In any other circumstance, Sebastian would have agreed with him. The thought of placing Sophie in any danger felt like a knife to his heart. But he truly believed that while Dampierre was alive, both ladies were in grave danger.
“Do you not think I feel the same? I want to marry her, James.”
James scoffed. “After the way you have behaved I would not be satisfied anything less. I still have an overwhelming desire to rip you limb from limb. But as you rightly said, that would make me a hypocrite. Perhaps I should be grateful to you for taking her off my hands. I’m sure by now you know what it is you’re letting yourself in for.”
Sebastian considered his words. As a young girl, Sophie had been bothersome, annoying, and persistent in her methods to engage his attention. As a woman, he found her captivating, bewitching, utterly enthralling. She was constantly in his thoughts, in his dreams. From the moment she had tumbled from her horse and into his arms, he had not been able to keep his hands off her. Indeed, he appeared to be in a constant state of arousal.
“I’m in love with her,” he blurted almost choking on the words, as it suddenly occurred to him that a life without her was not worth living.
James patted him on the shoulder, his mouth curved into a smile that suggested a level of empathy. “Once you are married, perhaps we should start a new club. One for men who are hopelessly in love with their wives.”
Sebastian scoffed. “Somehow, I have the feeling it may take more than a declaration to secure your sister’s hand.”
“How you choose to go about it is your affair, but I would see a ring on her finger,” he arched a brow, “and soon.”
Sebastian nodded in acquiesce. “Now, as to this matter of the masquerade,” he stopped abruptly, noting the disapproving look on James’ face. “Please, just listen to what I have to say,” he appealed. “Ask yourself this. If you could go back to that night at Labelles, walk away and erase it from your memory, would you do so? Knowing the danger you have placed us all in … would you … would you change it?”
James looked down at the floor as he considered the question. He glanced up at Sebastian, and with a deep sigh whispered, “No, I would not change a damn thing.”
Sebastian placed a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Then let us retire to the drawing room so I may tell you my plan.”
The following evening they were back in the drawing room, waiting for Sophie to dress for the masquerade. This time, James sat next to Annabel on the sofa, his arm draped around her shoulder, relating stories of Sophie’s childhood infatuation with Sebastian.
“She used to hide behind the curtain, just to hear his voice,” James chuckled. “You knew when she was there, for there was always one large eye peeking through the gap. But now look at him,” James continued, waving a hand in Sebastian’s direction. “It appears the roles are reversed and it is my poor friend who paces the floor, pining like a puppy.”
“I am not pining. I am simply eager to see what costume Dampierre wishes her to wear,” he countered. Although he could not deny that his mouth was dry with anticipation. A whole day had passed since he had last held her in his arms and both his mind and his body seemed to be persecuting him for the fact. “The design will reveal much in terms of Dampierre’s intentions and I must impress the memory into my mind. So I may find her if we are separated in the crush,” he added, pleased he could find a plausible reason to explain the desperate longing that consumed him and was obviously apparent to others.
“I hope you’re not expecting her to be able to find you,” James mocked, scanning his attire. “Half of the guests will be wearing the same black tricorn and domino.”
Sebastian sighed. That was the idea. He needed to be able to move about unnoticed. He wondered if Dampierre had considered that fact when he had chosen Sophie’s costume. Sophie had refused to let him see it, even when he had explained the practicality of his request.
“I believe you’ll look rather dangerous with your mask on,” Annabel said with a blush. “If I were wearing jewels, I might throw them at you for fear of my life.”
Sebastian shook his head at their joviality. Had they forgotten the purpose of the evening? Perhaps it was their way of dealing with anxiety, for James had been agitated when Sebastian had told him he must stay at home with Annabel. If they were discovered at the masquerade and their story revealed, then their guilt would be assumed.
“Speaking of jewels,” James said in a more serious tone, “I presume Sophie is wearing the necklace.”
“It is necessary in order to fool …”
As the drawing room door opened, all conversation ceased.
In walked what could only be described as an ethereal vision from a bygone era. James and Sebastian stood, their mouths hanging open in awe. Sebastian hardly recognised her.
Against the white powdered wig, which was woven with gold thread, her face was as pale as porcelain, enhancing the fullness of her rosy pink lips. The gown of red and gold taffeta was heavily boned. The deep, plunging neckline pushed up her breasts so they appeared as soft creamy-white mounds, so deliciously tempting that he could not take his eyes off them.
“Well, how do I look?” she asked, her eyes alight with excitement as she gave a little twirl and held the mask to her face.
Sebastian was afraid to speak for fear his voice would expose the depth of his arousal. Dampierre was not a stupid man. Sophie would be like a bright beacon in the crowd.
“You look so beautiful,” Annabel said clapping her hands in delight. “You look as though you should live in the palace of Versailles, with courtiers waving fans and bowing at your feet.”
Sophie met Sebastian’s gaze and she smiled. “Would you mind fastening this for me?” she asked holding out the necklace.
As she walked over to him, he held out his hand, hoping she would not notice the slight tremble in his fingers. She turned around, her long, elegant neck just inches from his lips and as he leaned forward to drape the necklace around her throat, his mouth brushed against her ear.
“You have no idea how much I want you,” he whispered as he imagined his hand wandering lower, dipping down into the front of her bodice to skim the soft flesh, to take the peak between his fingers and rub until she begged for relief. Her hand came up to her throat to hold the necklace in place and he took pleasure in the knowledge that her fingers were shaking, too.
With the clasp fastened, she moved to walk away, but he pulled her to his side, the fall of her gown disguising the hard length straining against his breeches.