Disguised Enchantment Read online

  Twenty minutes later, a sharp rapping sound on the door frame made Shannon's heart leap in her chest as she sat upon the bed trying to brush the snarls from her damp hair.

  "Good morning!" the Marquis' voice boomed cheerfully.

  Shannon tilted her head and shyly glanced up at his beefy form filling the doorway. Although she was fully dressed and had even applied a subtle touch of make-up from the few cosmetics she carried in her purse, she still felt ill prepared to deal with his return.

  "Good morning," she replied in a small voice while continuing to struggle with the hopeless knots in her hair.

  The Marquis strolled across the room to her side and placed his hand over hers on the brush. "Why don't you let me help you with that," he proposed softly.

  Surprised by his unexpected offer, she relinquished her grip on the brush and turned slightly, affording him access to the back of her hair. With sure, experienced strokes, he gently worked the tangles from the unruly locks until they shone with the luster of black silk.

  "You have beautiful hair, Shannon ... but then, the rest of you is beautiful, too."

  Shannon blushed outright at his backhanded compliment, resenting the fact that he was indeed in a position to know. "Thank you ... for brushing my hair, that is."

  Taking the brush from his hand, she rose from the bed. The nearness of him galvanized her senses, making her acutely aware of his fresh-scrubbed, masculine scent augmented by a touch of cologne and impeccable attire. Like last night, his clothes had born no resemblance to the outrageous, blatantly sexual getup he had worn at their first encounter. Today he was dressed in a deep mauve-colored shirt with black-studded buttons, neatly tucked into black jeans. A wide black belt was drawn snugly about his waist emphasizing the lean, taut muscles of his upper torso.

  Nervously, she picked her purse up from the bed and stuck the brush into a side pocket. "I-I understand I'm supposed to be attending a brunch this morning."

  "That's right," he nodded. "And there are a few things I need to discuss with you before we go downstairs."

  Shannon turned and faced him, raising her chin in defiance. "I do not intend to go to any brunch with you. It's probably some kind of orgy, anyway."

  The Marquis managed to keep from laughing out loud at her presumptuous remark, but couldn't hide the amusement in his eyes. "My dear lady, the men of the Chateau L'Kost do not participate in orgies. Privacy and discretion are of utmost importance here, so you may rely on it when I say we do what we do behind closed doors only."

  Shannon flopped back down on the bed and presented him with her best sullen look. "I don't care. I'm still not going. I want to go home and that's what I intend to do even if I have to walk."

  Planting a light blue and cream-colored Louis XV chair in front of her, he seated himself on it and fixed her with a perturbed scowl. "I know you're not exactly impressed with being here with me, but that's beside the point. I wanted to take you to the brunch to introduce you to my colleagues and their ladies in the hope that you might discover we are quite a congenial bunch. You might even enjoy it if you give yourself half a chance."

  "You mean there are more like you?"

  "Yes, five others to be exact." He grinned at her shocked expression.

  "What ... what do you all do at this so-called brunch?" she asked, picking at an imaginary thread on her sleeve.

  "Unwind mostly," he shrugged. "We like to play a little music and just socialize with the ladies. It's really quite harmless, but if you find it uncomfortable in any way, I'll be happy to arrange for you to be taken home, if that is your wish."

  Shannon pondered his words carefully before rendering a reply. She had to admit she was a little curious about the other men and the sort of women who patronized the Chateau, but the thought of actually mingling with them was less than appealing. On the other hand, attending the brunch might be enough to satisfy him and rid him from her life for good.

  "All right, I'll go," she acquiesced, purposely averting her eyes from his masked visage, "but I can't promise I'll want to stay."

  "That's all I ask." He rose from the chair and set it apart from the bed. "Shall we, Mademoiselle?" He gazed at her inquiringly.

