Regency Historical Romance Excerpt by Stephie Smith

THE MASQUERADE (AKA The Masquerading Duke)
Regency Historical Romance, complete at 96,500 words

1st Place Winner, Heartland RWA's 2008 Show Me The Spark contest!!
2nd Place Winner, Connecticut RWA's 2008 CONNections contest!!
2nd Place Winner, RWA San Diego's 2008 Spring Into Romance contest!!
Top Quarter of RWA's 2008 Golden Heart Competition!!
Finalist, Utah RWA's 2008 Heart of the West!!

The gentle thump of water against wood was the only indication that the frigate-built sloop had taken a swell. The ship continued on its course without a moment’s hesitation while spars creaked, riggings groaned and canvas snapped lightly in the wind. They were sounds that Captain Derek Wentworth usually found soothing, but they offered no such comfort tonight. Tonight his life would change, depending on his decision, one he had no choice but to make.

The leather-bound journal, its gold buckle gleaming in the glow of the yellow lamplight, stared back at him as if it had a life of its own. And it did. His father’s life. A life Derek had scorned. One he’d convinced himself he didn’t want. And now it was his.

He closed the cabin door and tried to shrug off the weariness that clung to him like a shroud. All these years he’d waited for his father to contact him, to acknowledge his graduation from Harvard or his accolades as a shipwright. In his fantasies his father would apologize, begging forgiveness, admitting that banishment to America had been harsh treatment for a boy of fourteen who wanted nothing more than a little attention.

But in his heart Derek had known his father would never utter such words, for the very same reason Derek needed to hear them. Pride. They’d both had too much pride, and now it was too late. His father was gone. Without a word of apology or praise, without a goodbye.

He reached for the package delivered by one of England’s finest ships. Inside the pouch, along with his father’s ring and seal, were the legal documents stating that he, Jonathan Derek Wentworth, was now the Duke of Dorrington.

He had never expected to return to England this way. He’d wanted to return in glory, as a man his father respected, but after reading his father’s journal, he realized he didn’t know what kind of man that was. He’d worked so hard to excel at his schooling and his business, wanting to show his father he’d outgrown his childish ways, needing to prove that when the time came, he could manage the vast Dorrington holdings. Yet according to the journal, his father let those very things go while he pursued traitorous criminals. His father had put his country first and everything else second, while Derek had abandoned his country of birth for another. Or so it must have seemed when he stayed on in America after his graduation. But he hadn’t wanted to. His pride had kept him from returning to England without an invitation. That blasted pride.

Desolation seeped through him, making his limbs too heavy to lift. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how much he cared. About his father’s approval or the family he’d left behind. He hadn’t known how much he cared about England.

A soft knock sounded, and the cabin door creaked open. First Mate Morgan stood stalwart in the doorway, compassion etched upon his weather-lined face.

Derek was silent as thoughts swirled through his brain. Home. Was it in Baltimore? His business he could sell, his estate and ships too. Pamela, the woman he’d intended to marry, was already engaged again, and not to the man Derek caught her in bed with but to someone else. No, America wasn’t his home. There was no nothing for him here.

With a heavy sigh he nodded, his decision made. “Yes, Morgan. I’m going home—to England.”

It was the singlemost prized possession of those who were known to the ton. Husbands and brothers dueled to defend it. Wives and mothers endured loveless marriages to protect it. Young ladies lived in constant fear that they might lose it.

It was a pristine reputation, and Lady Sophia Barrick was about to throw hers away.

“You must keep your shawl about you,” her Aunt Eleanor said, a disapproving stare fastened to Sophie’s daringly low neckline, “else every rake in London will be at your side.”

Sophie drew her shawl more tightly to her and murmured another apology for waiting until the last moment to try on the gown.

It wasn’t true. She had spent hours trying on each and every gown, all of them fashioned for her first Season, which had only just begun when her Papa was killed. Though two years had passed, many of the gowns remained in high style, and despite the fact that Sophie’s figure had blossomed, they still fit. Well, mostly.

