Chapter 4: Blue Green Colors Flashing

Emma stood over the fallen man on the carpet of her bedchamber in shock, the candlestick she'd used to knock him out still in her hand. He didn't have his mask on, and was now wearing the livery of one her servants, but she knew immediately who he was.

It was that man. The stranger.

After he left her so abruptly, her first instinct was to bolt. She knew she was a mess, her hair in disarray, her dress disheveled, her face flushed and her heart hammering. She ran out of the side door used by the servants, bolted up the stairs, flung open her bedchamber door, slipped in and closed it behind her. Breathing heavily, she leaned her back against the door and sank slowly down, exhausted, undone with a nearly unbearable ache in her groin. Her skin crawled and burned with need and her thoughts were tortured with guilt, shame, longing and loathing. Putting aside the considerable issue of her own improper and scandalous behavior and the harm it might cause should they have been discovered, she felt unable to make sense of the jumble of feelings his lips, his hands, his mere physical presence, had aroused in her. Although he undoubtedly excited her under his skillful touch, he frightened her in a way both thrilling and utterly terrifying. As he kissed and controlled her she had felt something in him both passionate and even dark. She felt like he wanted not just to kiss her, or ravish her. She felt like he wanted to devour her. But even more terrifying than that, she wanted to be devoured.

It was this last that caused her to tremble again.

She took a couple of deep breaths, straightened her shoulders and stood to walk towards her wardrobe. She had to get the dress off! She wrenched it off along with her pantalettes and left them in a sad, wilted heap on the floor, then walked over to the ewer and basin. Pouring in some fresh water, she dipped a cloth in it to wipe the sweat from her face. She paused, then reached carefully between her legs. Great gods, her thighs and the area in between were sticky wet with her own moisture. She cleaned herself up as best she could and felt better as the sharp throbbing in her groin subsided slowly into a dull ache. She threw a light gauzy gown over her corset, too tired to unlace it herself and unwilling to ring for her maid. She was in no fit shape to see anyone. As she headed back into the dark bedchamber intending to hide under the covers, go to sleep, and try to forget the entire shaming spectacle, she heard a small rustle outside her window.

Walking silently across the thick carpet, she peered around a corner of one of the open doors and saw a man crouching behind the parapet. Without a second's pause she seized a heavy candlestick from the table, raised it over her head, and coshed the intruder over the head. Now he lay sprawled at her feet, out cold. She heard herself inhale sharply.

It was him.

Without his mask, with his eyes closed, and his arms flung wide, he looked younger and certainly more vulnerable than he had appeared earlier. Oh but he was so very handsome, even more gorgeous now that he had no mask to conceal his masculine beauty. He had a small scar on one cheek. She romantically imagined it had come from dueling, probably over a woman. Fascinated, she tentatively raised her hand to stroke his face gently, her fingers lingering lightly on the full, practically obscene, lips that had plundered hers a short time ago. He sighed contentedly at her touch and she drew back quickly. Cautiously she reached over again, this time to feel the taut muscles of his chest lying beneath the open shirt collar. What should she do with him, she wondered? Tie him up? Call the guards? Could there be a logical explanation as to why he was there? Her thoughts whirled through her tired head.

She sat back, vexed. She looked at his handsome face again. His lips had felt so good. Feeling a force greater than her own good sense seizing hold of her again, she impulsively and experimentally leaned forward to kiss him softly. For a moment it felt as if time itself stood still. It felt so good, so right, so….

She felt his muscles tighten suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and before she could open her mouth to scream or explain he seized her shoulders, flung her over on her back and straddled her hips, pinning her with his weight and clapping a hand over her mouth.

For a minute they both lay staring, out of breath. "Are you going to scream," he asked her quietly. She shook her head. "That's a good girl." He removed his hand. "Why Princess," he drawled, licking his lips, "If you wanted to get between my legs there are far easier ways! How could any gentleman, myself most of all, resist your considerable charms?"

Infuriated by his insolence and the absurdity of her position, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the face as hard as she could. "You, sir," she spat, "are no gentleman." He laughed merrily and leaned down, his face touching hers. "And you, miss, are no lady," he smirked.

"If anyone is abusing the proprieties around here it's you," he continued in a conversational tone. "You're the one who took advantage of my unconscious state to, er, have your way with me."

She turned her face away from him, utterly humiliated.

"There, there, lass" he said, caressing her hair and removing a few tendrils from her face. It's all right. I tend to have that effect on women so you're not to blame. I won't tell anyone your dirty secret."

With that he got to his feet, reached towards her, and helped her to stand. As she did, she noticed suddenly that his left hand was covered in blood, and that it was dripping into the carpet. She reached for his hand. "Wait a minute, you're bleeding!"

"Just a scratch, love, I accidentally ran into a dagger on my way to visit you tonight."

"Do I even want to know the real story?" she queried. "Here, let me help you. She struck a match and lit a candle so that she could inspect the damage. "Stop squirming," she ordered him, "it looks rather nasty. I need to clean it. I've got some water but I don't know if that's going to be good enough."

"Wait a minute," he said, then reached into his back pocket and pulled a flask. "Use this." She accepted the flask and poured a little of its contents into the wound.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Rum. And a bloody waste of it." He watched as she reached onto a shelf and pulled out a delicate, fine linen hankerchief embroidered with a small swan in one corner. She folded it into a bandage, then wound it carefully around his injured hand and tied it off.

"Competent for a beginner," he remarked, "but it needs to be tighter to stanch the bleeding." With that he raised his hand higher, took one end in his white, even teeth and the other in his right hand, and slowly pulled the knot tighter, keeping his blue eyes locked on her green ones.

She wondered how he could make even wound dressing look like a sexual suggestion but made no comment.

"You know you are even more lovely than I imagined in the ballroom. Your eyes are the color of the sea just after a storm or perhaps a forest in the spring sunlight. And your attire – while the gown was indeed striking, your current state of disabille suits you much, much better. You look good, I must say," he leered. He continued to survey her, a predatory expression in his eyes and a wolfish grin on his face.

"What are you really doing here?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Well, since you ask, I'm here to steal a piece of jewelry from one of your would-be swains. Norbert, Norbeck, Ethelbert, something like that."

"You mean Lord Norbrook? Is that what you are – a common thief?"

"I prefer dashing rapscallion, actually, but, yes when the occasion arises I do steal the odd jewel from the odd palace from time to time, usually on commission. But I'm a jack of many trades."

"Who did you steal this one for?" she demanded.

"Well, darling, that's a dangerous question, but I'm going to tell you because if I do, you'll know to stay well clear of the entire matter. To do otherwise could endanger your safety and I would despair if it did." The mockery was back in his voice.

"I'm listening."

"The Dark One asked me to steal it and thus, will owe me either a very large favor or a very large bag of gold. As to why, I know not and I prefer not to ask. He has his own agenda. I just do the odd job for him now and again. Ultimately, he is a businessman, as am I."

Then he paused, and suddenly, his mockery ceased and the mask dropped away. He took her hands gently. "I must thank you, Emma, most sincerely for your help. You are not only beautiful, but brave, kind and resourceful. That's a rare combination and I am in your debt."

"Well," she said finally, "it seemed like the right thing to do.

They locked gazes for a moment further, and Emma sensed something, she knew not what, pass between them, but in that moment, she saw blue green colors flashing in her mind's eye.