A Masked Deception

Devin had known Brampton Court since childhood, almost as well as he knew his father's estate. He knew where there was a path through those nearby trees leading to the lake half a mile distant. And he knew that a little way into the trees was a small lily pond, with a rustic bench close by. Given the picturesque setting and the moonlight and the glow from the lanterns, which would extend that far, he felt that he had a good chance to find out if Charlotte's affections could be reclaimed from Charles Adair.

Charlotte also knew about the lily pond and the bench; she had been at the court for a few weeks. She also knew that it was not proper to go walking with a man unchaperoned in such a place. But it was a night when many of the rules seemed to have been relaxed. She allowed herself to be led.

They walked among the trees and immediately entered a different world. Lantern light and starlight were filtered darkly through the high branches; the sounds of music, voices, and laughter, though not blocked out, were muted. Everywhere was the smell of wood and leaves.

Devin held his arm close to his side, Charlotte's trapped beneath it. They became more and more aware of each other, their soft footsteps and the faint rustle of her gown the only nearby sounds. By unspoken consent, neither of them said a word. The pond was not far into the trees. Devin would not have been so indiscreet as to lead her far from the company.

When they reached the small clearing, Charlotte detached her arm from Devin's and sat down on the bench. He seated himself beside her and took her hand in his. They sat so for a few minutes.

"Miss Wells-Charlotte, did I embarrass you this afternoon?" he asked finally, breaking the silence with an abrupt and nervous voice.

"In the race?" she asked, raising her eyes to him. "That was not your fault, sir. It was just Charles being mischievous."

"Would not for the world cause you pain," he said, and when she kept her eyes lowered to her lap, he raised her hand to his lips.

Charlotte looked up at him, her lips parting in unconscious invitation.

"I always knew that," she whispered, and waited in terror and excitement for the inevitable.

Devin kept hold of her hand as he lowered his head to hers and took her lips in a slow kiss. Charlotte became suddenly aware that she was gripping his hand very tightly. She released it and his lips with a little "Oh!" of surprise. They looked into each other's eyes for a few moments; then it was Charlotte who put her arms up around his neck and invited his second kiss, deeper and more fervent than the first. She pillowed her head contentedly on his shoulder when he lifted his head again, and waited expectantly for his declaration. He kissed her temple, her ear, her neck where it joined her shoulder, her throat.

"Tell me you have been only flirting with Charles Adair," he murmured finally, laying his cheek against the soft curls on top of her head.

"Flirting?" Charlotte's body stiffened slightly. Any man who had been more into the petticoat line than Devin Northcott would have immediately recognized the danger signs. Devin was in blissful ignorance.

"You are young and devilish pretty," he continued, ru

"I am much obliged to you, sir," Charlotte cried, tearing herself out of his arms and rising from the bench in order to sink into a deep curtsy in front of him. "What charming compliments. I am young and pretty. I beg your pardon, "devilish' pretty, I believe you said. And I am a flirt? And you forgive me, sir? You are not even angry with me? I do wish you had chosen a less dusty spot for these charming declarations, Mr. Northcott, for I feel I should sink to my knees and kiss your feet in gratitude." Her voice was quite shrill by this time.

Devin was by now also on his feet. "Charlotte, my dear," he said aghast, reaching out a hand to her, "believe me, I did not mean-"

"That I am young and devilish pretty? Oh, make no apology, sir. I know it was the night and the moonlight that made you speak so foolishly."

"Charlotte, I-"

"Want a little more flirtation, sir? My apologies, but you have had your quota for tonight. I must rush back to the ball and find more young men to flirt with." She turned with a rustle of skirts and started toward the pathway.

Devin grasped her by the arm and jerked her around, none too gently, to face him. "Charlotte, will you stop behaving like a child and listen to me?" he began, not too wisely.

"Sir, do children flirt?" she asked icily, tossing her head.

"No, but they sometimes get a good thrashing," he parried, matching ice with ice.

"Threats, Mr. Northcott?" Charlotte asked disdainfully.

Devin expelled an exasperated breath. "Women! Deuced if I can understand them," he said.

"Might I suggest that you not even try, sir?" she suggested.

"Miss Wells," he said with a formal bow, having built up a fresh supply of ice, "allow me to escort you back to your friends." He extended his arm, which she ignored. Back straight, shoulders back, chin high, and heart crying in mortal agony, Charlotte stalked along the wooded path ahead of him until they reached open ground. Before Devin could take his leave of her, she was in the midst of a gay crowd of young people, her hand being eagerly solicited for the next country dance.

Lord Brampton had also succeeded in getting the partner of his choice for the second waltz of the evening. For hours, it seemed, he had spent his energies on ensuring that his tenants and his guests were enjoying themselves. He felt no guilt now in devoting himself to his own pleasures. He took his wife in his arms and let the music create its own rhythm in their bodies. She was a divine dancer; he had noticed that on previous occasions. She was so light on her feet, so tiny and slender, so receptive to the guidance of her partner, that a man could relax and lose his fear of treading on her toes or the hem of her gown, or of losing her altogether on an intricate turn.

Brampton held his wife quite close. In the semi-darkness of his own garden and in the midst of people who were bent on having a good time rather than eyeing one another for food for gossip, he did not care if he was being slightly improper. He held her so that their bodily vibrations touched, even if their bodies did not. He noticed with interest and some hope that she made no effort to put a greater distance between them. After a few minutes, in fact, they were both lost to their surroundings, aware only of each other and of the new and fragile rapport between them.

Brampton was brought back to earth when he found himself staring into the toothy grin of one of his younger tenants. The lad yelled over the sounds of the music and the conversation, "We'm hopin' you does this every year, your lordship."

Brampton gri

He looked down into his wife's quiet face. "Do you have any pressing duties to perform after this dance, my dear? Shall we walk up into the rose garden? I believe we might find some solitude there."

Margaret was surprised, though she did not show her feelings. "It would be good to get away from the press of people for a while, Richard," she said. She took his arm and leaned on him as they strolled from the dance floor up the sloping lawn toward the house, past the refreshment tables, where they smiled and nodded to friends, and finally angled off into the rose garden.

It was one area that had not been lit for the evening. Brampton knew that it was a favorite spot of his wife's. He had not wanted it to become public property on that evening. But it was still an area of great beauty. The heady perfume of roses hung on the night air. Bushes and blooms were caught by the moonlight and the fountain of water spouting from the mouth of a fat and naked cherub and falling into a stone basin sparkled.