The moment she had donned the pink silk with its high, cinched waistline, she knew it was exactly the gown to attract a rake. The shimmering pink set off her dark hair and pale complexion, but it wasn’t the color that would garner attention. It was the wide-ribboned waist and the underlying stays which forced her breasts upward until they threatened to escape the fabric altogether.

She worried the effect might be more than she bargained for. She’d not be able to take a deep breath the entire evening, and she wondered how she would manage to dance without breathing. But she would make do. She must.

She leaned toward the carriage window, eager to see what she could. Carriages packed the street and footmen scurried to them, escorting parties of elegantly-dressed guests to the open double doors of the Livingston mansion. Her heart pounded as their turn came and the footmen helped them alight and escorted them up the lantern-lit walkway. Unfortunately, it wasn’t excitement over attending her first ball that elicited such a reaction. It was the trepidation of putting her plan into place.

She tried to take in her surroundings, but it was all a blur. Handsome gentlemen, bejeweled ladies, silks and satins in an array of colors. Her aunt, Lady Eleanor Callister, widowed now almost two years, squeezed her elbow and offered an encouraging smile, but it only served to make Sophie more anxious. Eleanor was elated over Sophie’s sudden desire to attend social events, thus ending the self-imposed seclusion that had gone on since her father’s death. Poor Aunt, thought Sophie, as guilt sluiced through her. Her Aunt Eleanor had no idea.

The instant they were through the receiving line Sophie searched among the hundreds of guests for her dearest friend, Lady Caroline Wharton. A moment later she caught a glimpse of Caroline in a gown of pale blue satin that complemented her slim figure and blonde curls. Sophie smiled back gaily when Caroline’s excited gaze fell on her.

As sweet and lively as she was pretty, Caroline had been besieged by hopeful young men since her debut. She’d told Sophie she hadn’t accepted an offer because she was having such a good time, but Sophie knew Caroline’s heart was set on Stephen Thurston, the Earl of Aster, who was expected to attend tonight’s ball. Caroline’s note had been brief, but there was no mistaking the excitement with which she’d written, “He’s in Town! He’s coming to the Livingston ball and bringing an American privateer!”

Thus had begun the flurry of notes between the two girls, as Sophie shared her dilemma and secured Caroline’s assistance. Caroline, who had perfected the art of eavesdropping on her four older brothers whilst practically still in leading strings, always knew everything about everyone. Never had it come in more handy than now.

As the dance ended, Sophie made an excuse of going for punch and hurried in Caroline’s direction.

“Well?” Sophie demanded the moment she reached Caroline. “Have they arrived?”

Caroline drew back in feigned shock, her eyes twinkling with good humor. “What? A rake of the first order arriving at a ball before midnight? It could not be!”

“He is a rake then, and unmarried?” Sophie let out a sigh of relief. An American would fit into her plan so much better than an Englishman. An American would return to his own country after all was said and done. He wouldn’t be a constant in English society, his every appearance starting up an old scandal again and again.

Caroline smiled. “Utterly and completely. According to my brother Ethan, this privateer has plundered more ships, seduced more women and amassed a greater fortune than any man alive, and James complained that he is handsome enough to make the ladies swoon!”

The sparkle in Caroline’s eyes dimmed as she studied Sophie. “Are you certain you want to go through with this? Your reputation, Sophie. Once it’s ruined, you shall never get that back. Your whole life, everything as you know it, will be gone. Why can’t you simply refuse? Lord Chelton cannot force you to the church, after all.”

Lord Chelton. Sophie hated to hear her Uncle Nathan called that. In her heart that title could only belong to her father, who had loved the village of Chelton and Stonecrest Manor more than anything--next to her, of course. And now his greedy brother held the title.

