- -
- 100%
- +
And...there she was: Artemis, standing among a group of costumed ladies and gentlemen, watching the dancing. The lushness of her figure took his breath away. The expression on her round pretty face was one of complete innocence, despite the wanton tumble of chestnut locks falling down her back to her waist. If her costume had not been described to him in intricate detail, he would never have recognised her as the dumpy female who had stood toe to toe with Growler’s menacing presence earlier in the day.
This morning, he had thought her short and a little squat in her enveloping black carriage dress. The funereal clothing she’d worn had hidden every one of her charms. Apart from her voice. And her scent. Tonight, the artfully draped, white Greek robe arranged to leave one creamy dimpled shoulder bare also revealed a gloriously curvaceous figure in perfect proportion for her diminutive size. The bow and quiver slung diagonally across her body divided her breasts in a most mouthwatering fashion.
While her mask obscured the top half of her face, her lips were lush and full, and beneath them her chin came to an obstinate jut. At his approach, her gaze wandered over him for a brief second and came back, her eyes widening, not in recognition but in shock.
He sprang the trap.
‘I didn’t think you would recognise me, my lady.’ He kept his voice to a low whisper.
‘I do not,’ she said, turning that delicious shoulder to exactly the right angle for discouragement. ‘Have we been introduced?’
‘Sadly, no.’ At their meeting she had known his name, but he had not known hers. Now he took delight at putting her at the same disadvantage. She glanced at him again, clearly trying to see into the shadows of his hood.
‘Would you care to dance, my lady?’
Beside her, Lady Rowan eyed him up and down. ‘Lady Rowan,’ he murmured. ‘How regal you look tonight as Queen Elizabeth. Might you give your permission? I promise I will bring the Lady Theresa back to you safe and sound.’
The older woman relaxed at his polite tone and clear knowledge of who they were. ‘Certainly, sir. One set only, mind, Theresa.’
A tiny pursing of the Lady Theresa’s lips was the only sign of irritation at the admonition. He admired her forbearance. It must be galling for such an independent lady to be treated like a child.
‘Who are you?’ she asked with laughter in her voice as he led her into a set. ‘I didn’t think I knew you at all, but the way you bamboozled my cousin...’ She shook her head. ‘You must be an acquaintance to know she loves that costume.’
‘I admit I have seen it before.’
They moved up the set and the figures of the dance did not allow for conversation until they were standing out, waiting to join the neighbouring couples when the round of steps were complete.
‘I give up,’ she said. ‘You are going to have to tell me your name.’
‘The Grim Reaper.’
She raised her brows. ‘Very well, keep your identity hidden. It matters not to me.’
There was more than a little defiance in the declaration. For a moment, Jaimie considered revealing his identity. But that did not suit him at all. Not yet, at least. Having seen her, he now wanted to discover the reason this young lady had risked her reputation so precipitously by seeking him out. Perhaps her heart had been stolen away and it was the thief she was seeking?
Something he would not encourage.
‘Is not the whole idea of a masked ball to be someone else for an hour or two?’ he murmured in teasing tones.
‘Death?’ She made a scoffing sound. ‘Is that not a strange choice? Most men like to play some sort of heroic figure. You prefer to remind us of something unpleasant, yet something we must all face at some future time. I wonder what that says about you as a person?’
Her light clear voice held amusement and her brown eyes twinkled gold. She released his hand and moved into the next figure of the dance.
What did his choice of costume say about him? He pushed the thought aside. It was a disguise, that was all. A way of remaining anonymous. Of ensuring no tongues would start wagging about his first appearance at a ball in years, or his invitation to her to dance.
He found himself wishing it was a waltz he’d secured rather than a country dance. Only because it would have afforded more opportunity for conversation, not because he wanted that lovely, lithe, deliciously curved body floating along beside his and responding to his touch.
‘Am I to understand you dislike masquerades?’ he asked as he walked her down the set. ‘That you find them beneath you, perhaps?’
The fulminating look she gave him took him by surprise. ‘Masquerades are very well in their way. It is—’
‘It is?’
