Glamorous Illusions (25 page)

It turned out he was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Will did not win. But neither did Felix. And now Will had to face his uncle, three hundred dollars poorer. He wanted to bury his head in his hands. He wanted to scream. But all he did was shake each man's hand, congratulate the winner—the moaner, surprising them all by alternately bluffing and playing it straight—and walk out beside Felix.

“Tough round, eh?” Felix said, his voice slurred. As the game progressed, he'd lapsed back into English and had downed eight more shots. Will was surprised that he could still stand. “Really thought you had a chance of
besss
-ting him.” He stumbled, and Will wearily wrapped Felix's arm around his shoulders.

Will
had
come close several times. So close. He chided himself for getting sucked into the game rather than watching over Felix. He'd let pride and greed take him for a ride, and now he didn't have a horse to ride home. Uncle Stuart would be more than chagrined at the loss. Will could win it back, sure. But if he didn't have better luck at the next table, or the next, he might not end up with enough to enroll in the university again, come September.

He shook his head, wondering what had come over him. He always did better than he had tonight—always. But thoughts of Felix, and of Cora, had him all mixed up. Missing things. Unable to keep track of cards and factors of probability as he usually did. As his father had.

His father…

“What's brought you to the doldrums?” Felix slurred, reaching over his right hand and pinching Will's cheeks.

Will wrenched his head back, out of Felix's grasp. “I'm fine.”

“Oh, no you're not,” Felix said. “Tell me. The night's young. Let's go get a glass of champagne.”

“I think not. I'll get you to your room so you can sleep off what will become one monstrous hangover.”

“How come you're not drunk?”

“I like to keep a level head.”

“Level heads lead to level lives,” Felix said.

“I'll take a level field any day over a hill.”

“You say that now. But doesn't that sound dreadfully boring, even to you?”

“I'd like a bit of boredom.”

They'd reached Felix's room. Will leaned him against the doorjamb. “Where's your key, Felix?”

“I dunno.”

Will sighed and began rifling through Felix's pockets, pausing occasionally to right the man when he started to slump. He slapped his cheeks. “Stay with me. Almost there.”

“Almost there,” Felix said, eyes dazed.

Will found the key at last, slid it into the two-hundred-year-old lock, and then half carried Felix to the vast bed. He dropped him into the center of it, went around to the other side, and, hauling on his arms, dragged him fully on. Then he unbuckled the atrocious costume boots and slid them off.

“Ahh, tha's better,” Felix said, smiling, eyes closed.

“I'll be back to wake you in the morning.”

“Mornin'.”

Will rolled his eyes, laid the key on the table by the door, and slipped out. Other guests from the ball were returning to their rooms. Two giggling girls passed a couple that was passionately kissing in a doorway. Will averted his eyes, his agitation rising.
Debauchery and silliness everywhere.

I hate this life.

He corrected himself.
I hate the current direction of my life.

What he wanted most was to return to his room and fall into a dreamless slumber. But he knew he had to go and find the others. Make sure they all got to their respective rooms…alone. Even Uncle Stuart would be assisting on that front.
Lord, give me strength
, he prayed silently.
Forgive me my envy, my pride, my greed.
He shook his head in shame and looked up, then sighed again and forced himself to continue walking. Onward and upward, Uncle Stuart always said. “Onward and upward,” Will muttered.

He moved down the hall and met up with the two youngest girls, ushered by Vivian. “Ah. Off to bed, then?”

“Yes,” Lillian said with a pout. “We begged for but one more dance, but Andrew and Vivian fancy themselves our parents.”

“Just one more dance, Vivian,” Nell whined. “That's all we ask.”

“Someone has to take responsibility for you, if you shan't for yourselves,” Vivian said. She gave the girls a small smile as she shook her head. “There shall be more dances. Right, William?”

“Many more. Best to get some good rest. Tomorrow is a new day—and I believe Uncle Stuart has a rather daunting schedule in store for us. Off to Versailles.” He gave the girls an encouraging grin. “If you think the Richelieu chateau is beautiful, wait until you see the grand Hall of Mirrors in the Chateau of Versailles.”

The girls smiled at each other in anticipation.

“Where are the others?” Will asked, turning to Vivian.