“Perhaps not force,” she replied, “but I cannot be on guard my every waking--and sleeping--moment. Indeed, while staying at my uncle’s town house I keep a chair under the doorknob at night for fear I will awaken to find Lord Harlech in my bed! Such conniving is not beneath my uncle’s character.”

A stab of conscience pricked Sophie, but she refused to let it linger. “I am doing this for Stonecrest and at no harm to anyone. Surely this American privateer won’t care about his reputation. Lord Harlech, on the other hand, will be so shocked by the scandal that he’ll certainly beg off before our betrothal is announced.”

He must, thought Sophie, desperation making her shiver, though the ballroom was growing warmer by the minute. Three weeks. That was all the time she had before Lord Harlech returned to London and the betrothal was announced. After that, it would be too late.

Caroline nodded her agreement. “From what I hear of Lord Harlech, his pride won’t permit him to marry a lady used and cast aside publicly by another man, especially if it becomes known that you threw yourself at the man. And this American has, no doubt, had plenty of women throwing themselves at him, yet he’s escaped the parson’s net--or noose, as Ethan likes to call it.” She rolled her eyes. “Therefore, we can safely assume he does not wish to give up his freedom.”

Sophie chuckled but it caught in her throat. Her servants and tenants, the villagers of Chelton. They were all depending on her and she could not let them down. She must not marry until after she turned one and twenty, when her dowry would be hers to do with as she pleased.

Caroline’s green eyes were shadowed with doubt. “What if your uncle bids you to marry him--the American?” she asked.

“Marry an American privateer?” Sophie scoffed. “My uncle would never force me to that. He cares as much about his rise in society as he does for money. I daresay a pirate in the family would ruin his reputation more than it would save mine.”

Caroline smiled. “This captain is a privateer. Lord Aster would never associate with a pirate.”

“Pirate, privateer.” Sophie shrugged. “Whatever else he is, he’s an America rake who surely can’t be forced into marriage with an English girl. I can’t see such a man being intimidated by the likes of Uncle Nathan with his perfect curls and lace-edged cravats.”

Sophie shivered again. How would she accomplish it? She had no idea. Everything she knew about ruined reputations came from a conversation between Caroline’s brothers when they had discussed the plight of a lady whose reputation had been ruined, leaving that lady, as Caroline’s brother David had said, “ripe for the plucking.” Whatever that meant.

And while neither Sophie nor Caroline had been certain exactly what the lady in question had done to be ruined, they knew it had involved a compromising situation with a rake who would not marry her.

She managed a weak smile. “I confess I haven’t worked everything out, but this American is the perfect pawn for my scheme, and the Bellingham county party offers the best opportunity to do the deed. You are certain they’ve accepted?”

Caroline nodded and linked her arm through Sophie’s. “I’m certain they’ve confirmed, and if you’re set on this, I shall help. At the very least I should be able to garner an introduction to the American from Lord Aster. That will make it easier for you to approach him next week. Oh, dear. Here comes Mama. Let’s try to guide her closer to the staircase where we will see our quarry the moment they arrive.”

As the girls moved away, a woman stepped out from behind one of the marble columns that flanked the length of ballroom. Lady Isabelle Foxworth hadn’t planned to eavesdrop, but once the conversation had begun, she could hardly have made her presence known. Besides, it had been a fascinating conversation, one she felt fortunate to have overheard.

“So Lady Sophia is plotting ruination,” she murmured to herself. It came as no surprise that Lord Chelton would try to marry off his niece to Lord Harlech, since there was much speculation among certain circles that Chelton had pledged the girl’s dowry against his debts. Lord Harlech was a man of many unpalatable secrets—secrets which Chelton had undoubtedly already uncovered, since blackmail was his game. Learning the young lady’s plans for the American privateer added a stimulating dimension to the entire affair.

Lady Foxworth smiled, anticipating the delights that the Bellingham party might hold in store. Yes, the situation would certainly bear watching.

