Disguised Enchantment Page 3

  The Marquis closed the door between them and the dungeon, and then walked back to her. "Would you care to join me, Mademoiselle?" He bowed, sweeping his arm toward the table.

  Shannon's eyes flew to the elaborate table setting then back to his masked face.

  "You didn't take my dinner invitation seriously, did you?" he grinned, offering her his hand.

  Wordlessly, she shook her head, purposely ignoring his courteous gesture.

  "That's what I figured..." he chuckled, "...and exactly why I ... ahh ... encouraged you to keep our date tonight. Besides," he took her arm and drew her from the settee. "I owe you an apology."

  Shannon glared at him sullenly as he led her across the room and seated her at the table. She didn't care what he said to her nor how kindly he treated her. She didn't trust him and she certainly wasn't going to believe anything he told her. As for dinner, the mere thought of food made her sick to her stomach and she was determined not to touch even the smallest morsel offered her.

  The Marquis removed a bottle of champagne from the sterling silver ice bucket where it had been chilling and poured a liberal amount into two tall crystal flutes. Shannon watched him from beneath lowered lashes, discretely inspecting the sleek, black suede jeans and matching vest he wore over a pale silver-gray silk shirt with a deep-V'd front and full-cut sleeves. When he offered her one of the glasses, however, she adamantly shook her head, refusing the bubbly wine.

  With an exasperated sigh, he set the flute on the table and sank down in the chair behind him. He studied her tense form and doleful expression for several moments, and then reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out two small objects and laid them on the table in front of her. "I believe these belong to you," he said softly.

  Shannon lifted her downcast eyes and focused them on the items before her. "I found them on the floor after you left last night," he continued. "They apparently fell out of your dress pocket. I must say though, as I'm sure you know by now, that business card is a fake. Where in the world did you get it anyway?"

  Various shades of crimson crept into Shannon's cheeks as her gaze lingered on the tattered card. It was embarrassing enough that he had discovered the reason for her coming to the Chateau without learning her knack for gullibility too.

  "A-A girl I work with g-gave it to me," she stammered awkwardly.

  "Really?" A sardonic sneer played at the corners of his mouth. "She must think you need a little spice in your life."

  Shannon blinked back hot tears that stung her eyes. Was he trying to be cruel? Or was that snide remark meant to ridicule her obvious lack of sexual experience?

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded." He rose to his feet and walked around the table to where she sat. Squatting down in front of her, he peered up at her tear-stained face. "Actually, I believe she purposely set you up hoping you'd come here and have the living daylights scared out of you. And that's why I owe you an apology." He touched her hand. Shannon jerked her head up and stared at him with wide, dubious eyes. "You see, I didn't know you weren't aware of what kind of place the Chateau is when you came here. I thought your displays of fear and attempts to elude me were a game you were playing. Had I known the circumstances regarding your misguided visit to this establishment, I would have never come on so strong. Please accept my sincerest apology for the distress I have caused you."

  Shannon fidgeted uncomfortably under his steadfast gaze. "Just what kind of place is this?" she asked warily.

  The Marquis straightened his brawny frame and moved to stand behind her chair. Placing his hands on its back, he leaned over her shoulder. "The Chateau is an erotic establishment designed exclusively for women, Shannon. We offer everything from romantic fantasies to something more, shall we say, provocative. And, as you've already discovered, I provide the erotic part."

  His appalling words affronted Shannon's sense of propriety, increasing not only her intolerance of him, but also the throbbing pain in her head, and she lashed out at him without regard to the viciousness of her words. "You disgust me!" she spat venomously, as she shot out of her chair, nearly upsetting the table. "You're ... you're nothing but a sick, depraved animal that revels in taking advantage of lonely women. You're not sorry for what you did to me! You enjoyed every minute of it until you found out I was duped into coming here, then you came up with this ... this hearts and flowers routine to fix the situation. Well ... you can forget it! Maybe it serves to ease your guilty conscience or something, but it's not going to make me forget what happened here last night!"

