Deceived Read online

  The plan had proven to be as effective as he'd anticipated. It was common knowledge that Benedict loved perfume. But few knew that Benedict was a master of scents; he had a nose that Rae's father would adore, and a skill for crafting perfumes that his father would weep with joy to see. Nothing could make Benedict love or hate a person more than their scent. Rae wore his own dreadful pine cologne simply because he knew Benedict hated it.

  His sister had outdone herself in meeting his requests; the apple had been her idea, the perfect final touch to what he'd had in mind. The second and third scents were equally fine, and if tonight was anything to judge by, then they would be just as intriguing to Benedict.

  The plan had gone perfectly—except that his plan was to seduce Benedict, make him suffer. Nowhere in his plans did it mention that Rae would enjoy anything but the suffering. But bloody hell, those kisses… Rae poured himself another brandy to try again to erase the memory of Benedict's kisses. But it was stupid to think brandy would fix the problem when all it did was remind me of how it tasted on Benedict's lips, in his mouth.

  Kissing him hadn't even been in the plan—he had planned on teasing and tormenting, not actually touching…certainly not kissing. And he hadn't thought, despite his smug confidence, that it would be so easy to tease and flirt with Benedict. To chase him through the maze… It had been fun. Arousing. Dangerously enthralling.

  Rae groaned as the memories refused to leave him in peace, instead reminding him how stunning Benedict had looked in his dark gold costume trimmed in feathers, the mask glinting with amber—a delicate songbird, simple and understated. Few, if any, would ever have thought the songbird to be Prince Benedict. No, he'd heard the murmurings even as he had watched. Everyone had been convinced Benedict was some foreigner, and frustrated he seemed oblivious to all of them. No one had connected the normally flirtatious, outgoing prince with the quiet, reserved songbird flitting about the edges of the gathering.

  Rae had known him immediately and had wondered that none of Benedict's lovers could identify him—more than just Lady Q had been trying to find him. How could they not mark him, when so many things gave him away?

  Behind the mask, Rae could tell when Benedict's nose wrinkled with distaste as he smelled a bad cologne or dull perfume. He knew the slow way Benedict moved, the way he only drank brandy, how impatient he became as the evening wore on.

  What had surprised him was Benedict remaining alone the entire night. Not once had he flirted or danced, and he'd barely spoke to anyone. Rather, he had looked quite lost, like a man going through the motions while looking for somewhere else to be. Rae hadn't expected that—he'd been certain he would have to work hard to get Benedict away from his chosen amusement for the evening. Instead, he'd found a lonely man sighing sadly to the cool night air, like he hadn't a friend in the world.

  Damn it. He would not be swayed. So he hadn't planned on Benedict acting strange, on being fun to spend time with when they weren't at each other's throats. So what if Benedict's kisses were a work of art that left Rae feeling cut open and raw. None of that meant anything had changed. It just meant seducing Benedict would be easier than he'd expected. He'd already put the plan in motion; he wouldn't stop now.

  Rae strode toward the fireplace and the bath waiting for him there. From a box he'd set out earlier, he pulled out a bar of rough, dark soap, which he needed to remove the lotion he'd rubbed into his skin and the oil in his hair to make them darker. His hair sparkled in the light before he ducked beneath the water to begin washing out both the oil and the shining dust he'd obtained to compliment the diamonds on his mask, adding a touch of uniqueness that he'd known Benedict would be unable to resist.

  Damn it all, he hadn't expected Benedict to be that immediately enthralled, to draw so close so quickly—to be so intoxicating himself. The moment he'd pressed his face to Rae's throat, however, Rae had been equally overcome. Bloody hell, Benedict was warm and that heat only enhanced the cologne he wore. Holding him hadn't felt awkward at all. Rather, it had felt alarmingly right. And that wasn't a thought Rae liked. Not one bit.

  He was being ridiculous. He was only cofounded by the way the masked Benedict had acted nothing like the one he knew. There had been nothing of the lazy, insufferable prince in the man standing alone and unhappy on the balcony. Nothing of the arrogant, smug rake in the man who'd dragged him into the maze and made him dizzy with a few hungry kisses. That didn't fit with what he knew at all.