“Andrew was heading out to the gardens to smoke a pipe with Hugh. I thought Felix was with you.”

“He was. He's retired now.”

She gave Will a knowing look and nodded once. “I see.” Then she turned and walked away.

Frustration rolled through him. She was going to make him ask? “And Cora?” he asked, as lightly as he could.

“I don't know where she's run off to,” she said, raising one eyebrow as she glanced back over her shoulder. “I haven't seen her for hours.” She was turning the younger girls, steering them by their shoulders down the hall again.

“Good night, Will,” Nell said.

“Good night, all,” he said.
Four down, three to go.
With any luck at all, he'd come across Uncle Stuart and Antonio bringing the rest, and this night would be over.

CHAPTER 29

~Cora~

I'd alternated between braving the dance floor and walking the gardens for hours, bending to examine what seemed like every single blossom and bloom within it, as if I were a budding botanist. I was waiting for the music to wane now, praying that Pierre would become distracted, enamored with some other young woman at his feet. But he found me.

“There you are,” he said, prying his wig from his head and tossing it to the bushes behind me.

It made me laugh as I turned to see it hanging there. “Your gardeners will wonder just what sort of moss is growing among your vines.”

He smiled easily. “I cannot help it. I could not stand it for another minute.”

I hesitated, suddenly wanting nothing more than to do the same. He clearly saw it on my face. “Please. Be free of yours as well.”

I quickly unpinned it and then pulled it from my hair.

“Ahh. Better, no?”

“Better, yes.”

“Here,” he said reaching into my hair and pulling the rest of the pins from it, running his fingers along my scalp, adeptly prying my chignon free and loosing it in waves. I stared at him in open wonder. For a man I'd so recently met, the action was entirely too…forward. But I couldn't deny that it felt wonderful, both to be touched and to have my hair loose, not to mention bucking the ever-growing list of social conventions I was tired of following. I moved my neck, stretching out muscles suddenly weary from the load I hadn't realized I'd been carrying—the wig probably weighed three pounds. “Allow me,” he said, slipping behind me, gently rubbing my neck and shoulders.

I edged away. “Monsieur. Please.” My tone begged him to stop.

He waved me off with a teasing laugh. “You Americans! So provincial!” His face was kind. He turned and took two champagne flutes from a waiting servant. “Come. Walk with me.” He offered his arm.

“I've been walking all evening. My feet are begging me to retire.”

“Then sit with me a moment,” he said easily, gesturing toward a bench.

I sat down, thinking we would rest for a time, together. But then he was down on his knees, grabbing hold of my ankle.

“Pierre!” I cried.

He looked up at me and laughed. “I am merely helping you get rid of the slippers!”

I laughed in shock. “I'm perfectly capable of taking off my own slippers.”

“I'm certain you are,” he said, taking a seat beside me. “But does it not delight you, that I'm willing to serve you in any way?”

“There is a line,” I said.

“Fine.” He crossed his arms. “Then slip them off yourself.”

I pried them from my sore feet and closed my eyes in relief as my toes settled into nests of green moist grass.

“Ahh, better?”

“Much.”

“Now we can walk. We shall play a game in the maze.”

My eyes narrowed. “What sort of game?” For hours I'd seen couples disappear among the trimmed hedges—nine feet tall with uniform walls—and return later. Sometimes an hour later.

“It is harmless,” he protested, rising and offering his hand.

I hesitated. I'd spent my whole life being the good girl, making the cautious choice, following the sensible road. Couldn't this evening be about spontaneity as well as anonymity? “What does one do in the maze?”

“One strolls and finds their way to the end.” He lifted a brow. “Or one races to the end and receives a prize.”

“It would not be fair,” I said. “You know that maze, and it's dark.”

He smiled. “The men of King Louis's time would blindfold themselves and try to fetch a maiden from the maze.”

I laughed. “So you suggest I take to the maze and you come after me, blindfolded? What do I win if I reach the end without getting caught?”

He tapped his lip and considered me. “What is it that you wish to receive?”

I stared at him and smiled. What did I want? “A ride in a boat at Versailles, with no conversation at all for a full hour. Utter silence.”

He smiled. “Easily done. I shall do nothing but row and stare at you in awe.” He reached up and caressed my cheek, but I smiled and edged away.

