London, June, 1807

PROLOGUE

Fitzwilliam Darcy was not his most judicious self. He had drunk entirely too freely. His usually reliable senses were proclaiming it was past time to leave the hoi polloi of Vauxhall Gardens and this ridiculous masquerade—but first he desperately needed to rest, and perhaps find a place to relieve himself. His cousin Richard had insisted he let himself go and enjoy all manner of delights. None seemed remotely pleasant anymore.

He was with his Fitzwilliam cousins and George Wickham. Though Wickham had been a friend of theirs since childhood, Darcy would have preferred he not be included. Unfortunately, he and Albert had become close. Both led frivolous lives—Albert Fitzwilliam, the Viscount Smallwood because he was the oldest son of an earl and had no need to make a living, and George was also indolent because Darcy had recently been cajoled into giving him 3,000 pounds in lieu of the living at Kympton. He had said he was not for the church and no truer words were ever spoken. He declared he was better suited to studying the law. Instead, he spent time carousing with his cousin and frequenting gaming tables with Darcy's money.

When planning for their evening out, it had been decided all would wear the same costume. Darcy, Albert and Richard had been taken to Venice for carnival years ago by the earl. The three remembered seeing men wearing a hooded cape, a cocked hat, and a gold half-mask. It seemed just the thing to maintain anonymity, allow them to eat and drink, and look mysteriously elegant. A perfect disguise for their night of modified debauchery among hordes of those beneath them.

The occasion was tri-fold, like the hats they wore—Darcy being out of mourning for his father, Richard leaving for Portugal at the end of summer, and Bertie's impending wedding to Lady Cassandra Beresford. As the evening had commenced, Darcy had persuaded himself they were just young men hoping to have some fun. Nothing too wild, but much more than he had experienced during his father's illness.

His mind wandered to Miss Isabelle Bowles. None here compared to her. They had met a month ago at one of the last balls of the Season. She was just the way he preferred young ladies—tall, fair, sophisticated, with just enough wit to entertain, but not enough to provoke. He knew immediately she was the one by-the slight tilt of her regal head, silken curls caressing her elegant neck, encased in delectably creamy skin begging to be kissed. Now where did that image come from. It must be the drink. He was equally certain the source of his true admiration was that look of superiority she had mastered so well. She would be his perfect Mistress of Pemberley. Her connexions were impeccable. A mere twenty miles from Pemberley was Cranstock Hall, her father's ancestral home. Sir Walter Bowles, baronet, resided even closer to his uncle, the Earl of Matlock's estate. Darcy had quickly learned she was attending Bertie's wedding, and his plans for settling down and planting an heir began to take shape.

That wastrel George had been responsible for organizing the evening's entertainment. Bertie kept him around because he was so very proficient in knowing the ins and outs of self-indulgent ways. Tonight, that meant he had provided a selection of loose women. To Darcy's saturated brain they had all seemed to be dressed as milk maids, with their personal udders displayed provocatively to suggest they were available to be milked if the gentlemen so desired. However, indulging in carnal pleasures was not to his liking this evening because the fear of disease made such a dalliance abhorrent—especially now that he had met his future wife. Developing in his mind were plans to spend his summer courting her with hopes for a harvest wedding. He could wait to enjoy the delights of the flesh with such a prize before him.

Right now, it was time to find a secluded place. Once his bladder was relieved, he would search for Richard and persuade him to abandon his dissolute brother along with his dutiful accomplice. His first task was soon accomplished and a rest seemed a better alternative than rushing away to pursue his cousin. Besides, it was that time in the evening when Bertie and George would certainly be soon off to find a gaming hell willing to take the viscount's money.

Ahead he spied a figure wearing a costume like his sitting on a bench watching the fireworks. He assumed it was someone in his party, but as he drew closer, he had doubts. The colour of the cape and hat were wrong, and he was not large enough. Besides, this person appeared entirely too enthralled by the display of fireworks to be any of his jaded cohorts. To Fitzwilliam such behaviour was odd even for the average inhabitant of London. He must be quite young when he considered the way he was reacting with such delight to every boom, flash of light, and resulting display in the night sky. Oohs and claps of approval also seemed uncharacteristic of any but the youngest and most inexperienced lad. Despite his finding the young man peculiar, Fitzwilliam Darcy desperately needed to sit for a few minutes before rejoining his party. Still sober enough to realize It was necessary to be especially cautious here among the rabble, he judged the youth harmless and flopped down rather inelegantly on the same bench. So completely intent on watching the spectacle, the lad seemed not to notice him in the least.

