Innocence in Regency Society: The Mysterious Miss M / Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress. Diane Gaston

All the unwanted cravings of her body rushed back as she gazed at him in return. Usually she avoided a view of the men who bared themselves before her. When Farley first seduced her, she had been too shy to look, but her gaze freely drank in this soldier’s body. He was more beautiful than the drawings of Greek statues in her father’s books. Her eyes widened with surprise at the pleasure of seeing him.

      ‘Good God, Miss England,’ he exclaimed. He moved toward her. With gentle hands on her shoulders, he turned her around and fumbled with the laces of her dress, his progress painfully slow.

      He chuckled. ‘I am woefully out of practice.’

      With a resolute purse of her lips, Madeleine spun back to face him and made quick work of the laces. The dress fell to the floor. She tackled the corset next. When she let her shift drop from her body, his gaze was as rapt as hers had been, and her resolve to simply perform her task fled.

      His eyes met hers. ‘I feel home at last.’

      He ran his hand over her breasts, his fingers barely skimming the soft flesh. Her breasts ached. How could they ache? He’d barely touched them.

      ‘Wh—where have you been?’ She would distract herself. These feelings were too disturbing. ‘In the Peninsula?’

      ‘Last at Maguilla.’ His manner turned solemn and his sparkling eyes lost lustre.

      Maguilla. So exotic a name, like a magic kingdom far away. But what had happened there to cause his change in mood?

      Sadness lingered in his eyes, but he smiled. ‘I have been too long at battle and not long enough at home to have seen what I most have missed.’

      ‘I do not understand you, my lord.’ She chewed on her lip. ‘What have you most missed?’

      His gaze travelled up and down the length of her. ‘England,’ he said in a reverent voice. ‘Every hill, curve, and thicket. All lush beauty and honest comfort.’

      Madeleine felt herself blush. She stilled the impulse to cover her most female parts. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘shall we proceed, my lord?’

      Quickly she climbed on the bed, her mouth set in a determined line. He followed her, more slowly than she would have guessed. That he was not so eager to slake his desire unsettled her, but not so much as her own yearning. When he climbed in the bed and positioned himself over her, she nearly burst with excitement. It felt too much like what had brought her to ruin, but she wanted this soldier. Wanted him very much.

      She stiffened and panic raced through her.

      He halted immediately, searching her face. ‘What is wrong?’

      Her heart pounded. ‘Nothing. Nothing is wrong.’

      He cocked his head sceptically. ‘You are frightened. I do not understand. What frightened you? Did I hurt you?’ He shifted to lie beside her.

      She avoided the puzzled look in his eye. ‘No, you did not hurt me, my lord. I am not frightened. You may proceed.’

      His hand grasped her chin and brought her face closer. ‘I’ll not proceed, as you say, until you explain.’

      She could not explain what she did not understand. Even when Farley had seduced her and her body responded so wantonly, she had not felt like this. So…so excited and breathless.

      Was this what young women felt when they loved the man they bedded? Was this a feeling she could never have or deserve?

      A tear trickled down her cheek. As it appeared from beneath her mask, he wiped it away with his finger. ‘There now,’ he murmured, stroking her cheek. ‘No need to cry.’

      ‘It is of no consequence,’ she said, stifling a sob, furious at her tears. Farley would be even angrier, if he knew. Weeping was not in the carefully fashioned script. ‘Please don’t tell Lord Farley about this.’

      ‘Now, now.’ He sat up and settled her in front of him, wrapping his arms around her. ‘Why would I ever do that? Come. Tell Devlin what troubles you.’

      ‘Devlin?’ His arms felt like a warm blanket around her. She wished she could remain cosseted within them and never, ever leave.

      ‘That’s my name. Lieutenant Devlin Steele of the First Royal Dragoons. Youngest brother of the very honourable Marquess of Heronvale. At your service, Miss England.’ He cuddled her closer to him. ‘Tell me what is wrong.’

      She released a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Sometimes…sometimes I wish to be what I appear, not what I am.’ The tears came in earnest now, soaking the feathers of her mask.

      If only she had not gone riding that fateful day. If only Farley had not seen her scandalous attire, her brother’s old clothes already too small for her. If only she had known that kissing a man could lead to so much more.

      She fingered the damp feathers of her mask, hoping they would dry without losing shape or she would be punished.

      ‘Shh, now, it will be all right,’ he whispered.

      No, nothing would ever be all right again.

      The lieutenant held her and rocked her and murmured comforting words into her ear. It was a long cry, longer than any she had allowed herself since the night she’d learned Farley had other plans for her besides marriage.

      Soon enough, though, she recovered. She pulled away from him and turned so he could not see her face as she removed the mask to wipe her eyes with the linen sheet. When she turned back her mask was in place.

      ‘Now have you finished, little watering pot?’ he asked, his lovely green eyes the kindest she had ever seen.

      She nodded.

      ‘Silly goose.’ He tapped her on the nose and slid off the bed to grope on the floor for his clothes. Still unsteady, he stumbled and bumped against the bedpost.

      ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

      He laughed softly. ‘Getting dressed. Do not worry, miss, I will forgo your favours tonight.’ He cast her a long glance, a woeful expression on his face. ‘Though it may be more difficult than piquet duty in freezing rain.’

      ‘No, you mustn’t.’ She pulled him back, trying to urge him back on top of her. ‘It would not suit. I am expected to perform.’

      ‘No, sweet Miss England. You have performed enough tonight.’ He stood again.

      Madeleine stared at him, trying not to be transfixed by the flexing of his well-defined muscles as he groped for his trousers. She could not bear it if he should leave so soon.

      He turned that mischievous grin upon her, his dimple emerging. ‘We must, of course, give a show for the others in the next room. Create proper noise. Make the poor buggers envious.’

      She giggled.

      ‘Not laughter. Passion. Like this.’ He let out a loud moan. ‘More! More! More!’

      ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ she returned. They both burst out laughing, holding their mouths to keep it silent.

      He collapsed on the bed. ‘Stop. It hurts to laugh.’ He grabbed his side. ‘Ow.’

      She pulled his hand away. To the side of his abdomen there was a scar, jagged and still pink from recent healing.

      ‘You were injured at…at…?’ She traced the scar with her finger.

      ‘At Maguilla? As you would say, it is of no consequence.’ He smiled, but without joy. ‘We chased a regiment of French cavalry until the tide was turned and their reserves chased us. I made a foolish attempt to rally the men. A Frenchman met me with a lance instead. The wound is healed now. In two days’ time I return to my regiment.’

      ‘Back to the war?’

      ‘Of course. It is a soldier’s duty.’

      Two days and he would return to war. He could be injured again. He could lose his