He caught my wrist. “And if I catch you before you leave the maze? What do I receive?”

I felt daring, impetuous. “I don't know. What is it that you want, monsieur?”

He smiled again. “A kiss. A
willing
kiss.”

My heart hammered in my chest. For the first time, I admitted to myself that I wouldn't mind getting caught by this man, kissed by him. A pang of guilt shot through me as I thought of Will. But that confused me. I had no feelings for Will, did I? He was my guide and guardian, nothing more. And regardless of what Antonio said, I did not feel in danger. Not with Pierre.

“All right,” I said quickly, before I could change my mind. I lifted my hand to shake his in the manner of men.

He laughed then and slowly pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket. His confidence unnerved me.

“I get a thirty-second lead,” I said.

“No. That was not a part of our agreement.”

“Pierre!”

He raised one eyebrow, holding his handkerchief in both hands. “I suggest you go, for as soon as I have this tied, I shall be coming to find you, seeking that kiss.”

He seemed to brook no argument, so I turned and fled into the mouth of the maze. I heard him laughing behind me, and I wondered just how difficult it would be to find my way. It was past ten and there was a little twilight left, but the shadows were deep among the tall hedges. My chest was tight with excitement and fear, and it felt good to run, even if I could barely breathe in the tight bodice of the gown.

At the end of the first channel, I turned the corner. Halfway down the next channel, there was an exit to a third row, or I could continue on to the end. I heard Pierre whistling, a mere hedge wall between us, and it sent my heart into a triple-time beat. On tiptoes, and lifting my skirt so it wouldn't
swish
, I hurried to the end of the row and took the second exit. I hoped he'd think I'd taken the first, like a scared rabbit rather than a thinking competitor.

He did, because in a moment, I heard him on the other side of the hedge again. I glanced one way and then the other, trying to figure out which way would be safest, while considering where I was in the maze and keeping track of what I'd seen already. I hoped to form a mental map.

“Little American flower? Where are you?” Pierre called.

That set me to running again, wanting to put a good distance between us. I headed right, because I knew the exit was to the far right—I just had to find my way to it. But when I turned the corner, I came to a dead end. I whirled and opened my eyes wide, trying to see in the gathering darkness. He hadn't appeared there yet. Quickly, I backtracked, and then held my breath as Pierre walked by the exit, arms outstretched before him. He paused and turned his head toward me, as if he had heard me. I was deadly still, holding my breath. He turned then and headed on. It was then that it occurred to me. He knew the way, even blindfolded. So I was better served following him to the end and then running past him at the last minute, claiming victory.

I eased around the corner, watching until he made another turn, then hurrying toward that exit point. Again and again, we repeated the process, with him leading me to the proper escape and me rushing to follow. The trick was not to lose him entirely… I scurried on tiptoes to the next turn and cringed as two men came from the other direction, laughing with delight when they saw me.
“Mais qu'est ce donc? Une belle fille, perdue dans le labyrinthe? Pourrions-nous vous aider?”

I could not interpret what they were saying. From their tone, they were flirting. I looked the other way for Pierre. I saw him in a shaft of light from a gas lamp, just on the other side of the hedge. He'd paused, head in profile, listening.

“
Non, non, s'il vous plaît
,” I whispered, having no choice but to head the other way.

They laughed again, and I heard them talking to Pierre as he neared them, obviously having turned around. I could barely see the three of them in the dark, but I knew they wouldn't hesitate to aid their host in finding what he sought. I turned the corner and ran down the long aisle, knowing I must be getting very close to the exit. But it was so dark that I didn't realize until I reached the end that there was no exit here.

A figure, little more than a shadow among others, appeared at the far end. My heart pounded again. I was alternately terrified and delighted, a delicious mix. He moved toward me, confident now that I was trapped, that he had won.

“Come to me, sweetheart,” he cooed. “There is nothing to fear in losing this game.”

I edged closer to him, wanting to be away from the wall, where he expected to trap me. I tried to control my breathing, catch my breath enough so I'd be able to hold it when he passed. I studied his footsteps, how he held his hands out. I took a couple more steps toward him, then crouched, my shoulder pressing into the hedge at my right. But my skirts were enormous. Slowly, I gathered them in, cringing as the crinoline beneath made a sound. He was almost upon me.