  "You're wrong about me, Shannon. I'm not what you think I am and if you give me the chance, I..."

  "Save it!" she roared. "Nothing you say is going to change my mind!"

  With a cold stare of indifference, she turned abruptly and bolted for the door leading to the dungeon, but a sudden, stabbing pain in her right temple made her cry out in agony and her legs began to buckle beneath her. Quickly the Marquis jumped to her side and pulled her against him, steadying her with his strong arms.

  "Don't touch me!" she cried, striking out at him. "Don't..."

  "Stop it, Shannon!" He grabbed her hands and held them securely in his own. "You're obviously in pain. Tell me what's wrong!"

  Shannon lifted a trembling hand to the side of her head and tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. The pain had returned with such intensity that her vision blurred, then faded altogether as a swirling darkness descended upon the room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A roomful of shadowy images swam before Shannon's eyes when she awoke several hours later. Even though the brutal pain in her head had subsided, she still felt weak and disoriented. Gradually, her senses cleared enough for her to realize she was in bed and no longer wearing her clothes. The low crackling sound of a fire drew her attention to a point beyond the foot of the bed where bright orange flames flickering in a fireplace provided the room's only light. A tall armchair stood facing her, partially silhouetted against the glow from the hearth and, within it, a dark form sat keeping a silent vigil. Deep shadows concealed his face and body, yet she was possessed with an ominous feeling of familiarity that made her squirm beneath the soft, down-filled comforter. The rustling covers must have alerted him to her wakefulness because the black-clad being rose from his chair and came to her bedside. Taking a small box of matches from the drawer of the night table, he lit a chunky white candle sitting upon its surface, and then leaned down to her.

  "How are you feeling, Shannon?" he whispered.

  Immediately recognizing the Marquis' velvety voice, she shrank deeper into the covers. "Please," she whimpered. "I just want to go home."

  The Marquis eased down beside her and brushed a wayward strand of hair from her forehead. "Not tonight, sweetheart. Brian said you had a migraine headache probably brought on by stress. He gave you an injection to stop the pain and now you need to rest." Gently, he tucked the comforter around her slender shoulders.

  "Wait. Who ... who's Brian?" she asked fearfully as she pushed herself up against the pillows cushioning the bed's brass railing.

  The Marquis smiled at her apprehensive expression. "No one to be afraid of, I assure you. He's a doctor affiliated with the Chateau. I called him to take a look at you when you collapsed in my arms."

  "I-I don't remember doing that," Shannon stammered as her bewildered gaze drifted down to the long sleeves of the black satin robe that completely enveloped her petite body. Immediately she realized it belonged to the Marquis and that he had to have put it on her.

  "Yes, I undressed you, if that's what you're thinking ... but I only did it to make you more comfortable," he explained hastily. His tone was sincere, yet a hint of salacious pleasure in his voice told her he'd thoroughly enjoyed the task as well.

  A wave of embarrassment swept over her at the thought of him taking such liberties, but she was determined not to let him see how much he flustered her. Raising her head, she met his unswerving gaze with a cool, indignant stare, designed t
o steel her against the passionate glint she expected to find burning brightly in his eyes. But to her surprise it was no longer there as in its place was a look of such warmth and tenderness it completely unnerved her.

  Shannon tore here eyes away from his loving expression and quickly turned her head. So that's it! she thought angrily. He couldn't cajole her into having sex with him last night, so now he was trying a gentler approach. Like a chameleon changing its color to blend with the surrounding environment, he had cleverly altered his tactics to get to her and she trembled at the intent of such knavery.

  "You're shaking, Shannon," he said, gently touching her shoulder. "Are you feeling ill again?"

  Shannon nodded meekly, trying to conceal the apprehension churning inside her. "I-I think that shot is ... is making me sick. I feel so cold and dizzy."

  The Marquis rose from the edge of the bed and walked around the foot to the other side.

  "Wh-what are you doing?" she stammered, watching him throw back the comforter and lower his muscular frame onto the bed.