Another glance came his way. This one puzzled. Then she smiled and he felt as if something had struck him behind the ribs. ‘I think if one could attend under the right circumstances, it might be fun. If one could really do as one wished for once.’ She glanced over to where her cousin stood chatting and fanning her face. ‘One cannot have everything one wishes, can one?’
‘One cannot,’ he agreed.
Instinct told him that, despite her calm demeanour, there was an underlying worry behind the light words. The anxiety he’d sensed in his office seemed to have increased.
He’d deliberately led her into a set with an uneven number of couples and when once more they were standing out, he bowed. ‘It is uncommonly hot in here, my lady, may I offer you some refreshment before I return you to Queen Elizabeth’s side?’
‘As long as you don’t suggest we go bag a rabbit or two in the garden, I would like that.’
He laughed. Couldn’t help it. ‘Really? That was the best one of your swains could do?’
‘I should have known better than to have explained my costume to him or to have expected him to behave like anything but a fool.’
Startled by her vehemence, he led her out of the set.
‘A gentleman you know, I presume?’ he enquired.
‘Indeed. He thought he was being amusing. He actually suggested that the costume would serve me better without the bow. Fat lot he knows about Artemis,’ she muttered.
Jaimie took two glasses of the non-alcoholic punch which he knew without a doubt would be horrible. While the champagne would have been more fun, self-defence prevented him from being the cause of anything untoward. It is a gentleman’s duty to protect a lady, his father’s voice reminded. On that occasion, he had guided his mother around a puddle. Sort of. Only a little bit of her hem had trailed through it. It was one of the few mental images he had of his parents.
He guided Lady Tess towards the French doors. ‘Let us avail ourselves of the terrace. There are tables out there and waiters.’
For a moment he thought she might baulk. Again, she glanced over at her cousin, who was not looking their way. ‘We can ask her permission,’ he suggested. He was after all a wolf in sheep’s clothing and seeking permission was what a sheep would do.
She squared her shoulders. ‘No. I was out there once already. My cousin did not object.’
Her voice sounded grim. Who was the idiot who had annoyed her? Whoever he was, Jaimie could only thank him for sparking her spirit.
He ushered her to one of the tables on the terrace, seating her where the light from the nearby lantern would fall on her face while leaving him in shadow. He set her drink in front of her before sitting down.
‘Warm enough?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Too bad. He’d had a notion to put his cape around her shoulders and let it absorb some of her perfume. The scent of lavender had lingered in his office all day. Serenity, grace and calmness in the language of flowers, along with that disturbing underlying meaning of distrust. All but the last seemed too milk and water for this spirited lady, though she had certainly shown calmness when she visited his office. Dianthus, for boldness, would suit her better. Though she had been veiled, so perhaps lemon flowers should be in the mix... His mother had made a great study of the language of flowers and her notes were one of the few items he treasured.
She sipped at the punch and made a face.
‘Terrible as usual?’ he asked, amused.
‘Awful.’ A smile curved those full lush lips. ‘It is all right at first and then...’ She gave a little shudder.
The movement did something to his blood. Made it run faster. Hotter. Not something he wanted in regard to this particular female. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Putting her at her ease so he could extract the information he wanted.
‘How are you enjoying the Season?’ A safe topic when it came to young ladies on the town. He sat back and waited to hear about all her conquests and gowns.
‘It is as bad as the previous one,’ she said with a small laugh.
How devastatingly honest. The hairs on his nape stood up. It was the same feeling he got when he started to get close to a criminal he was chasing. A sense of anticipation. It didn’t make any sense that he should feel it now, with her. ‘Why is that?’
‘I beg your pardon. You will think I am an ungrateful wretch after my cousin’s kindness in giving me this opportunity.’
‘Speaking the truth is not always a bad thing.’
She chuckled, a small rather painful sound. ‘It is if you are seeking a husband. Men expect a woman to be biddable and modest and not speak out of turn.’
‘I see.’
She twisted the stem of her glass, gazing down into the liquid. ‘My father encouraged me to offer my opinion, but to some I am ill-schooled.’ She pursed her lips thoughtfully and he experienced an urgent need to see if they tasted as exotic as they looked. ‘And here I am doing it again. If I’m not careful I’ll find myself packed off to Yorkshire.’
