrists back down onto the pillows and returned her fingers to his cravat.
His arms twitched as though it were physically killing him to keep his hands still rather than try to take control. She kissed him even deeper.
She untied the neckcloth slowly. Learning its folds. Learning him.
If they were only to have one night together—perhaps less, perhaps he could only spare an hour—she intended to savor every moment that she could.
When the neckcloth was free, she broke the kiss to toss the square of linen away, then leaned back so that she was fully seated astride him. She unbuttoned his elegant dress coat, tilting her hips to free each side of the coat and push it onto the blanket at his sides.
He lifted his shoulders as though to wriggle out of the garment himself, and she gently pushed him back onto the mattress.
“Am I allowed to do nothing?” he growled.
She smiled at him. “You’re going to be allowed to do everything. But you have to wait for it.”
He groaned. “I want you now. If you would let me take control—”
She licked the corners of his lips. “Letting someone else hold the reins is the truest test of control. Self control.”
“I don’t have any,” he muttered.
But he forced himself to stay in place, watching her with heated eyes.
Was it any wonder she loved him? She dipped her head so that he could not read her expression, and pulled the hem of his shirt from his waistband, pushing the soft cambric up inch by inch, allowing her eyes and her fingertips to learn the hard planes of his abdomen.
When her fingertips reached his nipples, she lowered her head to taste his skin with her tongue.
His stomach tightened, his arms twitching as if desperate to reach for her, but he held his position.
She scooted down, her thighs sliding over his until her mouth was just above his waistband.
“Maybe I should investigate you,” she purred.
“Do... whatever you want...”
She unhooked the buttons of his fall and slid her hand beneath to grip him fully. “How many people have you spirited through your secret panel and into this room?”
“None,” he gasped. “Until you.”
Her breath caught and her heart pounded even faster.
This was his private bedchamber. Not his salon of sin above the masquerade. This was where he was truly himself. A place where neither of them need hide behind a mask. He brought her here because he wanted to be with her. To have a moment that was real.
Unity wanted that, and so much more.
But she would start with this.
She lowered her head and rewarded them both by becoming too occupied to ask more questions.