  "The shot's making you sick because you're fighting the medication and not letting it help you rest like it's supposed to. Come on." He patted a spot next to him. "Lie down here with me."

  Shannon stared at his naked upper body as he lay on his side facing her, and then adamantly shook her head.

  "I'm not going to hurt you, Shannon." He spoke in a soft, deliberate tone. "I just want to keep you warm so you can go back to sleep. Please?" He held out his hand to her.

  Again, the overwhelming urge to flee from his presence burned strong inside her, but a sudden nauseating whirl of the room's interior made her reconsider and she reluctantly placed her hand in his and let him pull her down into the covers.

  "I know you find it hard to believe, but you are safe here with me," he whispered as he drew her into the curve of his body so that her back rested against his broad chest.

  With his body so close, his words afforded little consolation, as the silk material of the black lounging pants he wore did nothing to conceal his masculinity. She could feel the firm bulge of his erect penis nestling between her buttocks, and she tensed at such intimate contact.

  "Relax, Shannon." He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "It's dark outside and the rain is still falling, so just close your eyes and go back to sleep."

  For a time, Shannon lay rigid in his snug embrace, scarcely allowing herself to breathe. Then slowly, like a brilliant sunset yields to the soft fingers of night, she surrendered to the potent sedative in the medication, and relinquished her weary soul to the inviting softness that seemed to completely surround her.

  "That's right, sweetheart, come close to me. Let my warmth fill you," he murmured against her ear, feeling the stiffness gradually slip from her limbs. "My body is not an instrument of pain and fear, but a wellspring of comfort and pleasure. I never take, Shannon. I only give. Perhaps someday you will come to know that."

  Shannon stirred softly as the Marquis smoothed aside the long locks of black hair and tenderly kissed the nape of her neck. He knew she heard little, if any of what he said, but it didn't matter at the moment. Raising up on one elbow, he reached across her and extinguished the candle with his fingertips, then settled back against the pillows content to just hold her in his arms for the remainder of the night.

  * * * *

  The rattle of dishware just outside the bedroom door brought Shannon awake with a start. Anxiously clutching the comforter to her chin, she glanced about to see who or what had caused such a racket when a plump, middle-aged woman attired in a high-necked, Victorian-style blouse and a long, black skirt bustled into the room, carrying a tray bearing a silver tea service. Her pewter-gray hair was drawn back from her face in a neat bun, emphasizing the liveliness of her hazel eyes and the pudgy but gentle features of her face. She smiled at Shannon's shrouded form in the bed while placing the tray on the table beside her.

  "Good mornin', lass," she said in a thick, decidedly Scottish lilt, "you must be Miss Shannon."

  Shannon nodded in reply, wondering what on earth such a sweet woman was doing at a place like the Chateau.

  The woman scurried to the windows and tied back the heavy draperies allowing the bright morning sun to spill into the room, then returned to the tea service. "I'm Mrs. Boyer, the housekeeper..." she explained, responding to the puzzled look on Shannon's face. "...but you can call me Mattie." She tossed Shannon a reassuring wink as she lifted the teapot and poured some of the strong, dark brew into a cup. "The Marquis asked me ta fetch ya a little somethin' ta tide ya over till brunch." She gestured at the flaky croissant accompanying the tea.

  Shannon bristled at the woman's assuming manner. "Brunch? What brunch? I don't want to go anywhere but home!"

  "Now, now, lass." Mattie patted her hand. "The brunch is nothin' but a little get-ta-gether the lads host every Sunday, and it's customary for their favorite ladies to be in attendance."

  "I am not one of his ladies ... and I'm not attending any brunch!" Defiantly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and started to get out, then remembering the Marquis had taken her clothes, she scanned the room for their whereabouts. "Where are my things?" she snapped hotly.

  "They're bein' laundered, missy. After the rain and all last night, the Marquis wanted everything to be nice and clean for ya today."

