Marquesses at the Masquerade(33)

“And when I turned around, he was gone. I’ve looked everywhere in here, but he’s nowhere to be found. And now I’ve realized,” she said, distress tightening her voice, “that he must have hopped onto that footstool, which gave him access to the chair and the window. I’m so sorry! If only I hadn’t looked away.”

“Rosamund, he’s an imp, and no one could watch him every minute.”

He could see she was distracted by her worry and not really hearing him. “I’m going out to the garden to look for him.”

“We’ll go together,” Marcus said firmly. “He’s got short legs, and he shouldn’t be that hard to find.”

But Socrates was not in the garden, nor anywhere close to the house.

“You don’t think an animal might have found him,” Rosamund said bleakly as they stood at the back of the garden, where a small meadow gave way to a wood.

“Unlikely.” Though not impossible, but he wasn’t going to admit that to her. “I have an idea where he may have gone. I took him for a walk the other day, so perhaps he followed that path again.”

He led them along the somewhat overgrown path that passed through the wood. They looked to the left and right as they went, calling out encouragingly.

“He’s so small,” Rosamund fretted.

“He’ll be fine.”

“But what if he’s been snatched by a hawk, or fallen in a lake?” she said morosely. “The possibilities are endless.”

“Endless, really?”

“You know what I mean, and don’t be unfeeling!”

Marcus hid a smile. Rosamund was completely endearing when she was outraged. “I suspect that Socrates is perfectly fine. I haven’t seen any hawks around here lately, and most dogs can swim.”

And, in fact, when they found him, Socrates did not look as though he’d had any dire adventures. As they stepped out of the wood and into a clearing, there he was, curled up in the shade of a rosebush that stood in front of the miniature house Marcus’s grandmother had had built for her grandchildren when they were young. Socrates did actually look adorable sleeping in front of the small house, though Marcus would have preferred to have been drawn and quartered than admit it.

*



“Well,” Rosamund said quietly, so as not to wake Socrates, “this is unexpected. He seems to have found a Socrates-sized house. Thank heaven he’s safe.”

“And apparently very sleepy. You’d think he’d have heard us calling him, but I suppose he must be exhausted after coming all this way on such short legs.”

“What is this place?”

“A playhouse, built for us grandchildren when we were young. It has a working fireplace, where my brother Jack and I loved to burn things—sometimes even wood. We pretended it was our hunting lodge. My sisters always wanted it to be what they called a Ladies Holiday House, which apparently meant a place to arrange elaborate social events for their dolls.”

“I’d love to look inside,” she said, moving closer. “Though I suppose it must be disgustingly dusty after all these years.”

“Actually, it might not be,” he said, following her. “My cousins were visiting with their children last month, and I imagine it would have been cleaned for their use.”

Socrates stirred as they approached. He yawned, stood, and stretched, waiting while Rosamund opened the door.

“Goodness,” she said, entering. “I love this place.” The main room was small but cozy, with a table by the fire and four chairs, all just the right size for a couple of children to sit down to a meal. In the corner, under a window with real glass panes, stood a bed made of what looked like branches, giving it an appealingly rustic look. A colorful quilt beckoned with the promise of the perfect place to curl up with a book.

“It has its charms,” Marcus said, standing behind her.

Socrates followed them inside and promptly curled up in front of the empty hearth.

“Oh, Socrates,” she said, “we can’t stay.”

“Why not?” Marcus said behind her, and a deep note in his voice made her turn. “You just said you loved this place. Why rush off?”

He grinned boyishly, and Rosamund’s heart turned over. “I…” She didn’t really know what to say. The truth was, she did want to stay there with him. She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything.

He took a step closer, close enough that every part of her was aware of his body so near to hers. “Stay,” he said. One little word. An invitation, not a command.

“I wish I could.”

“Don’t just wish, do.”

How she wanted to. Beyond wanted.

When she didn’t say anything, he kissed her.

They had kissed before, but the experience had lost none of its newness and enchantment. In the tender brush of his lips and the way his tongue explored her mouth, she felt his desire to please her and bring her pleasure. How—why?—would she say no to this? She loved this man. There was no one else like him, and she knew with certainty that there never would be.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, whispering his name as her cheek brushed his earlobe. She couldn’t think of any future beyond the next moment. She wouldn’t.

With a growl, he broke away to kiss her neck, his mouth traveling over her skin hungrily, dragging along her neck, and pushing against the neckline of her gown, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He traced her shape through her bodice, and her breath caught as his hand cupped the swell of her breast. He thumbed the tip, and she moaned.