‘Why Yorkshire?’
‘My cousin has an aunt who lives there. She’s a—’ She stopped and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. ‘Why on earth am I telling you this?’
‘Because I’m a good listener? She is a...?’
‘She is an unhappy elderly lady who has already worked three companions into the ground.’
She had modified what she intended to say, but the meaning was clear. ‘You see yourself as number four.’
‘I will be if—’
He waited in silence. She would either tell him or she would not. For some strange reason, he really hoped she would.
The notion of hoping anything in regard to this forward young woman took him aback. Her worries were nothing to him. He was here for quite another purpose. The sooner he remembered that the better.
She glanced up at his face briefly, or at least into the darkness of his hood, yet somehow he sensed that she could see him when logic said she could not. Finally she dropped her gaze, staring down at her gloved hands. ‘This Season is my last chance to oblige my family.’
Was it not every well-bred girl’s duty to oblige her family? And yet she sounded so weary, so defeated, his skin tightened with the urge to rush to her defence. As infuriating as she had been at his office, this hopelessness was far worse.
Really? What nonsense. He didn’t know what he was thinking. He sipped at his drink and almost gagged when it hit the back of his throat. ‘Why so?’
She put her glass down with a little click. ‘It is not something I should be discussing with a stranger or anyone else for that matter.’ There was a forlorn note to her voice, though she tried to hide it with a smile.
‘Is there no one in whom you can confide?’ Now why had he asked that question? Of course, he knew why. He knew how alone he had felt growing up without his family. With only servants for company and a gruff guardian who came once a month to check on his progress. A surprising and unwanted flash of memory recalled a cousin who would now be around this young woman’s age, were she alive. Had she survived, she also would have been alone growing up. Because of him.
A pang squeezed the breath from his lungs. Regret for what might have been. For the loss. He forced it back where it belonged. Nothing could be gained by such maudlin thoughts. The cases were not at all similar. This girl clearly had a caring family who gave her everything she could possibly need. Young women loved their drama. It was likely all a storm in a teacup.
She shook her head. ‘There was someone,’ she said, with a small sad smile. ‘Not any more. He—’
He? A twinge of something unpleasant tightened his gut. Interesting. He would never have imagined feeling anything that hinted of jealousy. He waited. And waited. Would she say more? Reveal her innermost dreams and wishes. God, he hoped not. And yet clearly she had aroused his curiosity.
‘A...a childhood friend I haven’t seen for quite some time.’
A friend. The relief was out of all proportion to the information imparted. ‘What happened to him?’
‘He went away.’ She waved vaguely into the dark.
Why the hell did he have the feeling there was a great deal more to the story? Was this the person she’d wanted him to find?
Chapter Two
Why was she telling him all this, Tess wondered. Was it his anonymity causing her to drop her guard? If so, it was bound to be a mistake. Tess glanced over her shoulder. No sign of her cousin. No hope of rescue there. And indeed, it was perfectly acceptable for a man to escort her outside where other couples and groups were sitting at tables surrounded by servants. It was hardly secluded, yet it somehow felt intimate. As if they were completely alone and confidences would be in order.
How did he do that? Give her the feeling he was trustworthy, when experience had taught her never to trust any man?
Why, she didn’t even know his name and yet she felt drawn to him. Was it the timbre of his voice? His aura of youth and health, despite the horrible costume?
Oh heavens, why had she worn the bow and quiver in the mode of a huntress? It was making breathing quite difficult. She slipped one arm out of the strap.
He was on his feet in a second. ‘Allow me.’
As he leaned close to ease the confounded thing over her head without disturbing her coiffure, she inhaled a deep breath of his cologne. The scent of sandalwood with another undertone...bergamot, perhaps. It seemed...familiar.
He placed the bow and quiver on the table between them and resumed his seat.
She stared into the depths of his hood, but even his eyes were shadowed. ‘Are you sure we haven’t met before?’
He placed a gloved hand above his heart. ‘I assure you, my lady, we have never been introduced before today.’
Surely his voice had a familiar ring to it...