  Rae groaned and resumed scrubbing himself clean, determined to banish all traces of Benedict from mind and body. It was only a minor setback. Tomorrow, he'd be better prepared, wholly unaffected by this strange Benedict he scarcely knew, and ready to carry on with his revenge.

  *~*~*

  "Amber again. Do I sense a partiality? Combined with…vanilla, rosewood and…juniper. You have exquisite taste."

  Benedict turned from the table where he was helping himself to another glass of brandy—his third, and until he'd heard that voice, he'd had no plans of stopping until he could no longer keep hold of his glass.

  "Hunter," he greeted with a smile. "The hour is late; I feared that your interest had strayed." That worry was, in fact, the reason he was over imbibing. Although he wasn't quite certain why it mattered so much, he was just honest enough to admit that it did.

  "I was watching you dance. You did not do so last night; I wondered why you did tonight."

  "Perhaps I wanted to show off my feathers," Benedict said, taking a generous sip of brandy, and then leaning down to breathe in the scent of his Hunter, blocking out the choking scents around them. "Narcissus and orange blossom, lovely." Perfect with his new mask—identical to the first, except red and trimmed in rubies.

  Benedict had chosen bird costumes for all three nights of the Masque—simple, understated, nothing like what people expected Prince Benedict to wear. Yesterday had been browns and creams and golds…tonight he was all dark blues and grays. The black and red of his Hunter was stark and bright by comparison. Dark eyes gleamed behind the red half-mask.

  "Are you tired, pretty bird? Weary of showing off your feathers?"

  "My toes are weary of being trod upon and I am sick of attempts to unmask me, but otherwise no—although the brandy is perhaps making me sleepy." Benedict smiled ruefully and held the glass to his lips. Before he could take a sip, however, Hunter snatched it neatly from his hand and drank it himself. Benedict watched him, admiring the long line of his throat, the easy, elegant way he held the glass, the smooth way he'd tossed the brandy back.

  Finishing the brandy, Hunter set the glass down on the table and held out his hand. "Come dance with me and I'll show you off properly. Let them all be jealous at how much you enjoy dancing with me."

  The line should have made him laugh, but instead, Benedict only smiled and placed his hand in Hunter's, allowing himself to be escorted back to the dance floor. Usually he was the one leading others, letting them delight in being pursued and led by a decadent prince charming. It was dizzying, and shockingly relieving, to cede control to another for once.

  He barely noticed the people around them as the music started up, the strains of a dance that had started up north, but was quickly spreading south. "So how is it that you have watched me all night yet I've seen not a sign of you?"

  "I would be a poor hunter indeed if I allowed my prey to see me before I chose," Hunter answered with a chuckle, then led them into the first turn and the next set of steps. "You are a pleasure to watch, songbird, but far finer to dance with."

  "Oh?" Benedict asked, pausing to turn again before they came together again to start the set over. "Have we never danced before?"

  "Perhaps, perhaps not," Hunter replied, flashing a brief smile. "Are you trying to guess my identity?"

  Benedict chuckled. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I do not believe we have, though. I like to think I would remember you."

  "If you did, my disguise would be a poor one, and we cannot have that at the Masque." Hunter spun him into another t
urn and brought him close enough to steal a quick, soft kiss as they moved into the next step.

  "That is true," Benedict replied, once he remembered what they'd been talking about. He glanced briefly at the people around them as he took another turn.

  "Are they watching?" Hunter asked, looking pleased, as though he knew the answer.

  "Yes…" Benedict frowned, suddenly worrying that something about their behavior had given him away.

  "Jealous you're mine, precisely as I said they would be."

  Benedict laughed. "I do not recall admitting that you've caught me quite yet, Hunter. You've captured the bird's fancy, but you've not obtained a permanent hold." He spun into the turn and was then neatly pulled back. The kiss Hunter stole this time was far from soft and quick, yet they still didn't lose the beat of the dance. "Now they are certainly staring…"

  Hunter chuckled. "They all wish they were me." He gave a short bow as the dance ended, which Benedict returned, and stole another kiss before they left the dance floor. "Another dance, pretty bird, or would you like to rest your wings?"