  "Oh, did he now?" She scowled darkly. She knew full well that the state of her apparel was not the reason for their disappearance. He had purposely confiscated her clothes so she couldn't get dressed and sneak away before he was ready to let her go.

  "Now don't fret, lass," Mattie clucked. "I'll have 'em back 'fore yer done prettyin' yerself."

  Shannon glared at the woman's beaming face. "Prettying myself?"

  "Aye," she nodded in the direction of the room's adjoining bathroom. "I figered ya'd be wantin' ta tidy up this mornin', so I put some clean linens and such in the lavatory for ya. Now 'ere's a nice big tub in there, so go on an' take a good, long soak. Ya've got 'bout an hour 'fore the Marquis comes back ta fetch ya for the brunch."

  For a brief moment, Shannon pondered Mattie's suggestion. The idea of a warm, soothing bath was certainly appealing to her, yet indulging herself in such a simple pleasure in the Marquis' bathroom was a risk she'd rather not take. "Ah ... where is he, anyway?" Shannon gulped, suddenly realizing she had not seen him at all this morning.

  Mattie lifted her hand in a dissenting wave. "Ah, that lad. Gone for his mornin' constitutional, he has."

  "Morning constitutional!" she choked, nearly laughing at her disapproving expression.

  "Aye. Runnin'... joggin' ... whatever it's called now. Does it everyday," she shook her head in bewilderment, "rainin' or shinin'."

  "I see," Shannon expelled a ragged sigh. "Then it won't be long before he comes back here to shower."

  "Nay, lass. He'll be usin' the showers in the gymnasium downstairs."

  "Gymnasium?" Shannon lifted her brows in surprise.

  "Aye. In the basement next ta the garage, it be. The lads have weights and punchin' bags in there. Gotta keep 'emselves in good shape for the ladies, ya know!" She grinned bawdily.

  Shannon grimaced at Mattie's warped sense of humor and reached for the cup of tea sitting on the tray. It was apparent that the Marquis expected her to attend this "brunch" with him. For what reason, she wasn't sure, but the implications of such an affair made her extremely uneasy.

  Mattie rose from the foot of the bed where she'd been perched like a doting mother hen. "I'm gonna ta leave ya to yerself now, missy. If ya gotta mind to be usin' that tub, ya better get a move on. Time's a-wastin' ... but don't worry yerself. I won't let the lad invade yer privacy till yer good an' ready for 'im."

  With Mattie gone from the room, Shannon slid off the bed and padded to the bathroom. Opening the door a crack, she peeked inside. Like the drawing room and master bedroom, it, too, was splendid in every detail. Black porcelain fixtures fitted with gleaming gold faucets accentuated the lavender
and gold inlaid tile floor and patterned lavender wallpaper. A huge sunken tub tiled with a darker hue of lavender blocks occupied the center floor area. Several half-burned candles and a tall, crystal bottle of bath salts sat upon the top edge, suggesting that the Marquis was quite accustomed to entertaining in the tub as well as the bedroom.

  Shannon made her way around the tub to the double vanity sink, above which a cut glass, lighted mirror covered the entire side wall. Upon the sink's marbled surface, a large wicker basket containing a stack of fresh lavender towels and adorned with an ornate, gold-plated dish of scented soaps, a small bottle of shampoo--and even a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste--awaited use. Other personal items of the masculine persuasion, such as a razor, shaving foam, cologne, hair brush, and shower gel, were neatly stored, each in its own place, on a shelf beneath the mirror. Shannon studied them in earnest hoping to discover something that would give her a clue to the Marquis' identity. No name or monogram marked the items, however, and she turned away frowning in dismay.

  Another scan of the room's spotless facilities revealed a shower stall built into the corner near the vanity. She didn't see it before because its glass door was designed to look like an extension of the papered wall. Immediately, she decided showering would be much quicker and safer than a bath. Even though Mattie had assured her she wouldn't let the Marquis invade her privacy, visions of him stealing into the bathroom and slipping into the tub with her as she lounged in a mountain of softly scented bubbles continued to burden her thoughts.