Soon, his companion turned just enough for Fitzwilliam to believe this enthusiastic spectator was a female. She seemed devoid of facial hair on the part of her face he could see. Her lips also gave her away. They were full and sensuous. Though not strictly a feminine quality, it was actually an unfashionable trait for well-bred young ladies like his Isabelle; and yet there was something provocatively inviting about this one's mouth. Unfortunately, he was entirely too foxed to determine what his personal intrigue meant. To make it even more perplexing, as part of her masquerade, she had painted those lips gold to match her mask. They were in stark contrast to her face which she had whitened. He remembered seeing revelers in Venice who had added a painted face to enhance their disguise.

He struggled to keep from staring and pondered exactly why he knew for certain she was not in fact just a pretty boy. Luckily for him, she turned her attention back to the fireworks, and he was free to observe what he could of her clothing under the cape and the shoes on her feet. Once he determined he was correct in his assumption, he next turned his attention to speculating why she had chosen to dress as a male.

His disapproving mind leapt to the fact she was alone. Even if married, those of his station would never permit a lady to be so in such a secluded place as this. Never! He would not allow such a thing for Georgiana. Unlike his sister, this one was obviously not from the gentry. Still, as a practical matter, if another lady had been with her to chaperone, there would have been no room for him to rest. Perhaps she thought the costume protection.

His musings about this one's lack of propriety reminded him of his duty to his sister. She was begging to leave school, and he and Richard as her guardians would be required to hire a companion for her. She needed something more than a lady's maid. His uncle had left for Derbyshire three weeks ago with Georgiana, and he would be on his way to join her in two days. The heat was already threatening to become oppressive in London, and he had things to accomplish this summer. Thoughts of wooing Isabelle brought a smile to his lips. A summer picnic alone with her in that secluded copse near the stream that meandered down the hill behind his house at Pemberley would be a perfect place for a proposal. As soon as he was home, he must begin to compose the perfect words to say—making certain to compliment her for her position in society.

Just as he was about to begin imagining wedded bliss, there was a cacophony of explosions. It signaled the end of the fireworks display. He heard a loud sigh of contentment from his companion. She turned in his direction. What he could see of her eyes beneath the mask were filled with wonder. Despite the gold paint, her smile was quite unusual. It expressed more joy than he had seen on the faces of the ladies of his acquaintance. Those sensuous lips began to part. It appeared she was planning to speak to him. As he suspected, this young lady clearly displayed a total want of propriety.

"This was my first time seeing such a display. Was it yours as well?"

"No, I have seen fireworks several times before. My father even had a show of them for my sister's birthday two years ago. It was not as extensive as this; but we all enjoyed watching."

The colour of her eyes darkened as her mood became contemplative. "I am not one to usually enjoy artifice." She laughed self -consciously as she touched those lips. "I saw a picture of a face painted just so and became determined to try something unique as I planned my costume. My uncle told me all the other ladies would be wearing fancy dresses and have a glittering mask on a stick, but I wanted to be different." She shrugged as she added, "my mother says she was cursed to have such an obstinate child. Uncle even offered to have a dress made especially for the occasion, but I insisted on this cape instead. More than anything, I wanted to be anonymous tonight. You seem to have had the same idea. Besides, I will be able to turn my costume into a cloak for winter. It is a lovely soft wool."

"You definitely are unique for a lady. I thought I was sharing the bench with a young boy when I first sat down." Both of them laughed at his assumption. "You were explaining to me how you do not enjoy artifice." Suddenly, he had a strong desire to hear her opinions, despite being certain his motive for doing so was mostly encouraged by his inebriation. "Please go on."

"For example, gardens which defy nature's unspoiled beauty are not to my liking, but the spectacle of this display was quite exhilarating. It is an achievement of man I heartily approve."

"The Chinese invented fireworks."

"I would love to go to China." She paused and he saw her eyes again become thoughtful. "My father has an excellent library, and I have read several of his books on the subject. One by a monk, not Marco Polo's delightful observations, but someone whose name I do not remember, indicated they bind ladies' feet to keep them small and dainty." She paused and seemed to be imagining her feet bound just so, "walking is one of my greatest joys, I would not be able to abide such a thing."

Despite his enjoyment of their discussion, his next question was delivered with his usual hauteur. "Do you walk the streets of London?"

She seemed not to have perceived his arrogance. "No, my uncle does not allow me to go anywhere without a maid or a footman but the park by his house."