‘You didn’t tell me what made you choose Artemis?’ The smile in his voice made her imagine a flash of white teeth in a handsome face. Oh, really? He was probably ancient, with a horrid moustache and a bald spot.
She sipped the nasty drink. Something hot and wicked coursed through her veins, the desire to shock him out of his nonchalance. Shatter the ease with which he lounged in his chair in complete anonymity. ‘She shoots men.’
Aha! It wasn’t much of a reaction, a slight shift in his posture, but it was something.
A ghostly laugh reached her ears. He wasn’t in the least discomposed. He was amused.
Something to admire about him at least. She grinned. ‘Rakehells beware. My arrow tips are sharp.’ He could take the warning however he pleased.
He reached for the arrows as if to test her words, then for some reason thought better of it. She frowned at the gloved hand resting on the table, curled inward, the little finger out of alignment.
‘Why did you choose Death?’ she asked.
‘It is easy to accomplish. A black cloak. A mask. A sickle I left at the door.’
His answer seemed evasive. Most irritating. She did not play such stupid games. ‘Shall we go back inside?’
‘As you wish.’
Lack of interest coloured his voice. Recognition dawned in a flash. The scent. The little finger. If not the low voice, then its mocking boredom. Oh! Such a cleverly worded denial about not having been introduced before today...
She leaped up, the chair falling backwards, clattering on the flagstones. ‘You!’
He was on his feet almost as quickly. ‘Lady Tess.’ His hand grabbed her arm as she staggered, unbalanced. ‘Take care.’
She wrenched her arm away. ‘What game are you playing, Lord Sandford?’
‘My lady. You are mistaken—’
‘No. I am not. How did you find me? And more to the point, why bother after you turned down my request?’ Oh, heaven help her, he was going to expose her to her cousin. The wretch.
‘I thought to return this.’ He retrieved a small item from the folds of his cloak. The pearl ring she’d sold. ‘A lady should never sell her jewels using her own name if she wants to keep their disappearance a secret.’
She snatched it out of his hand and forced it on over her glove. ‘A gentleman doesn’t go sneaking around following a lady.’ Oh, no! Now people at the other tables were looking at them. ‘I suppose you plan to tell my guardian?’
He took her arm. ‘Don’t make a scene, young lady. Think of your reputation.’
‘Bah. No one knows who we are and no one cares. It is a masquerade.’
‘By morning gossip will abound. Your costume fools no one.’
‘Whereas yours is the perfect disguise.’ How like a man to avoid taking any responsibility.
He held out an arm. ‘Come, let us take a turn about the shrubbery as if that was our intention for getting up all along. I am told it is quite beautiful at night.’
‘It is dark. We won’t be able to see a thing.’
‘Even better.’
She swallowed the urge to laugh at his scorn of the poor shrubbery. Tried to hang on to her anger.
‘Very well, but I expect an explanation of your behaviour.’ She snatched up her bow and slung it over one shoulder. ‘And don’t even think about trying anything untoward. I did not lie when I said my arrows were sharp.’
‘Last thing I need is an arrow in my backside,’ he muttered low in her ear. Not quite the voice she’d heard this morning—this time there was laughter in it. How surprising. And attractive. And intriguing.
Dash it all, the man was a menace.
Also surprising were the lanterns all along the garden path. Soon they were out of earshot of the couples on the terrace, but not in the dark and not out of sight if anyone had cared to look for them.
‘Well?’ she asked peremptorily.
‘Well what?’
She started to turn back. ‘I see you are still playing games.’
He held her fast by the crook of her elbow, his hand firm but not painful in its restraint.
‘Let me go.’
‘It is no game when a respectable young lady comes alone to the chambers of a bachelor.’
The emphasis on the word game sounded bitter. ‘What are you suggesting, sir?’
‘That you took a risk with my reputation as well as your own. I have no intention of being forced into marriage.’
She gasped. Blood ran hot through her veins. Tension had her shaking. ‘You think I would marry you? I don’t like you, sir. Not one bit. I gave you my reason for coming to see you this morning. You gave me your answer. We have no need for further communication.’
‘How can you say you don’t like me? You don’t even know me.’ Again he sounded amused. He was like a cat playing with a mouse. A very large self-satisfied cat.