  "I'd like to retreat to the garden," Benedict replied, "although not necessarily to rest."

  "I suppose we can see what amusements might find us," Hunter said, keeping a grip on his hand and snagging a glass of champagne on their way out. He took a sip as they stepped outside.

  Benedict stopped him as he lowered the glass and leaned in to steal a kiss, champagne mingling with the lingering hint of brandy in Hunter's mouth. Fingers sank into his hair, holding him in place as Hunter took control of the kiss.

  "I thought you wanted to go to the garden," Hunter said, when he finally broke the kiss, and Benedict liked a bit too much how he sounded a touch breathless.

  Stealing the champagne, Benedict twisted away and vanished down the steps into the garden. He didn't get far before his wrist was snagged as he was dragged close. "Trying to fly away?"

  "Trying to find a place to rest," Benedict answered. He took another sip of champagne, and then let Hunter steal the flute away. "I would say the maze, but Lord V said I could find him there if I got bored."

  The hand on his arm tightened, and then Hunter reached up to kiss him hard. "Not the maze, then, and I hope you have never been that bored."

  Benedict's mouth twisted beneath the half-mask. "I kept him company for a couple of nights, once, to smooth over a particular negotiation." Benedict stifled a sigh at the memory.

  A brief pause and Benedict wondered if he'd disgusted Hunter. "Is that why he sold his portion of the Great Forest?"

  "Yes."

  "You should be more careful…Highness."

  Benedict stiffened, and then swore softly. He pulled free of Hunter's grasp. "It seems I've ended the game before it truly began." The realization was more painful than it should be; how stupid and careless of him. "Good night, Hunter, and farewell." He made it two steps before he was grabbed and all but thrown against the trunk of a tree, the breath knocked out of him.

  "I do not recall giving you permission to leave, pretty bird." Arms latched onto Benedict and he saw the champagne flute lying in the grass just behind them.

  Benedict grimaced. "The game is over. I erred, and I do not feel like being here when you begin to see what you can get from me beyond sex."

  "What makes you think that I need anything more from you, pretty bird? That's all you are to me, after all—a bird to be chased and caught."

  "That is how it will start," Benedict said bitterly. "It will change, like it always does. Let me go."

  The hands on his upper arms tightened instead. "I'll let you go, songbird, when I feel like it."

  "You will let me go now!" Benedict snapped. "The game is over, Hunter, and I am in no mood for a new one."

  In reply, Hunter freed one arm only to latch onto the back of his neck, forcing his head down to take a kiss that Benedict wanted to resist, tried to resist…but even as he wanted to flee, he wanted to stay and pretend that he had not ruined everything. But he didn't want to stay and see simple pleasure slide into speculation as Hunter began to wonder what a pleased prince might give to his paramour…nor did he want to see at midnight tomorrow the face of someone he had seduced on his family's order or might someday be told to seduce.

  Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut? Benedict tore away from the kiss and glared at Hunter. "Let me go."

  "The prey does not give orders." Hunter only tightened his hold and leaned in to give a sharp nip to his throat. "What makes you think I want anything but what I've said so far?"

  "Do you think I bed people because I want them?"

  "That's the only reason you should."

  Benedict laughed bitterly. "No, I bed them because that is what my family wants. I bed them because my parents need something from them. And everyone I bed gets something from me, or them. Sex is a transaction, Hunter, not a pleasure."

  From the top of the palace, the bells began to ring, tolling eleven times.

  Hunter brushed a soft kiss across Benedict's lips. Somehow, it burned more than all the others combined. Benedict felt fragile, on the verge of bursting apart. "I do not want anything from you, songbird, but the pretty sounds I'd hoped to hear as you came in my arms. If saying farewell will convince you of my sincerity, then farewell I shall say." The grip on Benedict's arms eased and Hunter was gone.