  Obligingly, Shannon slid off the purple comforter and, shyly accepting his proffered arm, let him guide her out of the bedroom.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When the Marquis opened the carved mahogany doors to the dining room, Shannon's eyes were treated to yet another exquisite 18th century room. The walls, paneled in solid oak, glistened softly in the light radiating from the four crystal chandeliers that hung from each corner of the elaborately coffered ceiling. A fireplace with a pediment mantel made of agate and onyx marble occupied the front portion of the room while a huge tapestry--depicting what Shannon took to be a meeting between French explorers and Indians in the New World--covered nearly the entire surface of the near wall. Yet the most elaborate sight of all was the enormous marbled-covered dining table sitting upon another beautiful woven rug in the middle of the room, laden with every kind of fruit and breakfast food imaginable. Around the table stood fourteen green velvet upholstered, straight-back chairs, none of which were occupied. The Chateau men and their guests stood in a group laughing and talking at the far side of the room, some of them with a glass of juice or coffee cup in hand.

  The Marquis closed the mahogany doors with an intentional bang and returned to Shannon's side. Immediately, the light-hearted chatter ceased and everyone turned to see who had entered the room.

  "Good morning, all," he said brightly, with a polite nod of his head. "I'm glad to see everyone's in such good spirits because I have someone special I'd like you to meet."

  Suddenly Shannon's curiosity about the others vanished into thin air. The very thought of actually meeting them alarmed her and made her wish she could literally crawl under the rug. The next best thing, however, seemed appropriate at the moment, and she slowly inched her way around behind the Marquis until she was completely hidden by his broad shoulders.

  "This is Shannon McAllister," he announced and reached out to slip his arm around her. Finding only a vacant spot beside him, however, he quickly glanced over his shoulder to where she stood anxiously staring at the floor. "She's a little shy," he grinned, taking her hand and gently drawing her back to him.

  Timidly, Shannon glanced up at the amused, but friendly faces looking back at her. The male ones wore masks in assorted colors and shapes similar to the black hood of the Marquis.

  Smiling reassuringly at her, the Marquis resumed his introductions.

  "Shannon, may I present the Chateau men and their ladies. First, we have pirate Jean Laffite, who may have helped our country during the War of 1812--but don't let that good deed fool you. He still remains the most feared plunderer the high seas have ever known--especially when it comes to stealing the heart of his lady, Ms. Jillian Dunn."

  Jean Laffite swept off the large black and crimson plumed tricorn he wore over the red combination mask and bandanna that covered his head and part of his black-bearded face. "A pleasure to meet you, my pretty," he leered in a gravelly tone.

  "A pleasure indeed," Jillian laughed, giving him a playful whack on the arm.

  Shannon nodded in acknowledgment but the wide-eyed expression on her face remained unchanged. The Marquis glanced at her in amusement then continued.

  "Beside Jean, there, is Cardinal de Rohan. He may have been a courtier as well as a prince of the Church in his day, but take my word for it, his real talent lies in buying jewelry for women--particularly diamond necklaces. And as I'm sure his lady, Ms. Anne Duval, can attest, that can be a real revolution starter."

  The notorious cardinal gazed benevolently at Shannon from a snug fitting, gold-colored cowl-like hood that extended over his forehead, around his eyes, and across the bridge of his nose to just below his cheekbones. "Welcome to the Chateau, my child."

  "Yes, welcome!" Anne smiled warmly.

  "Our other Jean, Jean Paul Marat, who was, without
a doubt, one of the most ruthless leaders of the French Revolution. But alas, I must confess, he isn't so ruthless when it comes to bathing. When his lady, Ms. Sherry Robertson, asked him why he didn't use the hot tub installed in his entry room, he was heard to reply, "I'd never be caught dead in one of those things!"

  Marat nodded cordially at Shannon, the corners of his mouth curving into a roguish grin below the velvet, rust-colored mask that camouflaged the rest of his face.

  "It's very nice to meet you, Shannon," Sherry called out, still laughing at the Marquis' introduction.

  "Next, we have Napoleon. Sure, he was a brilliant military leader, self-proclaimed emperor and ardent admirer of the fairer sex, but we all tried to tell him that burning the candle at both ends was going to lead to his downfall. So when he became smitten with Ms. Josie McCall, we weren't at all surprised that he'd finally met his ... Waterloo."

