Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

“ W hat in God’s name were you thinking,” Morgan hissed, pulling his hand away from Helena’s mouth as though it had scorched him.

He grabbed her by the hand, ignoring the way his palm exploded with heat from her touch, and all but dragged her into a nearby room.

“I beg your pardon!” Helena hissed back as she fought against his grip. “Who are you to…oh good heavens, Morgan?!”

The anger in her voice transformed into genuine surprise as he pulled off his mask, and even through hers he could see the dread fill her expression.

“What are you doing here?”

From the nearest sconce Morgan pulled away the red votive, flooding the room with a soft yellow glow so that they could see one another better. It was a mistake, as the dim red lights that once hid some of her sensual features brought out the best of them. Her stunning blue eyes, the fullness of her black-painted lips, and the swell of her bosom as it threatened to escape from her dress.

A carnal and deep hunger unleashed in him as he scanned his eyes down the lithe body of his best friend’s little sister. He was immediately filled with hot shame, not because of what he had intended to do, but with whom he had intended to do it. With significant effort, he dragged his eyes away from her and shrugged out of his coat and held it out to her at arm’s length.

“Honeysuckle,” he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief, “I knew I recognized that perfume from somewhere.”

Helena paled even more as she pulled off her mask, using it to cover a small expanse of her tempting bosom.

“Here,” he insisted, shaking his jacket at her, “Put it on so that we may speak without further distraction.”

He glanced at her once more and watched as a gorgeous pout formed on her lips and her delicate brows creased into a frown.

“Why must I put that on?” she asked defiantly. “You had no trouble speaking to me a few moments ago.”

“Yes, well…that was different!” He stammered like a young, unseasoned buck. He had seen other women in much less, and yet…

“Put that damned thing on, Helena, and tell me why you are here,” he commanded. “Does your brother know you are here? Of course not. God, he is going to lose his mind if he finds out. I know you watched the couple on the settee. What else did you see?”

“Now, just you wait a moment!” Helena shot back.

She took the jacket with an aggressive tug, shooting her arms through the large sleeves with emphasis, and pulled it tightly around her.

“This is none of my brother’s business or yours, and you have no right telling him I was here.”

Morgan let out an annoyed laugh as he shook his head, finally turning his gaze back to her. His jacket swallowed her tiny figure, making her appear more adorable than he had ever seen her. He groaned internally at the sight and rubbed his face. Not her. Not mine. Wrong. So, so wrong.

“Oh, I am certainly not the one that will be confessing to Ambrose about this, Helena,” he laughed darkly. “You see, I value my life, and if I was to be the one to deliver this news, I would surely lose it at the end of his pistol barrel.”

A look of relief spread across her face, and she took a deep breath.

“Exactly. You did not see me and I did not see you, so we are both free to go on our merry ways without any discord.”

She attempted to remove his jacket, but in an instant he was towering over her, his hands clasped tightly around the lapels to prevent her from doing so.

“You still have not answered my question, Helena,” he said, meeting her annoyed gaze with his own. “Do you have any idea how dangerous parties like this are? You said you simply wanted a kiss, but the men who attend these things are devilishly convincing. Most here have trained to be masters in the art of seduction. You could have walked out of here experiencing much more than your first kiss.”

To his surprise, Helena chortled and rolled her eyes.

“You would know all about that, would you not?” she taunted, her black lips forming into a wicked smile. “I do not know why I did not predict that I would find you here. Of course you would be. The illustrious Lord of Seduction . Many men take on lovers but not like you. You are a vile species all on your own.”

“I know exactly who I am, you need not remind me,” Morgan countered.

He was well acquainted with his reputation but did nothing to negate it. His appetites ran deep and there was no shortage of women that wanted him to feast on them. Although the virgin requirement was more hearsay, he could not deny the satisfaction he felt when women asked him to be their guide into the world of carnal pleasure. He knew who he was and held no shame about it; if only because he had never once needed to force himself upon a woman.

His mind suddenly flashed with the image of Helena pressed up against the hallway wall with his hand around her throat. Her breaths had been so soft, so full of anticipation. Had she not spoken he would have taken her.

“You must leave,” he insisted, releasing his hold on the jacket and taking a step back.

This was not right. Even if on some level he wished he had never recognized her voice, this could not happen. Not with him. Not with anyone else. Helena was not just a lady. She was a good woman who did not need to become mixed up in such debauchery.

“You will get in your carriage, you will go home, you will take off this- this—” his eyes swept down her form once more and he nearly groaned aloud, “this wicked dress and burn it. You will wipe that dark paint from your lips and cheeks, and you will lay your pretty head on your pillow and pretend this was all a dream. Then, when you wake up, you will swath yourself in your normal pretty pink gown and you will never come here again. Am I clear?”

To his surprise, Helena’s hands shot out and shoved at his chest as her beautiful face scrunched up with pure fury.

