Chapter Eight

The Masque

The Masque took place in the Grand Hall of the Great Castle.

The Grand Hall was a fantastical space, made even more so by the decorations that teams of maids had worked on around the clock, busily hanging this and assembling that. All three of the chandeliers, which swung gently from the high roof, were fully lit, blazing with candlelight that reflected from mirrors and glittering gold fittings. The space appeared as a fairytale, and seemed almost to be populated by fairies.

The nobles of the court had decked themselves out with an eye to imagination and whimsy. Old men suddenly regained their youth as they dressed as satyrs and pixies, lighter on their feet than they had been for thirty years. Pursed-lipped matrons who disapproved of anything as familiar as a smile, embraced the freedom of anonymity, winking coquettishly from behind a mask and dancing happily with men twenty years their junior. Hardline priests forgot their vows, enemies became friends, friends became lovers and the whole scene seethed with a drink-fueled bonhomie. The costumes, and particularly the masks, encouraged fun and freedom. Do what you wanted; drink to excess; eat like a pig; dance with whoever you pleased; sneak a forbidden kiss—no one would know it was you because it wasn't you, it was the costume.

And tomorrow it would all be meaningless.

I could immediately tell that the atmosphere greatly appealed to Prince Balduin, because it was the way in which he lived life every day, and for once he was not being judged for it. And, as far as I could tell, Nicolo was enjoying it too, albeit in a much more restrained fashion—which wasn't much of a surprise. I could well imagine how Nicolo felt—for once, he wasn't ‘The Unbreakable', for tonight he was someone else, someone who wasn't feared. The queue of court ladies keen for a dance with the man of foul reputation demonstrated this. Yes, it would be terrifying to be married to the man—if so, you would become a target overnight—but to dance with him was a dangerous fantasy come true.

"Just to get the question out of the way now and apologies for dashing your hopes, but I shall not be dancing with you," Nicolo had explained to me a day earlier. "The differences in our social status would make that quite impossible."

I was schooled enough by the Guild not to allow my ego to get in the way of my better sense and chose not to be offended. Instead, I simply nodded and with a smile responded, "Of course, Master."

"I do not wish to offend you with that pronouncement, but things are as they are."

"I am not offended, Master," I answered, wondering why he'd brought the subject up at all. It wasn't as though I'd imagined he would dance with me—our acquaintanceship hadn't brought us to such a familiar place yet, if ever.

"Regardless, I wish you to enjoy yourself," Nicolo continued, eyeing me speculatively, though I wasn't sure why.

"Very well."

He nodded. "That means you have my full permission to dance with anyone you fancy."

"Thank you, sir."

"Anyone with whom it is appropriate , I mean," he immediately corrected himself. "Other squires, for example."

"The other squires hate me." This was because I was a woman, because I'd been a servant, because I worked for Nicolo—they had many reasons.

"That is unfortunate," said Nicolo in a very unconcerned, dismissive manner. "I can't immediately think of anyone else you could dance with, unfortunately." By his response, he didn't at all seem concerned by this. "But I hope you still have a good time."

"Thank you, sir."

***

From the sidelines, I watched the whirl of glittering people, moving to the orchestra, hazy with alcohol, giddy with laughter. Was that a Duchess dancing with a scholar? Everyone was well aware that before the night was over, there would be many a hasty and fevered coupling on a quiet divan or up against the wall in an empty room. Masks on at all times, of course.

Although I'd been relegated to the status of wallflower, I was quite enjoying the night. And I had certainly not gone unnoticed. Yes, I'd been left alone thus far, but there had not been a set of male eyes in the room that hadn't found their way to me—and remained for a touch too long.

Even though I wanted nothing more than to join the revelers in the center of the dance floor, I knew my station. So, I continued to remind myself that this might be an opportunity for me to do the job I was sent here to do. On a night like this, people let their guard down and it might very well prove to be the only night they did. Yes, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if it was quickly becoming a case of now or never.

Killing Nicolo… right.