  "It is an honor, Mademoiselle," Napoleon bowed majestically, a presumptuous grin etched on his gray-masked face.

  "Glad you could join us!" Josie exclaimed in a friendly manner.

  "And last but not least, we have King Louis the Fifteenth. Now this guy really knows the meaning of self-gratification. It was his preference for the boudoir and other luxuries instead of the throne that resulted in the discontent of the French people and eventually the French Revolution. Ah, but what the heck! How could we expect Louis, affectionately known as the Well-Beloved King, to ever refuse a pretty face--especially when it belongs to his lady, Ms. Rachel Williams."

  "At your service, your Ladyship," the King winked at Shannon, his brown eyes twinkling from the violet-colored mask surrounding them.

  "Hi, Shannon!" Rachel replied exuberantly.

  By the time the Marquis finished introducing everyone, Shannon was no longer nervous. His zany introductions as well as the genuine friendliness of the group made her forget the anxiety she had felt earlier, and she found herself laughing along with them.

  "Well, now that everyone's acquainted, I feel like a little breakfast. How about you, Mademoiselle?" He peered at her expectantly.

  "All right," she nodded shyly and let him escort her across the room to the table. "Thank you for doing that," she whispered, picking up a mug of hot coffee.

  "Doing what?"

  He chuckled as he spooned scrambled eggs onto a plate.

  "Easing the tension--my tension, that is--with those silly introductions."

  "Now there wasn't one thing silly about them. Everything I said was entirely the truth."

  "Historically speaking, perhaps. But..." Shannon glanced up at the Marquis' grinning face, the teasing glimmer in his eyes making her forget what she had planned to say.

  "But they did the trick, just the same," he concluded for her. For a moment his eyes held hers with a fervent gaze before he turned back to the table. "Now you're going to have more than just that coffee," he grumbled, grabbing another plate. "Let's see..." he scanned the table carefully. "...A little French toast with hot maple syrup, half a grapefruit, and a big blueberry muffin to top it off. That should do for starters." He handed her the plate.

  "Starters!" she gasped. "This is enough food for two meals!"

  "My dear, this is two meals," he winked as he pulled out one of the huge green velvet chairs for her.

  Shannon seated herself in the chair the Marquis held for her, then warily glanced around the table. The other, once empty chairs were now filled with the rest of the men and their ladies who gazed smilingly back at her.

  The Marquis slid into the chair beside her. "You are going to eat that before it gets cold, aren't you?" He gestured to the plate in front of her.

  "Yes, of course," she blushed, picking up her knife and fork. Timidly cutting a small piece from the French toast, she took a bite of the rich food. Any thoughts she previously had about being too nervous to eat had vanished. The hot, cinnamon swirled toast was delicious and she soon discovered she was quite hungry.

  While the consumption of food was the main activity at the table, it was second only to the lively conversation being exchanged around it. At first, being included in that conversation astonished Shannon. She never expected to be treated like she'd always been a part of the group, but that's exactly what was happening. The others seemed genuinely interested in her and she soon found herself talking freely about her job and designing ambitions.

  Eventually the lively discussions dwindled as, one by one, the men and their ladies finished eating and drifted away from the table to other areas of the room. Shannon watched with wide-eyed amazement as one of the men slid aside a panel in the far wall revealing an elaborate stereo system. A few moments later, the entire room reverberated with the sound of loud rock music.

  "Well, come on everybody! Let's dance!" King Louis XV exclaimed. Immediately he pushed apart a set of tall, wooden doors and folded them into a groove on each side of the wall, opening the once partitioned dining room into an enormous, beautifully furnished ballroom that quite literally took her breath away.

  The sunlight filtering through the room's high French doors--adorned with gold brocade draperies--danced radiantly on the intricately carved, white paneled walls and lent a brilliant sparkle to the magnificent chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Even the Louis XV bronze andirons in the ornate marble fireplace near the doorway gleamed in the sun's rays and gave off little shimmers of light that played in the reflection of the gilded mirror that hung above it. In the center of the room, an unusual tapestry-style Aubusson rug complemented the richly textured material of the settee and the numerous matching chairs arranged upon it.