The Livingston footmen fairly flew up the long walkway toward the Livingston townhouse entrance in their eagerness to put distance between them and the infamous American privateer. Neither wanted to test the validity of the stories circulating about Captain Derek Wainright, stories that involved the captain’s unsurpassed prowess with a blade—and his apparent willingness to use it whenever his temper was tested.

A good twenty feet behind them, Derek cast a sideways glance at his childhood friend, Stephen Thurston. As boys, the two had played together and even attended school together, though Stephen was two years younger and more of a follower than a member of Derek’s circle. During the years Derek spent in America, they exchanged only a few letters, but almost the moment Derek arrived back in England, they picked up their friendship as though it had never been interrupted.

Derek wasn’t surprised when Stephen insisted on being part of the scheme to uncover the ton-based smuggling gang Derek’s father had been investigating at the time of his death. Just as Stephen had wanted to be a part of every single one of Derek’s pranks during their school years, he wanted to be a part of this, too. But Derek had been surprised when Stephen first tried to talk him out of his masquerade, insisting it was too dangerous. Perhaps Stephen had grown up after all.

Well, so had Derek, and he assured Stephen this was no prank. If what he suspected was true, then the men Derek sought were not only guilty of smuggling and treason, but also of murder, at least of his father’s murder, and infiltrating the smuggling gang was the only way he could find out. Besides, Stephen’s fears that Derek would be recognized were unfounded. Derek had seen only family, servants and his solicitor since his arrival, and he bore no resemblance to that defiant boy who left England sixteen years ago. Also in his favor was the fact that he was known in England as Jonathan Wentworth. No one had ever called him by his middle name of Derek; he doubted that anyone even knew of it.

One of the footmen stumbled on the walk ahead and threw an anxious glance backwards as he righted himself, causing Derek’s lips to quirk with a smile. “He’s evidently heard your well-planted rumors,” he said to Stephen in a voice too low to be overheard.

Stephen chuckled softly. “Everyone has heard the rumors by now, I daresay. Gossip spreads through London faster than fire, as long as it’s whispered into the right ears. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if people were lined up, awaiting our arrival. Requests for introductions are sure to abound. It would help if I had some idea of the names mentioned in your father’s journal. Otherwise, we could waste a lot of time.”

“The less you know, the better for you,” Derek said firmly. “No one can suspect you of hiding anything if you’ve nothing to hide.”

“Ha! You don’t fool me. You’re worried I’ll let the cat out of the bag. You probably still think it was something I said that led to your getting caught in the Eton fiasco. Let me remind you I didn’t admit to my part until after you confessed.”

Derek smiled in memory of the incident when Stephen had carried a note from the Famous Four, as Derek and three of his cohorts had been called in school, to some young women at a nearby brothel. It had been an exciting experience, until the girls were caught in the boys’ room in the middle of the night.

“Well, there was little for you to admit to, and no punishment as I recall. You got to stay on at school and milk your newfound reputation for all it was worth, while we were banished forever.” Derek pushed away the thought that the Eton incident was also the reason he’d been sent to America, it being the “last straw” as his father had put it.

“Look, Stephen,” he said, his voice as earnest as his thoughts, “in case I haven’t said it, I want you to know how much I appreciate your help tonight. I owe this to my father. I should have been a better person, or a better son at least. If I had been, then maybe I’d have been here to help him with this situation instead of in America living my life as I damn well pleased.”

“You are too hard on yourself,” Stephen said quietly. “You were but a boy when he sent you away. If one of you should have made an overture, it was he, especially when you grew out of your childish pranks. There wasn’t an article to be read on shipbuilding that didn’t cite your name. He had to have been proud and he should have told you so.”

Derek assuaged the pain that always came with the reminder that his father never acknowledged a single one of his achievements. He understood his father’s anger over a son’s rebellious youth. Derek himself couldn’t explain what had driven him to that bad behavior, unless it was to get a tiny bit of the attention his father lavished on his younger brother Anthony. But hadn’t he gone on to prove his worth? Well, there was no point in thinking of that now—or ever again. Their relationship was what it was.

