Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

T he moment the Masked Rogue pulled away from her, a sharp slice of fear cut through Amelia's bravery. The horror—the utter rage—that burned in his eyes made her wonder if she'd just made a terrible mistake. An apology rushed to the tip of her tongue and it took all her strength to keep from voicing it. She had nothing to apologize for! The Masked Rogue had done so much damage to her life that it was only right he did something to compensate.

"You did this on purpose," he whispered menacingly, eyes flashing like a predator in the moonlight.

Amelia lifted her chin, hoping he wouldn't notice how terribly her hands were trembling. "I did what needed to be done," she hissed back.

He frowned, confusion filling his eyes. But before he could utter another word, murmurs enveloped the space around them. The balcony began to swarm as rumors of a clandestine pair sharing a passionate embrace swept through the crowd.

The Masked Rogue grabbed her hand without warning and hauled her away from the eyes, pulling her through a separate exit at the side of the balcony. Amelia had no choice but to surrender and follow.

He dragged her through a small hallway and into a parlor. The door was slammed shut, making her jump. Amelia tried her best to put on a brave face but the man before her had fury rolling off him in waves, forcing her to retreat into a dark corner where she hoped it was safest.

He paced back and forth, running his hands through his once elegantly pomaded hair. All while mumbling something that Amelia could not hear. Her eyes darted desperately to the nearest door, wondering if it was possible for her to escape.

But escape where? They had seen her face. Right now, the ballroom would certainly be ablaze with gossip, all centered on the lady and gentleman kissing on the balcony. When before she had been ignored, now eyes would follow her wherever she went. There was no escaping.

Perhaps I was a little too rash , she thought despondently. Yet, as quickly as the despair set in, she cast it aside. Now wasn't the time to fear the consequences of her actions. She had a plan, and, as foolish as it might be, she had to follow through with it.

Amelia drew in a deep breath, her hands in tight fists. "Must you keep moving back and forth like some sort of madman?" she asked, grateful that her voice carried far enough for him to hear her.

He halted abruptly, eyes hard. " I am the madman?" His tone was low and cold. "Wise words from the lady who has just damned us both in front of the ton."

"It was you who seduced me," she argued back. "Why did you touch me like that at all if…"

She couldn't finish, her cheeks burning like a furnace. The intense manner in which he gazed at her now brought her back to his sultry caresses, the sensual graze of his lips trailing her collarbone. A smoldering heat enveloped her core and Amelia squirmed uncomfortably, averting her eyes.

In two quick strides, he closed the distance between them, a crooked finger lifting her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. Amelia thought her heart would beat right out of her chest. How could someone with such godly features harbor such darkness?

"That is quite the flush on your cheeks, my lady," he observed through narrow eyes. "And what might your name be?"

Amelia summoned the courage to pull her chin away from his touch—and silently prayed he couldn't hear the thunderous beat of her heart. "Do you make it a habit of seducing ladies whose names you do not know?"

His expression darkened. "When the mood strikes, certainly. Now, your name?"

Amelia swallowed. She wasn't foolish enough to assume he wouldn't make good on his threat. "Lady Amelia Egerton."

Suddenly, he cursed aloud, stalking away from her once more. Amelia found she could breathe a little better now that her senses weren't being numbed by his heady cedarwood aroma.

"You are not who I believed you to be," he murmured, raking his fingers through his hair once more. Amelia fought the urge to be captivated by the disheveled locks that cascaded across his face.

"And whom did you mistake me for, sir?"

"A French noblewoman," he answered, catching her off guard. "And evidently, you are not familiar with my identity, else you would be addressing me very differently."

I know precisely who you are, Masked Rogue . "Will you tell me?" she replied innocently instead.

His gaze sharpened, lips curling into a contemptuous smirk. "All you need to grasp is that my assumptions about you were flawed. Hence, I fully acknowledge the impropriety of my advances. It is quite apparent that resisting such temptation, even publicly, would be quite the challenge for you."

