A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,125
did that on his own! He’s the one who took the coward’s way out instead of standing up to face the piper—to face you and your disillusionment in your most wonderful, perfect father. Hell—even I am paying for your father’s suicide, Marguerite, because now you refuse to really trust any man.”
She slapped him, hard, across his cheek, so that his head snapped to the right, then stood back, her trembling hands pressed to her own cheeks. “Oh, Donovan, you stupid fool—look what you made me do. What you made us both say.”
He pulled her against him, his anger dissipated, holding her tightly, afraid he was losing her, knowing he couldn’t live without her. “You’re right. It’s my fault, aingeal, all my fault. I admit it. I was a cloddish fool, and I did set out to seduce you, to discover what sort of mischief you were up to with the men I’d been sent to contact. But that was only in the beginning—the very beginning. I love you, Marguerite. I love you so much—with all my heart and soul. I’d die if I lost you. Please, forgive me. I had no right to say anything about your father. I never knew him.”
“I wish you had,” she whispered against his chest a few moments later, her tone wistful and, thankfully, devoid of anger. “He was a wonderful man, Donovan. Wonderful. He taught me so much. I still can’t understand how he could have left me that way, without saying good-bye.” She pushed herself back against his arms and looked up at him searchingly. “You’ll say good-bye, Donovan, won’t you?”
“Never,” Thomas told her, swallowing down hard on the rarely felt need to cry. He hadn’t cried since he buried his mother before striking out for a new life in America, kneeling in the cold winter rain and scratching out a hollow in the soft ground with his own two hands. So many years, and he could still remember the pain as if it was yesterday. He knew how Marguerite felt. He, too, had been left behind to fend for himself. “For I’ll never leave you, aingeal.”
She placed her hands on his shoulders, blinking back tears and smiling wanly as she wiped at the residue of hair powder that clung to his black domino. “We’re a fine pair of idiots, aren’t we, Donovan? Did I hurt you?” she asked, stroking his cheek. “I almost used my fist, the way Papa taught me, but at the last moment I realized that I’m a woman grown now. A woman in love, even if there are times I could cheerfully choke you.”
“If that’s an, apology, Marguerite, I accept. And I’m grateful to my Maker that I’m not your enemy. However, my cheek does sting a bit. You refused me once, but perhaps if you were to kiss it now—”
“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Donovan,” she responded, standing up on tiptoe and pressing her cool lips on his still-smarting skin. “There,” she said, stepping back once more, “is that better?”
Donovan grinned. “My cheek is, darlin’, but now there are other parts of me throbbing almost painfully with envy. You don’t suppose we could retire farther down this conveniently dark walk and investigate whatever fastenings there are that are holding that gown so cleverly low on your delightful breasts?”
Marguerite’s eyes were smiling now, all the shadows of hurt and, hopefully, any lingering distrust lost behind their dazzling green fire. “No, Donovan, I don’t suppose we can. But you may partner me as we stroll the grounds, waiting for midnight. I wish to be very nearby dear Miss Rollins when the time comes to unmask.”
Marguerite’s words reminded Thomas of his mission at Vauxhall, and he sighed in real regret. They’d have to get this business of revenges and treasonable maneuverings out of the way, and quickly, or he was soon going to explode from frustration, both physical and mental. “Come on, I’ll take you back to Mrs. Billings before your good intentions about not upsetting her fly to the four winds.”
“Sir Ralph is here, along with Arthur,” Marguerite said conversationally as they made their way back to the Grand Cross Walk, at the very heart of the gardens. “As neither of them usually frequent masquerades, I can only think you’ve just remembered an appointment with Sir Ralph. Arthur is here at the request of his dearest Georgianna, you see—which is the same as to say he’s in attendance at my request.” She sighed, squeezing his hand. “We’re still