“Perhaps,” he replied to Stephen as they approached the wide marble steps. “But perhaps he wasn’t able to make amends. I shouldn’t take his character failings personally. As for this business, in his heart he was trying to do what was best for his country, and I mean to finish that job for him. So, from this point on, I become Captain Derek Wainright, American privateer. This ball is the perfect place to launch our drama. I can hardly wait for Act I to begin.”

“You’ll have to wait no longer,” Stephen said as they stepped through the double doors. “Take a deep breath, Captain Wainright; the drama begins.”

Derek took in his surroundings in one quick glance. Intricately-painted walls graced the oval entrance to the ballroom and finely crafted pieces of Hepplewhite furniture were scattered about. Above the music of the orchestra he could hear voices, laughter and the clinking of crystal. Now that the moment was upon him, he felt a tingle of excitement that he was finally putting his plan into action.

No one could find fault with his attire for it was as formal as Stephen’s, but the differences, some subtle and some not, were there. He had opted for skin-tight black trousers with shiny black Hessian boots, the latter being certain to set him apart from the aristocrats in their dancing pumps. His lawn shirt was practically transparent, denoting the fine quality of the cloth, and the simple tie of the cravat was an American style he much preferred over the immense, flowery bows worn by so many Englishmen. Forgoing the waistcoat, he sported only a black dresscoat, double-breasted and cut high in the front and with long tails in the back. His thick, longish dark hair was caught loosely in a black silk ribbon at the nape of his neck, a slightly outdated style, which, nevertheless, lent him a rakish air.

Stephen had chosen to dress more conservatively, for though Derek was to exhibit a devil-may-care attitude, it was imperative that Stephen maintain the appearance of respectable nobility as was expected of the Earl of Aster. While the ton might certainly enjoy the excitement of socializing with an American privateer, they would never do so without the pretense of respectability that Stephen’s position in society could offer. Stephen’s presence meant the difference between acceptance and ostracism and both men knew that.

The entrance hall opened onto a raised dais, and as Derek stepped closer he could see down the sweeping staircase into a crush of glittering guests against a backdrop perfectly suited to the event. The soft light from a thousand candles reflected back from the highly polished oak floor, casting a glow on the pale yellow damask wall coverings. The scene took him back in time.

He smiled, remembering his antics as a boy of fourteen, home after his last expulsion from school, when he had hidden under a serving table during a ball given by his parents at Dorrington Hall. He had passed the evening in rapturous delight, watching from underneath the tablecloth for tantalizing glimpse after glimpse of trimly-turned ankles. His fun ended quite abruptly when his father’s shoes appeared and the tablecloth was snatched up.

But the looks directed at him by some of the ladies as he slid out from under the table to his full height and strode arrogantly from the room had made the evening’s escapades and the punishment worthwhile. Even at that age he was aware of the ladies’ interest in a good physique. Lady Danders had winked at him in a most sultry manner when he nodded at her in passing. One week later she taught him the art of seduction.

Ah, the innocence of youth, he thought nostalgically. He turned his attention back to his surroundings and stepped up onto the dais for a better look.

As he glanced over the crowd, dark eyes under a fringe of red curls caught his gaze. Lord, she was a beauty—a pouty beauty. As he began to look away, he noticed the girl wetting her lips with her tongue ever so slowly, and he realized from her provocative stare that the performance was for his benefit. She was little more than a schoolgirl, but her expression told him that all of her experience hadn’t come from the schoolroom.