  While Shannon sat watching the others dance, it suddenly occurred to her that the music they were playing contained lyrics about a gigolo. A tinge of color crept into her face as the men flaunted and clowned their way around the floor to the words of the song. It was quite obvious that they had no qualms about their profession and, in fact, seemed to take much delight in it. She could feel the Marquis watching her as she gazed out into the ballroom, but she dared not turn and look at him for then he would see the embarrassment the men's antics were causing her. But when another song expressing the advantages of a girl's best-kept secret came on, she could no longer contain her discomfort. Quickly turning her head in the opposite direction, her gaze collided head-on with the seductive glimmer in the Marquis' eyes. The faint blush that colored her cheeks suddenly bloomed into a bright crimson.

  The Marquis rose to his feet, his eyes holding hers with the same impassioned gaze as before. Reaching out, he momentarily touched her flushed cheek with his fingertips, then moved off toward the CD player. "I think you clowns have had enough fun for awhile," he announced, pushing the stop button on the machine when the song ended. "What do you say we try something a little less rowdy now."

  Searching the rows of disks in the cabinet in front of him, he chose one and put it into the machine, then walked back to Shannon. "May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?" He held out his hand to her as the strains of the slower music filled the room.

  Still feeling the heat of embarrassment, Shannon rose wordlessly to her feet, allowing him to take her in his arms and guide her around the floor to the beat of the music.

  "Don't let them get to you, Shannon," he told her in a husky voice. "They don't mean to make you uncomfortable."

  Shannon glanced up at him through lowered lashes. "I-I know that," she stammered. "It's just that I'm not accustomed to this kind of arrangement."

  Tenderly, he smiled down at her. "Perhaps I can remedy that a little."

  Drawing her back to his shoulder, he carefully rested his head against the side of hers so that his lips just touched the top of her ear. "Have I told you how lovely you look today?"

  Shannon shook her head demurely.

  "Well, you look absolutely beautiful. Apparently sleeping in my arms last night agreed with you."

  Shannon's eyes flew to his grinning masked visage. She'd completely forgotten that he'd insisted upon holding her in his arms last night, bu
t now his words brought back every intimate detail of his hard, aroused body pressed snugly against hers and she blushed in spite of herself. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?" she asked suspiciously.

  The Marquis drew back and gazed solemnly into her eyes. "I would never make fun of you, Shannon. I sincerely meant what I said." He scanned her face briefly with hungry eyes, and then swiftly his mouth came down to claim hers in soft, yet extremely intoxicating kiss.

  She felt his muscles tighten beneath the fabric of his shirt and the warmth of his body invade her as his mouth continued to move over hers, tasting and savoring her lips as though they dripped with the succulent juices of a ripe peach. Then with the same unexpected swiftness, he released her, drawing back to cup her flushed face with his hands before snuggling her back to his shoulder for the remainder of the dance.

  When the song ended, they walked back to their seats at the table. Again, the music returned to the same bawdy rock and roll as before, but Shannon barely heard it. Her mind was reeling with the strange new sensations she felt in the Marquis' arms. It was more than just him being an excellent dancer. It was the way he held her while they danced--molded against his warm, solid body like she was a small, delicate hand and he was a snug, protective glove. The look of warmth and tenderness that had filled his eyes last night still lingered there today and, while the gentleness of his kiss implied genuine affection, she knew she didn't dare let her guard down. His words "don't let them get to you" may have applied to his colleagues, but for her own protection, she knew she must apply them to him as well.

  The next few hours passed pleasantly for Shannon. The men still played an occasional suggestive song, but the atmosphere in general had turned more romantic due mostly to the Marquis' choice of music, and by late afternoon the men and their ladies had settled into a quiet regimen of slow dancing and intimate conversation. Each couple was so involved in their own special world that no one realized a visitor had invaded the premises until her raspy voice sounded above the soft music.