“How dare you give me orders!” she hissed defiantly. “If I was Ambrose’s little brother you would not command such things from me. You would be clapping me on my back and pointing me towards the nearest willing woman.”

While it was true that Morgan did not find the standards of their society fair, he was not about to agree with her on the fact.

“Do not be so brattish, Helena. You will leave here of your own volition or I will gag you, tie you, and take you out myself,” Morgan warned, his voice dangerously low.

He pressed his eyes shut at the thought, silently cursing himself for putting such an erotic image into his own head and took another step back.

“You are as bad as him!” Helena spat, tearing his jacket from her arms. She gathered it up into a messy ball, slammed it down onto the floor, and stomped on it angrily with one foot.

Morgan bit back his retort as she slid her mask back on, doing nothing to disguise her anger — and with muttered curses — she opened the door and stormed away.

“Christ in heaven,” Morgan muttered, bracing his hands upon his hips as he watched her leave.

He was as hard as marble from their spat and he hated himself for it. This was Helena! In a way, she was a little sister to all four of them. The little beam of pink light in the darkness that had poured over their lives. And yet, here she was at the Devil’s Masquerade as though the place existed just for her.

Morgan’s thoughts were interrupted as the door opened and he whirled around, ready to carry out his earlier threat to Helena for daring to return. Disappointment welled in him as he saw Hecate step into the room alone.

She cocked her head to the side, a seductive smile forming on her lips as she pointed towards the one light without its red votive.

“No mask and actual light?” she mused, strutting towards him. “I thought we had planned on meeting in the Spartan room?”

Morgan quickly gathered himself, reapplied his usual carefree smile and pulled his mask back on before replacing the red votive over the small yellow flame.

“We are,” he agreed, pushing thoughts of Helena from his mind. “You caught me in a private moment of adjustment. My mask faltered.”

To him it was a clear lie, but Hecate simply shrugged at his excuse and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Perhaps you should keep your mask off, Your Grace,” she purred, pressing her body tightly against his. “No disguise is as handsome as your face, unlike some of the others here.”

Morgan ignored the sudden urge to pull her away from her. There were rules to the Devil’s Masquerade. Masks and anonymity were a must. Even if individuals were able to recognize the face and title behind the costume.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, my lady” he said, barely able to put feeling into the words. “But the mask stays on. Now come, we have an appointment with your friends, do we not? We must not disappoint them.”

Cheeks burning with embarrassment, eyes pricking with tears from an emotion she could not understand, Helena made her way back to the main room of the party and found Teresa. Jealousy and self-pity filled her as she spotted her friend in the white-masked man’s lap, their lips firmly locked together.

Teresa had been the one to object, yet she had been the only one to receive the desired kiss. Helena tamped down her disappointment as she walked over and tapped Teresa on the shoulder. It took her friend a long moment to pull herself away from the man’s lips, and even then, it seemed to take a moment longer for Teresa to recognize her.

“Hel— oh, I mean, Nyx,” she panted, touching a fingertip to her bruised lips. “There you are. Did you find who you were looking for?”

“I did not,” she stated, her tone harsher than intended as she tugged at Teresa to get out of the man’s lap. “Come, we must leave. There is no one here I wish to kiss.”

Helena was vaguely aware that she had just lied, but she ignored it.

Teresa pouted but remained seated in the man’s lap.

“Whatever is the matter?”

“If it is a kiss you are looking for my little Nyx, I would be happy to help,” the man in the white mask offered, smiling at her seductively.

In his lap Teresa blushed and giggled before she said, “he is quite good at it, Nyx . ”

Nyx. The Goddess of Night in Greek Mythology. Helena knew the legend well, but she had the sudden urge to correct them. If her moniker was to be anything, it was the one Morgan had given her. Persephone. She shook her head, pushing the thought away and said, “thank you for your um, kind offer, but no. We really must be leaving now.”

“It was a pleasure,” the man said to Teresa, sealing one more kiss of Teresa’s lips before she was pulled out of his lap.

“And more,” Teresa sighed dreamily, wiggling her fingers at him as Helena began to pull her towards the foyer.

“What has gotten into you?” Teresa asked once they were back in Helena’s carriage.

“Nothing,” Helena lied, taking off her mask and chucking it to the carriage floor. “I just…realized how silly and useless this all was.”

Teresa studied her a moment and asked her again what had happened, but Helena would not speak. She could not, for if she did, the tears that filled her eyes and had swollen her throat shut would surely spill.

Morgan. How, of all the men in all the private parties, had she been drawn to Morgan? She had known him her entire life, and to her he had always been the trickster; the sarcastic member of the bunch. Throughout her teen years, he had always been the one who would first make her angry, then make her laugh despite her anger. Morgan was the thoughtless but charming Peter Pan of the group.

How had he made her feel such things? Helena’s body clenched in longing as her mind flashed back to the way she had drunk wine from his lips, and she felt a tear slip through her barrier of stubbornness and down her cheek. The worst part was that she found herself longing for him to make her feel that way again.