"But you are here alone."

"He and my aunt are entertaining some business acquaintances. I was determined to watch the spectacle from a better vantage point. When they were not paying attention, I used my very strong feet to find this place. He will be here soon to collect me. and I will get a severe scolding. But it was worth it."

As he suspected she was not from the gentry but trade. That explained her complete lack of understanding of proper behaviour. "So where besides China would you like to go?"

With his question she laughed. The sound that escaped those golden lips was simultaneously melodic but with a delightful hint of naughtiness. "Truth be told, I would enjoy going almost anywhere."

Contrary to his nature, he was becoming involved in their conversation. There was something about her way of speaking that drew him in. Dropping his arrogance he said, "London has many wonders to experience with its museums and galleries."

"Yes, you are correct. I am here from the country helping my aunt by caring for my young cousins. She has a new born who takes up most of her time. My uncle's motive, he is after all a dutiful younger brother to my mother, for my being here is to marry me off to one of his business associates. They have taken me to see a few attractions. What I saw made me desire more. On the other hand, I do miss my ability to walk when I am home. My father says I was born a restless soul. My mother says I was born to ruin her plans. And as for marriage, I am certain I am destined to attract Monsieur Bluebeard; so I would prefer to put it off as long as possible." He could not keep from laughing at her fears for the future.

She joined him in his mirth. Darcy was unable to determine why he was enjoying talking with her. He should be on his way back to his companions. Still, it could not hurt to ask a few more question just to see what her answers might be. Their discussion was diverting and that had been the point of this evening out. "What are some of the other things you would like to do?"

"Thank you for asking. I have actually been making a list. Tonight, I have been able to eliminate attending a masquerade and seeing fireworks."

"My first masquerade was in Venice."

"I am envious of your experience. It was looking at pictures of their Carnivale that gave me the idea of how to dress tonight. Someday I hope to travel there. When I allow my imagination to take over, it seems a perfect place for a honeymoon. One might even dare to marry for such a trip."

Darcy wondered whether Isabelle would enjoy going there. "How starry-eyed of you. Tell me more of your list."

"Here are some I have decided upon. They are not all romantic… some are quite practical." Once again, her finger stroked her lips and the tip of her tongue became visible as she thought. "Seeing a play at the theatre—preferably Shakespeare-before I return home to Hertfordshire, is first on the list. Next, I would like to attend a ball. Of course, I have attended dances at the assembly rooms in Meryton, but it is not the same as a private ball in a grand house."

"I have just participated in the Season and have been to entirely too many balls." He wondered if his statement once again brought his arrogance to the fore. If it did, she did not seem offended.

"I would like to go sea bathing and feel the power of the waves. Then I plan to climb a mountain and see what the world looks like from such a great height." He detected hesitancy about her next desire. He guessed she was evaluating whether to speak freely. "Experiencing being kissed is often in my thoughts." Those words caused her cheeks, what he could see of them through her mask and the paint, to flame, and she quickly added, "But most of all I dream of having access to a magnificent library and being allowed to read any book I want. As I said, I am also practical and want to see my older sister, Jane, happily married. It would solve so many difficulties in my life. It is my intention to teach her children to play the pianoforte and speak French."

Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming compulsion to do something totally out of character. He could not control himself—besides it was not as if she was a young lady of consequence who moved in the same circles he did. He took her face in his hands as his eyes fastened on to that provoking mouth. A spur of the moment touching of flesh on flesh, more crushing than a first time warranted, would not be halted. Perhaps it was the drink, perhaps it was the anonymity. The intensity of his desire was a first for him.

Thought played no role in his action, but he did have enough presence of mind to assume she would push him away, slap him, or maybe even scream. She did none of those. Instead, those sensuous fascinating lips, gave as good as they were given. Inching ever closer to him, her torso wedged itself into his. His hands dropped to her waist—as low as he could reach while they were seated. He introduced his tongue and she followed suit. He felt the hardening of desire. At that moment, a delayed blast and shards of light rent the sky, highlighting their illicit act. And then just as quickly as it all began, she pulled away abruptly.

Seconds later she spoke. "My uncle has seen me. For both of our future happiness, you must leave immediately. I am to blame, and you must disregard all thoughts of honour. Be a rational creature, sir. Nothing must come of our indiscretion. The only person who knows who I am is my uncle. I hope no one knows who you are. If so, the rumour mill has no fuel for a fire."

His brain returned to functioning. He did as she told him, glad the cape he was wearing covered his loins.