A Midsummer Night's Sin

The truth was rarely believed, and it wasn’t now.

“Oh yes, I’m quite sure that’s correct. And I am Titania, Queen of the Fairies.”

“Ah, fair Titania,” Puck allowed, quietly surprised that she would know the characters from Shakespeare’s farce until he realized that she must be an actress. He was about to break his most sacred rule and tumble an actress. “Then you do not believe me?”

“No more than you believe me, no. But does it matter? I don’t imagine you’ve brought me out here for an exchange of names.”

“And why have I brought you out here?” he asked, even as he lifted the silken hood back and off her head, revealing a mass of artfully placed curls nearly black in the dim light.

“I’m not entirely certain. I was rather thinking it was to kiss me.”

“To kiss you,” Puck repeated, taken aback. She said the words as if they were dangerous in the extreme. “And you came here to be kissed?”

“I didn’t think so, no. But now that I am here, I may as well be hanged for a sheep as well as a lamb, don’t you think? I’m convinced my—my companion is taking full advantage of this rather exciting bit of freedom. The masks, you know. A stranger’s kiss in the moonlight.”

Puck’s brain was sending out alerts his libido pushed aside as ridiculous. She was an actress, that was all. She was most probably playing the coy maiden in hopes that the novelty would excite him.

And her ploy was working, probably even better than she had hoped. His mind was being seduced by her feigned naiveté, while the rest of him was growing hard with a base passion he hadn’t experienced since he’d been a randy youth who could have embarrassed himself at the mere thought of touching a female breast.

“Then, my queen of the fairies, we will begin with a kiss.”

Because he thought she would wish him to play along with her small charade, and because the idea of doing so only increased his growing passion, Puck lightly cupped her chin and leaned in to put his mouth to hers.

Oh, and she was good. She did not disappoint. She allowed the kiss, but did nothing to encourage him to deepen it. She did not put her arms around him, did not immediately begin to grind her body against his, the sure signal of a professional who wished the act over and done and several gold pieces slipped into her purse.

But she’d miscalculated, badly. Her supposedly untutored mouth presented not only a challenge, but a frisson of delight that went straight to Puck’s manhood, which now strained against his trousers.

A kiss. A single kiss, and he was ready to set her up in her own apartments, give her anything she wanted: diamonds, pearls, her own carriage and stable. One kiss, and he was the fool he laughed at, enslaved by a woman whose cold-blooded profession it was to jumble the wits of idiots like himself.

Idiots like his own father.

He lifted his face away from hers and looked into her magnificent eyes.

He saw no guile. No greed. No reaction at all save what might be termed confusion.

Oh yes, she was good.

But he was better.

This time he didn’t approach her gently. He swooped, openmouthed. He took her into his arms, his lips slanted across hers, his tongue probing, his teeth nibbling, his hands traveling down her back and then coming up and around to cup her lush breasts. He insinuated his right thigh between her legs, pressing upward against her sex.

He kissed her mouth, her throat, bent her back over his arm to press his lips against the smooth expanse of skin above the neckline of her gown.

And all the while, he crooned to her in French. How lovely she was. How he was being made mad by her virginal game playing. What he would do to her to reward her, how he would do it, how she would know she had never been made love to before, no matter how many men she’d had.

And she whispered back to him: “I have a hat pin poised to stick in your ear, and I will do it if you do not release me at once.”

The words were clear, and they had been pronounced in flawless French.

Puck hauled her upright and put her away from him, staring at her in astonishment. This was no whore for hire. He’d been duped. By God, had he been duped? And by some idiot slip of a girl out for a lark?

“What did you say?”

“Nothing half so horrible as you did, I’m sure,” she answered as she pulled her domino shut and raised the hood back over her hair. Her hands shook, but her voice was firm and clear. “I’m leaving now. Do not follow me.”

He held his arms out to his sides to prove himself harmless, once more smiling, surprisingly under control. “I wouldn’t think of it, I assure you. Only first a word of warning, you little tease, as next time you may run into a different sort of bastard. One that would be at pains to demonstrate how ineffectual a hat pin can be. And something else. Never threaten before striking, but merely strike, or you may never get the chance. Now run away, little girl. Run until you’re safely home and under the covers.”

She didn’t wait for him to repeat himself but only lifted her skirts and ran back down the path toward the lights of the ballroom.

Puck followed after her at a walk, trying to remember what he’d said to her and what he’d suggested, believing her to be something she was not. He wondered if he’d scarred the girl for life.

She’d certainly made an impression on him, one that would be difficult to shake.

CHAPTER TWO

WHERE IS SHE? WHERE IS SHE? Why did I allow her to join the dance?

Regina whirled about, went up on tiptoe, pushed past goatherds and devils with pointed tails, searching for an emerald-green domino.

Where is she!

She’d have to stop crying, or else she wouldn’t be able to see anything. She had to stop thinking about what had just happened … what could have happened. That man! So wickedly handsome, so dangerous in his black and gold.

What had she done?

Had she lost her mind?

The things he’d said! And she’d listened, fascinated by the words, shamelessly intrigued by his touch … and her reaction to both.

Regina clutched at her suddenly queasy stomach, wishing back the sweet, honeyed drink she’d downed earlier almost as if it had been water, for it had been so hot and stuffy and even rather smelly in this horrible ballroom. What had been in that cup? Nothing too terrible, surely. It was only honey….

She fought down the urge to cup her hands to her mouth and loudly call out Miranda’s name, knowing she could not cause a scene, draw attention to either one of them. They would both be ruined if anyone knew they had attended this clearly unsuitable ball.

Why, there were people kissing people everywhere she turned. Giggling and touching each other in lewd ways as they passed by each other in the dance. It hadn’t been like this when they’d first arrived, but now it was. As if every tick of the clock served to strip away another fetter of society, leaving only the baseness beneath.

“Here now, my pretty, hold there while I take a look at you.” A large man wearing the costume of a highwayman, complete with a brace of pistols tucked in the sash around his waist, had grabbed her arm and showed no signs of letting go. “I’ve come for all your valuables. Pass them over, starting with a kiss from your fair lips.”

Never threaten before striking, but merely strike, or you may never get the chance. Regina plunged the hat pin into the fleshy back of the man’s hand and ran off when he yowled in pain and immediately let her go.

She wasn’t sure which level of Dante’s Inferno she was in, but she needed to get out. Now.

She looked behind her, terrified that the man who called himself Robin Goodfellow might be following her, but he wasn’t there. Nobody she knew was there, not that she knew him.

If only she could find Miranda!

At last, she made her way through the maze of screens and plants and couches to the main entrance and the small antechamber where a few maids and such were seated, ready to assist their mistresses if necessary.

“Oh, Miss Regina, you’re here! Thank the Lord!” Doris Ann clasped Regina’s hands in hers, squeezing them so hard it was painful. “She’s gone. My Miss Miranda is gone!”