Remembering the rogue he was supposed to be, he returned her flirtatious gaze and then casually looked her up and down, lingering for a long moment on her breasts. Finally moving his gaze back to her face, he was amused to see that her skin had become the same shade as her hair. Yes, she was young. Young enough to think she could handle what she had started and much too young to go through with it. He gave a small shrug of boredom and looked away from her. It was then he realized he was the center of everyone’s attention.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Stephen hanging back, ensuring that nothing would distract the guests from their first look at the American privateer of whom they should have heard so much. And Stephen’s plan was working. Guests turned toward the staircase, conversations dropped to murmurs, and dancing couples slowed their movements as everyone stared unabashedly up at him.

Derek could guess at the thoughts of some of the women who stared boldly at his crotch, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t here for that. Then, as he began his descent down the staircase, something caught his eye. A glimpse of palest pink silk, the slender curve of a young woman’s gloved arm as she set a drink on an offered tray. He stopped and stared while the room fell into silence.

As guests followed the direction of his gaze, the hush gave way to whispers, but Derek was powerless to tear his eyes away from the lovely vision before him. He could not seem to move at all, and then he could not keep from moving in her direction. Many of the guests stepped back in confusion, giving him a clear path to the object of his attention. As the music of the orchestra died away to a few false notes, the whispers grew ever louder to a crescendo, and the vision in pink turned fully in his direction.

He was stunned by her pale, dark beauty. The translucent glow of white skin kissed by pink, the contrast of dark hair pulled up and back in a cascade of soft, silky waves, and the innocence of wide eyes graced by arched brows as gentle as doves’ wings, made her seem somehow totally vulnerable and completely untouchable at the same time. He knew it was improper behavior to approach her this way but he couldn’t stop himself. And then he realized he didn’t have to obey the dictates of English society.

With each step, there was a fresh assault to his senses. The girl’s gown was but a mere blush of color and he knew it signified her purity. But she needed no such symbol. No one could look upon her and not realize instantly that she had never known the touch of a man.

The soft glow of her skin, the full, slightly parted lips, the graceful curve of her neck that gave way to a fuller curve of young, firm breasts just waiting to be suckled. A moan escaped him as he stiffened with arousal.

The girl’s eyes were mesmerizing, and they pierced his soul. They were an amazing shade of blue—the startling blue of the cornflower fields at Dorrington Hall—and fringed with long, black lashes. There was no doubt he could lose himself in those eyes. They were so beautiful and huge and...scared.

Scared? She was scared? Her reaction baffled him, but even as he pondered the question, he realized she must have heard the rumors, or at the very least the whispers circulating around her now. From every direction he could hear the words seduction and plunder and fortune being bandied out. If she believed even half of what she must be hearing, she could swoon. From the look on her face it was entirely possible that she might.

Sophie stood frozen in place. The most magnificent looking man she had ever seen was headed straight in her direction. He had a splendid build from head to toe, displayed to perfection in expensively-cut, form-fitting clothes.

Tall, and undoubtedly strong, he moved with uncommon grace, yet he exuded a dangerous sensuality quite unlike any gentleman she had ever seen. She knew he must be the American captain that Caroline—indeed all of London—was gossiping about.

He commanded a certain respect simply by his countenance. It wasn’t merely his physical attributes that were so captivating, though his wide shoulders, narrow hips and trim waist were certainly exceptional ones. It was more his demeanor, the power that could be sensed simmering just beneath the surface. He looked to be a man who knew what he wanted and if need be, took it, though it was hard for her to imagine him being refused anything he desired.

His face was tanned and handsome, his jaw firm. His features denoted intelligence, determination, and more than a little arrogance. But it was his eyes that captivated her. His eyes were arresting, their intensity searing. He branded her with his stare.

Her heart hammered more with each step he took in her direction. She couldn’t swallow; she wasn’t even certain she was breathing. Her legs seemed to be both paralyzed and trembling wildly at the same time, and she wondered what had come over her while she sought to gain control of her emotions and her body. Never before had she reacted in such a manner to a man, but then, she had never before seen such a man as this.