He was smiling, and I knew he anticipated victory at any moment. “Where are you, Miss Cora? I can hardly wait to collect my prize.”

I ducked, and his hand only missed my head by an inch. He moved past, and slowly, slowly I raised my head and looked over my shoulder. He was fading into the dark shadows, so I pulled my body out of the hedge and then winced as it pulled back. I tugged, and the delicate silk, caught on a twig within, tore at a seam, bringing the whole cap of the shoulder down in a hopeless flap.

But my attention was back on my pursuer rather than the gown. He'd heard the rustling in the hedge, the tear of the fabric. He had turned and was racing toward me. “Why, you little minx!” he said in delight.

I let out a squeal of laughter, rose, and ran. Now it was so dark that I might as well have been blindfolded myself. I stretched one hand out to touch the hedge on my right, keeping my left before me so I wouldn't collide with an end wall.

I knew I was making far too much noise and that Pierre would easily follow. My only chance was to make it to the end before he did. But I was hopelessly lost, mixed up on where I was in the maze. For all I knew, I was right back at the beginning.

My right sleeve caught in the hedge, and I let out a little yelp when it wouldn't release me. I tugged and winced when I felt the branch both tear the lace and cut my wrist. Ignoring the pain, I paused, trying to settle down and listen for a moment, detect where Pierre might be. Was he in front of me? Behind?

I looked up and noticed a glow on the horizon; we were likely to see the full moon rise at any moment. Maybe if I waited just a few more moments, I would be able to see again and make my way out.

But I heard his whistle and had no choice but to press on. I couldn't tell if he was in my same channel or in the next, but he was close. I turned the corner and reached out as I moved forward. And touched a chest.

He laughed then, a delightful, rumbling sound, and I quickly dropped my hand.

“Oh,” I said in a breath. Half of me was relieved that it was over; half was panicked.

“Come. I take you not to the guillotine, but to someplace special in the maze.” I could see that he was pulling the handkerchief from his eyes and tucking it into his pocket. The fat full moon had risen behind me. I glanced back.

“It is lovely, isn't it?” he said.

I nodded. “Indeed.” But when I turned back to him, he was gazing intently at me. I could feel the heat of my blush as I looked down, unable to stare back into his eyes, knowing what was to come.

He offered his hand and I took it with my left. My right wrist stung, and I knew that it was cut, maybe even bleeding, but my attention was solely on the feel of his cool, strong fingers around mine. We turned a corner and then another, and then ducked beneath a low-hanging arbor, full of rose vines. The night air was thick with their sweet scent as we made our way to the center, which held a small gazebo. Vines crawled up each of the six pillars, winding together in a living roof, higher than the tunnel that had led us to it. Here we could see the moon, now fully round, leaving the forest below in silhouette. I stared at it, suddenly nervous, knowing that Pierre would wish to claim his prize.

“Cora,” he whispered, stepping closer to me. His hand moved to my lower back, pulling me toward him. He slowly caressed my face and then paused, his eyebrows lowering in concern over my torn dress.

“Oh,” I said, pulling the cap of my sleeve up in embarrassment. “That won't do.”

He laughed lowly. “And so the maze became a dragon, intent on eating you up.”

“It tried, but I fought it off,” I said with a smile.

His hand was feather-light as he held my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Shall you fight me off too?” he breathed, hovering near my lips.

“You may claim your prize,” I whispered in return, liking the heat between us, the shiver of daring that raced down my back. Every bit of me felt alive, more alive than I'd felt in months.

He didn't wait a moment longer. He leaned in and covered my lips with his, soft at first, then searching, pulling me closer until I was pressed against his hard chest.

When he released me, I stood there, almost paralyzed. I'd been kissed before. But that was a boy's kiss, perfunctory, proper. What Pierre bestowed upon me was a kiss like none I'd ever experienced. A kiss of passion, promising so much more. I lifted a hand to my cheek and stared at him.

“What is it?” he asked, giving me a curious smile. But then his smile faded. “What happened to your hand, Cora?” He reached out and took my right hand in his, bending to examine the blood that ran from my wrist into my palm. But all I could think about was him, and how I wished he would kiss me again.