Temptation In Regency Society. Margaret McPhee

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.

      He was looking at her with those dark soulful eyes just as he had looked at her all those years ago. Whether it was the music or the moonlight or just plain madness, in that moment she let herself forget, and just felt—the music, her heartbeat … and him.

      When the music stopped, he led her from the floor towards the buffet of food laid out upon the tables. There were fresh bread rolls and ham sliced fine and thin, and a selection of fruit perfect for the eating.

      He fetched them two glasses of punch and filled two plates with a selection of food to tempt her and found them a small table in a spot that was not so crowded. He made a little conversation, polite pleasant words, nothing that touched near anything that was sensitive for them both. Something of her fears for the evening faded.

      Afterwards they watched some boats, miniature replicas of the great Lord Nelson’s, being sailed down the river, and then there were the fireworks, a burst of rainbow lights that exploded to shower the dark canvas of the sky. And she wished that Archie and her mother could see the spectacle.

      Dominic was standing behind her, both of their necks craned back as they stared up at the sky. He bent his head forwards and said something to her, but the explosions all around were so loud that she could not hear. He stepped closer, easing her back against him so that he could whisper in her ear.

      But she still could not make out his words, so she turned in his arms and all of a sudden she was looking into his face and he was looking into hers. And she could see the flash of the firework bursts reflected in the darkness of his eyes. But she was no longer thinking of the fireworks, and neither was he. They stared at one another. Alone in the crowd. Silent and serious in the midst of the riotous carnival.

      ‘Arlesford?’ The voice smashed the moment apart like a cannon. ‘Your Grace, I thought it was you.’

      Dominic turned, shifting his stance to manoeuvre Arabella slightly behind him so that he was partly shielding her with his body. ‘Misbourne,’ he said in his usual emotionless voice and faced the man.

      Lord Misbourne was dressed in a domino the like of Arabella’s and even wore a mask across his eyes. But there could be no doubt over the owner of the face that was beneath it, with its curled grey moustache and neatly trimmed beard. Misbourne’s arm was curled around the waist of a woman young enough to be his daughter and whose large breasts were in danger of imminent escape from her bodice. The girl cast Dominic a libidinous glance and licked her tongue suggestively around her lips before taking a sip of punch from the glass she was carrying.

      Misbourne did not notice; he was too busy staring at Arabella. ‘Gentlemen must have their little distractions, Arlesford,’ he said. ‘Nothing wrong