Amelia gaped at him. "Tha-that wasn't—"

"So, I will assume that what you did was simply an innocent mistake and I shall sweep it under the rug. You and I may forget that this ever happened."

"That can't possibly be the solution!"

"Oh, but it has to be. My reputation has been meticulously crafted over many years, and I shan't allow the whims of a whimsical young lady to compromise it."

Now, she flushed with humiliation and anger. "You have no right—"

" I have no right? What about you?" His tone had cooled, but the fire in his eyes remained undiminished. "I am allowing you the courtesy of assuming you did not purposely ensnare me in that whole farce you played. What would you have me do instead?"

"Take responsibility," she stated boldly.

He scoffed. "I will not have my grand ball ruined because of one silly mistake."

Amelia frowned. His words sank in a moment later, realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. "You're the Duke of Stanhope," she whispered.

His smirk widened, clearly enjoying her realization. "Now do you understand?"

But he is the Masked Rogue too?

All she understood was that she might have caught a bigger fish than she'd intended. Amelia bit her bottom lip in thought, her mind whirring from the madness of the situation she found herself in. It hadn't crossed her mind that the famous duke would be the one to approach her, under the guise of another infamous character… But it didn't matter, she decided. She still had to go through with her plan.

She would get him to marry her, then have the marriage annulled after thirty days, allowing her enough time to secure her inheritance. It was the perfect plan… if she could ignore the backlash she would receive from the ton. In the grand scheme of things, that was the least of her worries. As long as she was able to receive her inheritance, Amelia didn't care how she went about it.

And she especially didn't care about the implications for the Masked Rogue of Stanhope.

He was certainly right about one thing—his impeccable reputation might be tarnished by what had happened. Which was perfect. That made her wonder, however, why he wasn't trying to do everything in his power to save it. Shouldn't he, given the scandal, be eager to secure a marriage to save face?

"Aren't you worried about what others will say if we leave it at that?" she asked him.

The Duke waved a dismissive hand. "Such concerns are beneath me. I can handle the fickle tongues of the ton."

There was something about his tone that made her wonder just how much he believed that. "Then what of me?" she whispered in a small voice.

He leaned in, his voice dripping with condescension, "You should have thought of that before you decided to throw yourself at me, my lady."

Amelia gritted her teeth, the burn of indignation threatening to spill over. "The proper thing to do, Your Grace, is to ask for my hand in marriage. Or else both our reputations will be tarnished. You will be labeled a rake and I will be known as the fallen lady who shall never be married."

His jaw ticked, his previous anger flickering in his eyes. "Is that why you did this? To trap me?"

She couldn't deny it, but she would not confirm his suspicions. "I was not thinking. I admit that—"

He cut her off again, "Then let us put it behind us. And pray that we are only overthinking the damage done to our names."

She was growing irritated by his repeated interjections. "— However , if you do not choose the honorable course of action," she paused, searching his face for a hint of anything, "…I may be inclined to reveal your secret."

His hazel eyes became glacial. "And what might that be?"

Amelia met his cool gaze, her next words uttered out of sheer willpower in the face of his stoic fury. "You, the Duke of Stanhope, are the Masked Rogue ."

Damn it! Damn it all to hell!

Gideon's gaze bore right through Lady Amelia and he could almost notice her fa?ade begin to slip. For a fleeting second, he felt a tinge of pity for her, but it was quickly smothered by a maddening mix of exasperation and annoyance.

Not to mention the fact that there was something in her deep blue eyes that held a mystery. There was an undertone of sadness and regret tucked behind the fear in those eyes. Gideon had to constantly remind himself he had no business unraveling the cause of it.

Now, knowing her true intentions, gave no cause for that slow burn of need to persist anyway. It should have been like a bucket of cold water all over his lust. Yet, there was something about the lady standing before him that he could not quite put his finger on. It might've been the carefree manner in which her long, chestnut locks cascaded down her temples—as if she'd readied herself for an intimate evening rather than attending a ball. Or perhaps it was her gown – green and bold, it clung to her svelte form in a way that flaunted her every sensual curve. His mind raced with visions of how it would look to slip that gown down each shoulder, and watch that delicious blush taint her cheeks as she gazed up at him with those large eyes, full of innocence and longing…

Damn!