I had noticed in the last couple of weeks that my reason for being here had begun to grow cloudy. As I grew more comfortable with my position of squire and more comfortable with Nicolo, in general, it was almost as if I'd forgotten the reason I'd been sent here in the first place.

I was here on a mission and that mission did not include becoming Master Nicolo's squire. It sometimes felt as if the job had gotten the better of me—that I'd gotten caught up in the act and was feeling some of the emotions I was supposed to be faking. The line between what was real and what wasn't was becoming very blurred.

What is real is that as soon as you assassinate Nicolo, you will return to the Guild and await your next mission, I told myself.

Yes, exactly. This was just a job, nothing more.

After the quick discussion with myself, I was much firmer in my resolve, sure of my focus.

As I watched, Nicolo accepted the hand of a graceful and elegant lady of the court, her dress clinging to her body to such an extent, it might have been painted onto the voluptuous contours.

I hated her instantly. And then I had to wonder as to why I disliked her so vehemently.

Because she's so scantily clad and hanging on Nicolo to such an extent, she embarrasses her title.

But, no, that wasn't quite it.

Hmm, I'm jealous.

You can't be jealous! I barked back at myself. You're an assassin!

Not wanting to face the truth in my own words, I decided to, instead, observe the room as I fought my thoughts back. Not surprisingly, my gaze returned to Nicolo as he expertly whisked the garish woman around the dance floor.

Gauthier had made Nicolo's costume and it was that of a well-dressed demon. His choice was a humorous one since there were rumors that a demon was exactly what he was—this was simply his way of flaunting that rumor in everyone's face. Frankly, the clothing covering his body wasn't far from what he would have worn to any other party, but the red satanic mask, complete with horns, set the rest of the ensemble off well. Somehow, it suited him.

Mask or not, it was impossible not to recognize the tall, strongly built figure, and the fine ladies of the court gravitated to him, daring each other to dance with the devil. I was quite sure all of them hoped to be the one Nicolo took back to his room later, for a night of consequence-free passion. Then, in the morning, she would tell her friends she had no idea who was behind the mask and how scared she'd been and how the whole thing had been terrible yet wonderful.

But none of them would have their way.

I'd already decided with whom Nicolo would be spending the night.

Me.

Well, only until I killed him, that is. And if I could escape the night with my maidenhead still intact, all the better.

Speaking of the demon, he looked my way, not for the first time, and I fluttered a fan in front of my face (which was something court ladies were supposed to do) as I looked away and played ennui. A thrill stole through me when I glanced back in his direction and found his eyes still fixed on me, even as he danced with another woman. At first, his expression had been one of slight recognition—as though he knew my face but couldn't quite place me. The second time he sought me out, there was sudden understanding and then his expression darkened into one of anger and insult.

And that expression was to be expected, given the fact that I hadn't worn the Harlequin costume he'd picked out for me. In secret and on a morning Nicolo had given me free reign to do as I liked, I'd gone to Gauthier and lied, telling him Nicolo had had a change of heart and wished for me to pick out my own gown, something more feminine and closer to what the fine ladies of the court would be wearing.

Yes, it had been a very large risk and no I hadn't been caught. Until now, at least.

As regards the gown, it was turquoise in color (‘ Aquamarine ' according to Gauthier), and it fit my body like a glove. It didn't seek to enhance or flaunt, but merely presented, as if to say; This is what she's got, surely that's enough? Knowing Nicolo's own costume plans, I'd asked Gauthier to theme the garment around the mythological story of Taira, who was said to have been condemned to hell for her unfemale lechery, but escaped by seducing the devil himself. My mask reflected this; a beautiful but wicked woman. It covered the top half of my face, but owing to my nose and mouth which were revealed, I was still recognizable—at least to Nicolo. Actually, come to think of it, no one else had recognized me; at least, I didn't think they had.

My hair was done up atop my head in a series of intersecting tendrils, with a few dropped down to frame my face. And my face… well, it was the only time I'd painted it—rouge on my cheeks, stain on my lips and powder on my cheeks. Around my eyes I'd applied kohl liner and I'd painted my eyelashes to make them appear even longer than they already were. Bother I had the mask to content with.