Her mind was whirling. It was unbelievable that he would approach her this way, and there could be no doubt it was his intention. Had he no manners whatsoever? They had never been introduced. It was unthinkable. Her reputation would be in shreds. Even as the thought formed, she realized the irony of it, since ruining her reputation was what she wished to do.

He stopped but inches from her, his tall presence overpowering. There was a faint scent of wood-spiced cologne and starched linen and something else that she knew was his scent alone. His eyes had a ravenous look as though he had hungered for her all his life and was now about to sate that hunger. For the first time in her life she thought she might swoon.

“May I have the pleasure of a dance?” His voice, seductive and melodious, seemed to caress her, even as his eyes ravaged her. With a start she realized his eyes were gray—or were they silver? Whoever in the world had silver eyes?

She knew she should turn away, or at the very least, drop her gaze. For the life of her she could do neither. Instead, she felt an insane desire to reach out and touch him, to assure herself that he was real. What in God’s name had come over her?

At that moment she was startled to hear another voice say, “Ladies, what a pleasure to see you again. May I present my friend, Captain Derek Wainright. Captain Wainright, may I present Lady Sophia Barrick and Lady Caroline Wharton.”

Sophie jerked her gaze from the American captain to see Lord Aster standing beside him. Where he had come from she had no idea, but judging from the harried look on his face, he must have raced like the dickens to reach them in time for introductions. A moment passed before she realized that Caroline, whose face was lit up with excitement, would not break convention and speak first, she being the younger of the two girls.

Sophie forced her mind to the situation. Trying desperately to gain her voice, she began with a croak, “Yes, Captain Aster...I mean, er...Lord Wainright...oh, my goodness...” Her voice gave way to embarrassed silence as her face flushed with heat.

Before she could think or say a thing, the American pulled her onto the dance floor as the orchestra began to play. She knew the eyes of every guest in the ballroom were upon her and consequently she stumbled, stepping soundly on his foot.

The privateer raised a dark brow, his silvery eyes glinting with amusement. “Ouch. I hope you don’t mean to trod on my toes throughout the dance, this being my first one and all,” he said. “I do need to keep them in good order for the rest of the night.” He smiled down at her, all roguish good looks and easy manner, as she stared up at him, tongue-tied. “Come now. I can’t be as bad as all that,” he went on. “I won’t ravish you here on the dance floor, whatever you may have heard of me. But if I did, you just might enjoy it.”

Sophie gasped. Of all the impudence! Just who did he think he was, this American privateer? How dare he speak to her in such a manner.

She glared at him and summoned her iciest tone of voice. “I doubt if you were to ravish me on this floor that I would enjoy it, Captain. I am hardly an exhibitionist, and I prefer to take my pleasures in private.” There. Let him think about that. Of all the arrogant conceit. But wait; she mustn’t drive him away, not if she wished to ruin her reputation. Confound it! Why couldn’t she think straight?

“You’re a woman after my own heart,” said the privateer, “but I would never have imagined that you were thinking what I was thinking.” He dropped his gaze to the sight of her breasts, which were fairly bursting from the neckline of her gown with every breath she took.

“Oh! You...you...” Sophie was aghast. Did the man actually believe she wished to be alone with him or was he only pretending to mistake her meaning? As she put her mind to a retort, she realized he was maneuvering her closer and closer to the terrace doors.

She tried to think. An unlit terrace with a privateer might be exactly the thing. Or should she create a scandal by leaving him on the dance floor? No, that wouldn’t be scandalous enough to deter Lord Harlech from marriage, but it might cause her aunt to cancel further invitations. Oh, for goodness sake. She was not cut out for this scheming. If only he would stop looking at her as though he planned to gobble her up, she might be able to decide. “Sir, please do not think—”

“That’s the good thing about me. I try not to think at all. I just do,” he drawled as he expertly danced her through the open doors and onto the darkened terrace.