But not while he was married to her. He whirled away, rubbing his hand down his face. Hopefully, she hadn't noticed the bulge now tightening his breeches. Gideon took a few moments to center himself and when he was certain that he had his urges under control, he faced her once more.

"And what, precisely, do you know of the Masked Rogue?" he inquired sharply.

She remained cowered in that corner, as if he was liable to pounce upon her at any moment. Gideon was acutely aware of his fearsome temper, but he prided himself on keeping it in check, especially in the presence of a lady. Already, she was challenging his patience.

"…I know enough," she responded cryptically.

Enough? So she knew about his frequent trips to the Serpent's Den? And the plan he was in the middle of executing?

Pah!

"That hardly narrows it down, dear," he replied drily. But he knew that didn't change the fact that she knew who he was. Which inevitably complicated matters.

Before he could press her again, there was a knock at the door. "What?" Gideon snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Thomas' voice sounded on the other side. "Pardon me, Your Grace. But Mademoiselle Dubois awaits your presence."

"Not now, Thomas," Gideon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just… send her away. Tell her that I am no longer inclined to see her."

"Very well, Your Grace."

Gideon waited a brief moment for Thomas to leave before addressing the lady still cowering in the corner. "Look, you do not know what you're asking of me," he warned in a low tone.

"I think I know enough," she murmured.

"Oh, but you don't," he hissed, approaching her again in quick strides. She shrank back against the wall—though she never once took her eyes off him—and it stopped him dead in his tracks. He didn't particularly like the way she was looking at him, with such fear and uncertainty. But he supposed it would be advantageous in this situation. "You wouldn't like being married to me."

"My likes or dislikes are of no consequence to you."

"I am the Masked Rogue," Gideon emphasized, drawing closer once more. Her slight intake of breath stirred something within him, making restraint difficult. "If you truly know who I am, then you know that I am nothing but a rakehell. I would not be loyal to you."

"I do not need your loyalty."

"Nor can I guarantee you kindness or compassion. You've seen it for yourself. I have quite the temper."

"And I am quite good at staying out of sight. I shan't anger you."

"Will you be fine with bastards then?" He came closer still, drawn in by the gentle floral scent wafting from her. It had driven him mad on the balcony and it was having the same effect now, making it a little harder to focus. "Will it not bother you to know that I have mistresses and bastard children that may one day threaten your peace and comfort?"

"No." Her tone was soft but unwavering. "It does not. Will not. I do not mind at all, Your Grace."

That confused him. "You would rather take on an ill-fated marriage as opposed to a fleeting rumor from the ton? Are you that desperate to become a duchess?"

She licked her lips, drawing his attention to them. For an instant, he was transported back to that intoxicating moment on the balcony, recalling just how soft and tasteful they had felt pressed against his own. Yet, her next words snapped him back to the present. "If that is what you wish to believe, Your Grace."

Gideon scowled, turning abruptly from her. "You don't know what you're saying. You would be much better off marrying someone else, I assure you."

"Given the likely ruin of my reputation, Your Grace, if you refuse this proposal, both of us stand to lose more than just face."

At that, Gideon turned back to look at her again. The determination he'd heard in her voice was shining in her eyes and he knew, there and then, that he would not be able to convince her. She would certainly make good on her threat to reveal who he truly was and then everything he had been working toward would be for naught. He couldn't take his revenge on the Earl if his true identity as the Masked Rogue was revealed.

With a brief curtsy, and still avoiding his gaze, she shuffled away from her corner. "I shall give you some time to come to terms with the idea, Your Grace," she said, slowly inching her way to the door. "But do not keep me waiting long." After a moment, she added, "Please."

Then she hastily curtsied again and hurried out the door, avoiding his eyes. Gideon was left staring after her, open- mouthed, lost on what to say or do next. Lady Amelia had successfully tied his hands with her ultimatum.

Which meant, he had to play along. At least for now.