he reached over and untied the laces of her dress, loosening them until the bodice gaped wide to reveal the lush perfect breasts beneath. They nosed at the fabric, the nipples a rosy pink beside the pale perfection of her skin. And when his fingers brushed against them he felt the nipples harden and peak.
He leaned down and touched his lips against the soft skin of first one cheek and then the other, and when he looked through the holes cut within the feathered mask he saw her pupils widen, black as ebony, within eyes that were the same colour as Arabella’s, the true clear blue of a sunlit summer sky.
Arabella. The pain was in equal measure to the depth of his desire.
His mouth traced down the slender column of her throat, to kiss each hollow of her collarbone as he eased the dress halfway down her arms. The laces were undone enough to expose her breasts in full and he moved his mouth over them so close yet without touching. Her nipples beaded harder as he caressed them with his breath. Slowly, teasingly he touched his tongue to her.
She closed her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to catch back the rush of breath that escaped her. Beneath his lips he felt the shiver pass right through her.
Very gently, very slowly he laved her, sucked her, measured the weight of each delicious breast within his hands. He could feel the fast hard beat of her heart and, more surprisingly, the slight tremor within her body.
And when he drew back her cheeks were faintly flushed and behind the mask her eyes were open again, and just for a moment he saw that they glittered with desire before she hid them once more from his view. She slid the rest of her dress from her arms and unfastened the buttons by her waist so that the skirts slithered down her legs to pool upon the floor. She stepped out of the pile of silk, naked save for her high-heeled shoes and stockings, and the mask upon her face.
Miss Noir did not posture to encourage him, not that she needed to. She just stood there, proud and watchful.
Arabella, he wanted to whisper, and even though the name had never left his memory for all of these years past, having this woman who bore so much of her resemblance had slashed the bindings on all of those old wounds. And yet he wanted her more than ever. He wanted her as if she were Arabella herself.
Dominic shrugged off his waistcoat, unfastened his cravat and peeled off his shirt. He saw Miss Noir’s gaze move over his chest and down to take in the bulge of his manhood straining in his pantaloons. And when her eyes met his again there was the strangest expression in them, one that he could not quite fathom.
He closed the distance between them and, pulling her into his arms, kissed her as thoroughly as he had wanted to from the moment he had laid eyes on her. She was rigid at first, but then she succumbed to his kisses and melted against him, and it was just like having the real Arabella in his arms. He did not even have to close his eyes to pretend it was her.
He kissed her as if she were the woman that he had loved. He kissed her with all the anguish that was in his soul … and in the answer of her lips he was shocked to feel an echo of how it had been between Arabella and himself. He stilled and eased back that he might look into her eyes but, just as quickly, Miss Noir turned away and bent to unfasten the garters of her stockings.
Dominic stayed her. ‘Leave them,’ he murmured. ‘I want to look at you.’
She misunderstood and took a few steps away, opening up a small distance between them so that he might view her. He could not ignore the invitation, swallowing hard as his gaze swept over the long white legs that rose out of her dark stockings, over the smooth curve of her hips and the small triangle of fair hair that sat between her legs, and the soft feminine belly.
She blushed beneath his scrutiny, as if she were not a well-practised courtesan that rode different men every night of the week, as if she really were his Arabella. His manhood strained all the harder against the fine wool of his pantaloons.
She made no move to unfasten the mask from her face, nor did he ask her to do so, for he had no wish to shatter the illusion that had him standing here in the first place.
He stripped off his clothing and then took her in his arms once more.
Arabella, he mouthed silently against her throat as she wound her arms around his neck.
Arabella, as he carried her to the bed and laid her down. The contrast of her pale naked skin against the black silken sheets seemed to emphasise her similarity to Arabella all the more. He wanted her so much he was aching for her, so much that he could think of nothing else. His body covered hers, one hand thrumming at her nipple as he positioned himself between her legs.
She was open to him, moist and ready, and he was rock hard as he stroked against her. Everything of her—the scent, the taste, the feel—was so like Arabella that as he slid into her silken heat in his mind it was Arabella he was entering. And when he rode her it was Arabella he was riding until both their breaths were ragged and their bodies were slick with sweat. He rode her until he found the relief of his climax, pulling out of her just before he spilled his seed.
Such exquisite torture.
But the minute that his body was spent he rolled off her, already regretting his decision to come upstairs with her.
She was not Arabella, and all that he had done was tear asunder ill-healed wounds of the past. He felt as empty and alone and unhappy as ever he had been and longed to be gone from this place. Throwing the covers back, he climbed from the bed.
‘Thank you,’ he said awkwardly, but could not bring himself to use the woman’s name. He walked away, found his shirt and pantaloons and pulled them on.
A faint breathy noise sounded from the bed, a noise that sounded suspiciously like a silenced sob.
Dominic looked back at the bed and the woman who lay there so still and unmoving. And as his gaze found hers, she turned quickly away, rolling on to her side to present him with her back, as if she sought to block him out.
His eyes traced the golden tendrils that had escaped from the pile of curls pinned upon her head, over her pale shoulders and down the straight line of her back. Her waist was narrow before the flair of her hips and her perfect bottom.
His fingers froze in the act of fastening the buttons of his pantaloons. His blood turned to ice. He could not move, could not so much as take a breath. He stared at the fullness of her rounded buttocks, stared at the soft white skin … and the distinctive dark mole upon her right cheek that he remembered so well.
The shock was as explosive as if someone had taken a pistol and shot him at point-blank range. Everything else in the world seemed to diminish. Dominic gaped with utter incredulity, staring at a truth so blatant that he marvelled he had not realised right from the very start.
‘Arabella?’ His whisper was barely more than a breath, yet it seemed to resonate within the room as loudly as if he had roared it at the top of his voice.
Every line of her body stiffened and tensed, the reaction confirming the suspicion his mind had been too slow to form. He saw the small shiver that rippled through her before she pulled the top cover free and then, holding it against her body to cover her nakedness, climbed from the bed. Only then did she turn to face him.
They stared at one another across the rumpled mess of sheets, and the very air seemed to vibrate with a barely contained tension.
Even now his mind could not accept the enormity of the discovery. Even now he thought she would deny