The moment they were out of sight of the others, he stopped dancing and pulled her into his arms in a crushing embrace, his lips capturing hers in a devouring kiss that left her weak and wanting more. His kiss gentled as his lips strayed to the softness of her cheek, her neck, her ear, his breath warm and urgent against her skin. He groaned, his hands slipping down to cup her bottom, lifting her up, rocking her gently against him. The kiss became ardent as he once again claimed her lips, running his tongue lightly between them, until they parted of their own volition, giving him access to the recesses of her mouth.

Sophie’s entire body was a mass of shivers and she wanted the feeling to never end. She wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life. She knew it was scandalous, and she didn’t care. She wished he would take her there, then, not knowing exactly what that meant, but knowing that whatever it was, she wanted it. Badly.

Behind them came the sound of someone clearing his throat. It hardly registered with Sophie, but the privateer began to release her, sliding her against his full, hard length. Sophie fought him, tried to hold on, and pressed herself against him, not wanting the tantalizing sensations to end.

He chuckled. “You’re a passionate little girl, aren’t you? I do believe you weren’t telling the truth when you said you wouldn’t want me to ravish you on the ballroom floor.”

Hearing the smugness of his tone, Sophie’s ardor dissipated as embarrassment and shame replaced lust. Lightning-fast she raised her hand and slapped him hard across the face.

“It would appear I arrived just in time,” Lord Aster said as he hastened to them. “Please forgive my associate, Lady Sophia, for he is unfamiliar with English society.”

The expression on Lord Aster’s face was kind, if a little sheepish. Behind him she saw Caroline, standing in the shadows.

“We followed you out immediately,” he said. “Let’s hope no damage has been done. Lady Caroline will escort you back inside. If you would like a few moments to recover, the captain and I will hurry around to the other side and make our entrance. Your reputation should not suffer on his account.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Sophie’s trembling voice was almost a whisper. She was still shocked by the captain’s actions and by her response, and she was desperately trying to shake off the feelings, to regain some control.

The American bowed low, and with a knowing look said, “Till we meet again, my lady, and I’m sure we both hope that will be soon.”

Caroline was instantly at her side. “My goodness,” Caroline whispered as soon as the men departed. “I suspect you’ve made quite a stir inside. I daresay there are men who will look at you differently now that you’ve been singled out by the infamous Captain Wainright. Come now, you must give it up. How does he kiss? Was it wonderful?”

Sophie stamped her foot again, infuriated by her response to the captain and by Caroline’s questions as well. “Is that all you can think about?” she blurted out. “He-he stood here and took advantage of me and all you can do is ask if his kiss was wonderful?” Sophie glared at Caroline, realizing how ridiculous she sounded in light of her scheme, but she was unable to quell her anger. Then Caroline began to giggle and so did she, as an almost-hysterical silliness overtook her other emotions. A moment later they were both gasping for air.

“You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted,” Caroline said, wiping a tear from her eye. “He can’t be forced to marry you, and he certainly doesn’t care if he ruins your reputation. As you said, he’s perfect.”

Sophie sobered up at Caroline’s words. In the back of her mind was a niggling apprehension. Somehow she didn’t think this captain the type of man to be used in anyone’s scheme. Quickly reviewing her sketchy plans for ruination, she tried to imagine any possible way things could go awry, but she could not foresee it. Still, the uneasy feeling persisted.

“I don’t know, Caroline. I’m worried. He doesn’t seem the type to be duped. And we never discussed the compromising situation. Shall I have to be ravished by him or shall I devise a way to make it appear so?”

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to be ravished by the American, she thought. It was an experience she might never have otherwise, if she truly never married, and the man was very handsome and exciting. Would it be so bad if she had to actually seduce him to be caught? At least she would find out what all the talk—or rather, secrecy—was about.

Caroline laughed as she smoothed Sophie’s hair into place. “My dear, you are a delight. We’ll see. If you must be ravished, then you must. But for now, let’s go back inside. I fear Mama and your aunt are calling for hartshorn by now.”