Nicolo finished his dance with the other woman and quite brutishly left her to her own defenses as he stalked across the dance floor to me, his eyes blazing and a deeply pronounced frown marring his otherwise handsome face.

Hmm, perhaps I'd gone too far.

"You've gone too far," he growled as soon as he reached me.

"Are you not enjoying yourself out there, on the dance floor, Master?" I asked as I fanned my face and feigned innocence. "You are quite the dancer, I must admit, sir ."

His eyes narrowed on me and he took a step closer. "I was enjoying myself until I recognized you and now I'm not enjoying myself at all."

"Pity," I started, a huge grin overtaking my mouth.

"Where is your costume?" he seethed.

I glanced down at myself before looking up at him with a question of confusion clouding my face. "Why, I don't know what you mean, sir. I'm wearing it."

"Your other costume," he snarled.

"Oh, that one," I answered on a little giggle, continuing to fan myself as I noticed his gaze dropping down to my breasts which were prominently displayed, courtesy of the tight bodice of the gown.

"Yes, that one."

"I should imagine it's laying on my bed, right where I left it."

"I told you to wear the Harlequin costume."

I nodded up at him. "So, you did."

"And you made a point to defy me."

I considered his words for a moment or two and then nodded. "Yes, yes I suppose I did."

Before he could say another word, a gentleman interrupted us, bowing as soon as he made eye contact with me. I didn't recognize him.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he began as he quickly gave Nikolo a glance. And in that glance was disregard. Clearly, he didn't recognize ‘The Terror' or if he did, he didn't care.

"Then don't," Nicolo started but the man was already addressing me.

"I have scarce been able to pull my attention from your absolute loveliness all night and it's taken all my nerve to approach you just now because I must admit… I have to know who you are." Then he reached out, took my hand, and bringing it to his lips, kissed it. "I am the Duke of Hargate."

"Oh," I started and fluttered my fan as I gave him a very encouraging smile and Nicolo made a strange, grumbling sort of noise from his throat.

"She's spoken for," Nicolo barked, glaring at the man with such hatred, I was momentarily surprised.

The man looked at him but frowned. "Is she? I have not seen a gentleman at her side all evening and as I said," then he turned and looked at me, "I have not been able to keep my eyes off you."

"As I said before and will not say again," Nicolo growled and when I say growled, I mean that quite literally—there was an inhuman purr that accompanied his words. "She. Is. Spoken. For."

"Oh, do forgive me!" the duke responded and with a quick doff of his hat in my direction, quickly turned and walked away.

"Well, that wasn't very charitable of you," I started as Nicolo continued to fume at me.

"Dance with me," he responded, then reached out and gripped my arm, giving me no choice in the matter.

"I thought you weren't going to dance with me?" I asked. "Didn't you say, owing to our difference in stations, it would be untoward?"

"I've heard enough."

"I'm just trying to follow your lead… master ."

He paused from leading me through the crowd to look back at me and his expression was anything but encouraging.

"I have half a mind to take you over my knee and spank you until you cry."

I felt my heartbeat race at that thought and my mouth went a bit dry as I imagined it—me with only my undergarments on, over his knee as he spanked me before fingering the delicate folds of wet skin between my thighs. My breath hitched. "I think I should prefer that to dancing… sir ."

"Charlotte," he growled. "Now is hardly the place, nor the time."

As the music started, he drew me to him and my breath caught in my throat. I'd spent so much time in his company, and I'd seen him in various states of undress, but this was different. It was different because I'd never been so close to him before —this was intimate, and the fact that he was so angry with me gave the whole thing a frisson of danger. Anything could happen, and as I felt his firm, masculine body pressed to mine, I prayed something would.

"Do you not appreciate my gown?" I whispered.

"No, I don't appreciate it!" he nearly burst in return.

"Then you don't believe I look… pretty?"

