They had not. But they were soon being kissed, very thoroughly. Margaret had been thankful for his strong arms about her. She might have buckled at the knees otherwise. His lips had been firm and warm on hers, his breath fanning her cheek through the silk of the mask, and she had been headily aware of the very masculine smell of his cologne.

He had drawn his head back finally, but not very far. "Very nice," he had murmured, "but too much like an angel. Come, little one, show me your fire."

And his mouth had been on hers again, open this time, his tongue lightly tracing the line of her closed lips. Margaret had told herself that she was going to pull away and run back to the safety of the ballroom, but she had found herself instead parting her lips to allow his tongue entrance. And when its warm moistness had circled her own tongue and teased its tip and stroked lightly over the roof of her mouth, she had found herself without will, acting from an instinct to be closer to him. He had molded her body against his, her breasts pressed against his coat, the bare skin above the low neckline of her dress tickled by the soft folds of his neckcloth, her thighs touching the hard muscles of his. She had heard him draw in his breath sharply.

Brampton had loosened his hold on her while his mouth deepened the kiss. She had not even been shocked when she had felt his hand reaching inside the low bodice to touch her breast. It had just been a natural progression of what she craved. It was only when both his hands had moved down to mold her waist and her hips and finally to pull her hard against him that her head had jerked back involuntarily. Even in her state of awakened desire, she had been frightened by the evidence of his very obvious arousal.

Brampton had loosened his hold immediately, cradling her body against his, lightly holding her head against his shoulder.