‘You will return me to my cousin at once,’ she said with all the dignity she could muster.
‘But what about this person you need found?’
‘Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I have made other plans.’
‘It would be no trouble to me. Others, however, might take weeks to find your answer. I had the impression your matter was urgent.’
Oooh, he was so very annoying! Even if he did have the right to boast. ‘I have changed my mind.’
He turned her to face him, bending to peer into her face as if he could read her expression behind the mask. ‘I don’t believe you.’
While she could not see his face, his intensity made her breathing quicken and her heart flutter strangely.
He tipped her chin with a finger, staring into her eyes. Mesmerised, she could not move. ‘Let me take you driving tomorrow and you can tell me all about it.’
At the graze of his breath across her cheek, her insides tightened. He dropped his hand as if burned. Had he sensed her reaction? Oh goodness, she hoped not.
Panicked by her untoward response to his touch, she opened her mouth to refuse. Closed it again as her brain overtook her emotions. This was what she had wanted, was it not? His help. ‘Very well. I will, of course, return the money you paid for my ring.’
‘I don’t want your money.’
There was a seductive note in his voice. Her body trembled. Shocked, she gazed up into the void where his face should be, a face she could see in her mind’s eye. She had no trouble recalling the mocking smile on his lips. ‘What do you want?’
She had meant to sound impatient. Dismissive. Instead she sounded scared. Weak.
‘I will inform you when we meet tomorrow.’
She wanted to argue, but she also wanted to find Grey. Seething, she walked at his side, trying to think of suitably cutting words.
He turned them back towards the terrace, strolling as if there were no undercurrents rippling beneath the surface of their silence.
At the French doors, she dipped a curtsy. ‘Thank you for a pleasant dance and conversation.’
‘Pleasant?’ he murmured.
Really, the man was impossible. On legs that felt stiff and awkward, with a heart pounding loudly in her ears, she marched in the direction she had last seen Wilhelmina. When she glanced back, he was gone.
Oh heavens, what would he want? And how far was she prepared to go with this man? Her stomach gave an odd little pulse.
Dash it, she would insist on gentlemanly behaviour, no matter what.
* * *
Jaimie had spent the half the morning expecting a note from Lady Tess politely refusing their engagement to drive. And the other half being annoyed by his lack of concentration on his work.
He wasn’t certain whether he was pleased or sorry when no such note made an appearance. Of course there was a good possibility that he would arrive at the Rowan front door and be informed that her ladyship was out.
And that would be that.
Whatever had possessed him to invite her to go driving, anyway? It wasn’t as if she was the sort of woman whose company he enjoyed. She was prickly and combative. A less subtle female he couldn’t imagine. She didn’t even know how to flirt. They might have traded all kinds of barbs about those arrows in her quiver.
Yet surprisingly, he’d enjoyed her directness and her willingness to confront him. He’d always thought debutantes an insipid, simpering lot. What he did not like, however, was that she had occupied too much of his thoughts these past few hours. He kept wondering how she had recognised him beneath his costume. Something had given him away. Perhaps she’d tell him what it was at their meeting. He certainly would not ask. He intended to keep their relationship strictly business.
He pulled his phaeton up outside the town house and his liveried tiger jumped down and held the horses’ heads while he knocked on the front door.
‘I’ll let her ladyship know you are here, my lord. Will you come in?’ the butler said.
‘I’ll wait out here. My tiger has the horses, but they’re a mite fresh.’
‘Very good, my lord.’ The butler closed the door.
Not instant rejection then. He returned to his phaeton.
A few moments later Lady Tess tripped down the steps followed by an elderly maid. Last night she’d looked like a tasty morsel in her figure-hugging Greek robe. Today she almost looked like any other young lady of the nobility. Her pale green-and-white-striped carriage dress came up high at the throat, with several tiers of ruffles up to her chin. The gown fell to the ground with a festoon of flounces around the hem. A leghorn bonnet decorated with flowers and ribbons the colour of the dress perched on her head—but a few chestnut curls framed her astonishingly lovely face, perfect in shape and proportion, except perhaps for that stubborn little chin.