Chapter 5

Five

WAYLAND'S, LONDON - JUNE 5, 1816

CELINE

I had never been devoured before, kissed with the single-minded determination this man possessed. He kissed with his whole body, with his entire soul.

It was nothing like the simple press of lips I had intended. I had never, ever been so thrilled to be wrong. There was a clumsy eagerness to his movements that revealed his inexperience, but I could not bring myself to care. The lack of finesse was charming, flattering, arousing. What could this man do with a bed and a direction or two?

Gabriel had always kissed me with intent. He had a purpose to make me feel loved, desired, teased, desperate for him. I adored every single kiss. Even now, I guarded their memory like precious gems, taking them out one by one to admire as needed.

Everything about this was different, but it was every bit as wonderful. He was completely out of control, wrecked. This kiss stole my breath and refused to return it. That was all right, I had no need of it.

Distracted by his raw, unpracticed passion, my hand slipped from his impossibly sharp cheekbone, hidden from sight but not touch by his mask. I traced down his neck to press against his chest, above his pounding heart. And oh, what a chest. Those middling fabrics hid defined, taut muscles. Muscles that flexed and pulled against my hands as he worshiped me with his hands, with his lips.

How was it possible that a man who looked like that and kissed like this , was unwed, unattached, seemingly unwanted?

My feet protested the extended time on my toes and I dropped down to the ground. He followed for a moment, seemingly content to kiss me forever, before pulling back slightly. His shocking blue eyes met mine, searching for permission to continue. Oh, he had it, just as soon as my heart returned to a reasonable tempo.

"I think it's safe to say there is a physical attraction as well." My smile was weak but only because my head was too flustered to ensure cooperation of my muscles. "Slow down a moment, I need to catch my breath. You need to catch your breath."

His answering smile was sheepish, and I could make out the hint of a flush slipping down his neck. The boyish eagerness and reaction belied his countenance.

He was my age, perhaps a few years older if I could judge by the few gray strands peppering his ash finger-tousled curls. His lower lip was full and reddened by my attentions, the upper nearly nonexistent.

His eyes still captivated. His pupils were blown with the effects of our tryst. But he stared at me with something akin to awe. The shade had something of the midnight sky on a night when the moon was more of a suggestion than a presence.

No one had ever looked at me with such an expression of reverence, of naked wonderment. The sensation was heady. I could become addicted. Something about those eyes, that expression…

A spark of familiarity flashed. It nearly took flight before fizzling out when he determined that we'd enjoyed more than enough breathing and crashed his lips to mine once again.

He was more confident this time. He took charge, chasing the sensations he wanted, and oh, it was incredible. I had not felt like this, this aching need forming inside me from a mere kiss since perhaps that first.

Since Gabriel.

I brushed aside the thought of my late husband in favor of tangling my fingers in soft curls.

Somehow, without my notice, he managed to press me back against the stone balustrade of the balcony. The soft perfume of hyacinths below wrapped around us, mixed with his herbal, woody scent in a way that should have been discordant but instead balanced into something enticing.

In spite of his seeming desire to devour me, his hands remained respectfully on my waist, and my jaw. Only occasionally did they slip to my neck. He had taken care with my coiffure and gown.

The part of me that was equally desperate for him wanted them higher, lower, anywhere less appropriate and more thrilling. But the minuscule pieces of my heart and head still processing anything beyond sensation gave a pleased flip at the care he was displaying. The deference he offered, even half lost to passion, was sweet.

It was a wonder we had not been interrupted. Between his infrequent, gasping breaths, and my unrestrained moans, we weren't quiet. The curtains covering the French doors could not possibly be sufficient to conceal the silhouette of our tangled forms. But I couldn't bring myself to care overmuch.

My fingers fisted in his hair in response to the nip he gave my lower lip. It was the only distraction I could offer them. They itched to untie his cravat, shove his overcoat off those muscular shoulders and strip him bare before me.

Voices from inside rose in unison, penetrating our sanctuary, ripping his lips from mine.

"Ten, nine, eight…" Midnight. The unmasking.

The realization that I was having this revelation with a nameless stranger ought to be shameful. I was too wrecked for such thoughts, though.

Navy eyes sought mine, seeking guidance, permission.

Offering a half-hearted shrug, my fingers found the fabric knotted on the back of his head. The ends were tangled in the curls I had thoroughly mussed in my enthusiasm.

In response, his hands found the ribbon holding on my mask.

"Three, two, one!"

Two simple tugs, one each from each of us.

That was all it took to douse the flames, to fill my veins with ice and crush my heart in a single punishing grip.

It took him longer, ten seconds, perhaps fifteen, for realization to set in, for the ecstatic wonder to fade with recognition.

I was face to face with the man who murdered my husband.