  "Damn it!" Benedict swore, and slammed his fist into the tree trunk, barely noticing the pain. A moment later, he strode from the garden, chased by the scent of spilled champagne.

  *~*~*

  Bloody hell," Rae said, as he collapsed in a chair beside the fireplace. He tore off his mask and dropped it to the floor, then buried his face in his hands. "What's wrong with me?"

  He knew what was wrong, though—the masked prince he'd set out to humiliate was not the one he had sniped with that morning. How could the two be so different? The brat prince he wanted to throttle was completely unlike the wounded man in the garden.

  Rae couldn't bear it; his plan had been to seduce Benedict, bewitch him, and then throw in his face that he had been ensnared by someone he hated. Just that morning they'd tried their best to kill each other again—and as usual, Benedict had run off to go hunting rather than stay and work. True to form, he'd ordered Rae to do it all, laughing as he left. Rae had been furious. Now he wondered about Benedict running off to seduce some lord or lady… Had he been telling the truth? Benedict made it sound like…like the king and queen…

  Like they whored him out. And had been doing it for a long time. Rae felt sick at the idea. Who turned their own son into a prostitute, forced him to do things he didn't want to do, for their own gain?

  Rae stumbled to his feet and fetched the decanter of brandy he was soon going to need to replenish. Two gulps erased the lingering taste of champagne from his mouth, but he sensed the entire decanter would not be enough to erase Benedict. Several decanters would not erase his memories of that sad, broken-hearted and bitter man in the garden.

  What would life be like if the Benedict in the garden was the one he always saw? Rae didn't want to think about it, but summoning up memories of their fight that morning to drown out those of the garden failed abysmally. He tried to fight the next inevitable question, but his head—conscience—would grant him no peace: what if he simply hadn't been seeing what was right in front of him?

  That still didn't excuse Benedict's insufferable laziness…except that he was nearly always dragged away by his family. The rest of the time he simply lost his temper and stormed out, and Rae invariably saw him flirting with someone. Despite his constant complaints and snide remarks, he didn't actually know what Benedict did all day. He's simply always made assumptions that Benedict had never denied.

  Rae had always prided himself on being an excellent secretary, but how good was he really when he'd believed in gossip and rumor and carefully cultivated appearance rather than really take the time to know the man he worked for?

  Rae set his glass down before he gave in to the urge to
pitch it into the fire. His stomach roiled with shame and regret. He glared at the fireplace for several minutes, trying in vain to gather his thoughts, but they refused to gather. Every effort to rekindle his hatred of Benedict was put out by memories of the sad and bitter man who'd tried to run the moment he'd realized that he'd slipped up and revealed himself.

  Sighing, Rae finally stripped out of his clothes, strode over to the bathtub, and slid into the water. He leaned his head back against the rim and closed his eyes, letting the water and fire warm and soothe him as best they could.

  Slowly opening his eyes several minutes later, Rae turned his head to look at his bureau. Propped against the mirror was a mask that in shape and style were the like of the two he'd already worn—but this one was green, trimmed with teardrop amber. He had chosen it to match both Benedict's eyes and the element common to all of his scents, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he would match Benedict's final costume. The three most common songbirds in the palace were dark gold, bright blue, and deep green. Every fashionable lady had at least one songbird in a gold or silver cage in her room. He'd thought before that Benedict had chosen them to be unremarkable. Now it was painfully clear they'd been a statement—even perhaps a cry for help.

  Rae tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat. He glanced again at the bureau, where three small, ornate glass bottles sat close to the green mask: the colognes his sister had made for him, one for each night of the masque.

  After this was over, he was throwing the damnable things in the fire. Never had he expected to revel in the way Benedict was drawn to him, to relish how effectively he affected Benedict, to thrive on the kisses and touches they shared. His whole life had been devoted to his work, to being the best at what he did. He hated Benedict for being lazy, uncaring, for not appreciating what he had in Rae. Now he was being torn apart wondering how badly he'd let himself be deceived this whole time.