He pulled away from me and his glare was even more pronounced. "You are easily the most attractive woman in this blasted place," he hissed in response and seemed very put out that the words were even leaving his lips.

I smiled broadly up at him. "Why, thank you, sir."

"That doesn't mean I don't want to whip you senseless."

I couldn't help my smile because I was fairly sure he wouldn't whip me. No, not when he was clearly very attracted to me and as far as I could tell, doing everything he could to fight that attraction. I pressed my body still closer to his and felt a growing bulge in the front of his form-fitting trousers.

"I seem to have piqued more than just your anger and vengeance."

Nicolo wasn't remotely embarrassed. "You little wretch," he growled, anger passing through his eyes. "Do you know what I could do to you?"

"Yes." I held his gaze, realizing I had him exactly where I wanted him. He was enchanted with me, much though he wouldn't admit it. "I've been waiting for you to do it."

"And you shall continue waiting."

"I am a patient woman."

"I believe Balduin is correct."

"About?"

"You should be whipped or beaten… you have overcome your class and you should be reminded where exactly you belong."

I felt my eyes narrow as I stared up at him. "And where do I belong… master ?"

"Don't tempt me, Charlotte. I am only holding on by a thin string as we speak."

I wasn't quite certain what he meant by that, but his already prominent arousal pressed against me became suddenly more prominent. Taking advantage of the dance, I subtly moved my thigh between his legs to stoke the fire further. I pressed my leg more firmly against him, so I could feel the pounding pulse of his demanding erection. He was struggling to keep ahold of himself, conflicting emotions fighting for supremacy; anger at me; anger at himself; excitement at the public place in which this was playing out; and an attraction he could deny but couldn't hide.

I looked up into his violet eyes. "Can we at least finish the dance before you decide to spank or whip me, sir?"

Even as I spoke, the music ended. I started to walk away, but Nicolo kept a tight hold of me. "I'm not done with you."

"Master?"

Without warning, Nicolo's masked face descended on mine and our lips joined in a fiery kiss. The anonymity of the masks gave us freedom, and so the heat between us was unrestrained. Nicolo's hand slipped down the smooth material of my gown to cup my backside and pull me closer to him. I responded, working my leg ever more firmly against the frustrated hardness trapped in his pants.

"Let no one know who you are," he said in a winded voice. "Tonight you are not my squire. You are someone else entirely."

I nodded and gave him a smile that said his secret was safe with me. In the next instant, we joined the dance once more. This song was quicker, jauntier than the previous. It was one of those grand court dances in which people switched partners, circled each other, executed a series of complicated gestures and so on. I had, of course, been schooled in such dances and had no trouble following, but I found it almost physically hurt to let go of Nicolo.

But this was the start of a new game.

We were no longer pressed against each other, but the teasing arousal continued under the noses of the oblivious court. As we passed, Nicolo's fingers traced the back of my neck or the curve of my hip; a glancing touch, yet it felt like a lightning bolt jolting through me. I replied in kind, even managing to squeeze the bulge in the front of his pants a few times, a bulge which remained and was giving a few of the other ladies a bit of a start when he danced with them.

Finally, we were returned to one another and I saw a hunger in his eyes I'd never seen before—there had always been a shadow of his feelings for me in his eyes but now the feeling was all there—predatorial, intense and pervasive. Perhaps tonight that hunger would finally be satiated. For us both.

And then I would kill him.

"I find something about you very interesting, Charlotte," he growled.

"And what is that, sir?"

He twirled me around and then pulled me into him. "You are a maid and yet you can dance better than most ladies of court."

"Oh," I felt my heartrate quicken.

"Don't tell me your father taught you that art as well?"

I looked up at him and smiled. "Very well, I shan't."

He held my gaze as a smile overtook his lips, something that was quickly followed with a chuckle.

Suddenly the moment was broken by a scream that rang out across the ballroom, loud enough to silence everything else.

All attention turned to the side of the room where Prince Balduin, dressed rakishly as a pirate, stared in horror at the arrow buried in the wall beside his head.

The arrow had just missed him and was still quivering.