Kat, Incorrigible (22 page)

I made a face at her. Hadn’t she even noticed her cue?

“Come now, Miss Angeline,” Mr. Carlyle said. He looked across the flock of pastels to where she stood by the carriage, her chin up high like an angry queen, and his voice shivered with laughter. “I really must insist on fulfilling my obligations. What kind of gentleman should I be otherwise?”

“I would never desire to be considered an obligation.”

“Not even a charming one?” he asked.

“Good evening to you,” Angeline said frigidly, and swept past the flock, head held high.

Elissa and I followed in her wake. I could have pointed out that it was a waste of effort—Stepmama had just been gathered into a low-voiced conversation with two older women from the next carriage, and it was clear she wouldn’t be ready to move inside the assembly rooms for at least five more minutes—but when I opened my mouth
to tell Angeline so, Elissa touched my arm and shook her head.

Later
, she mouthed.

I sighed. Behind me I could hear Mr. Carlyle’s laugh mingle with the flock’s chirps and giggles. At least he wasn’t suffering too badly. Stepmama and her cronies looked as if they’d settled in for a full round of vigorous, pre-ball gossip. I settled myself in for a tedious wait.

We might still have been in Yorkshire, but the local assembly rooms were in a small, round-roofed building that looked like it wanted to be in ancient Greece. It had arrived about two thousand years too late. Marble pillars rose up to support the overhang, but they just looked silly beside the plain, low-roofed stone butcher’s shop on its left and the pastrycook on its right.

Lights shone through the windows, and music and voices filtered through the closed doors. The rest of the party from Grantham Abbey shuffled around in a genteel confusion behind and around us, trying to avoid the horse pats on the ground and the lean dogs scavenging in the street nearby. In the confusion, I almost didn’t notice the light, insistent tug at my arm. No, not at my arm itself, I realized—at the reticule that hung off it.

I clapped my hand to the cord it hung by, just before it could snap. “Careful—,” I began.

Then I saw who it was.

“I thought so,” said Sir Neville, and let the reticule go.
He smiled. In the shadows, he seemed even taller, and I had to resist the urge to back away from him. “You couldn’t leave it behind even for one night, could you?” he asked softly.

I licked my lips, trying to think of what I could say.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about”
had been used up in our conversation the day before. Anyway, it wouldn’t work. Not now.

The reticule was warm against my fingers, the mirror’s heat burning through the thin, beaded cloth. Obviously, Sir Neville had felt that heat. Equally obviously—and much worse—he knew exactly what it meant.

“I—that is—,” I began.

But Elissa turned around before I could think of what to say. “Sir Neville!” She curtsied hastily. “I am sorry. I didn’t hear you approach.”

Angeline turned too at the sound of Elissa’s voice. Her gaze flicked first, razor sharp, to the flock of giggling, chirping females behind us. Then she looked back to our own group.

“Sir Neville,” she said, and bared her teeth in a smile as she curtsied. “What a delightful surprise.”

“Delightful for myself, indeed,” said Sir Neville. “But surely no surprise.” He took Elissa’s hand and raised it to his lips. “I could hardly stay away.”

Elissa’s cheeks flushed, and her eyelashes swept down to cover her eyes. I gritted my teeth. Heat rose from my reticule, warming my hands. The heat of magical
power … completely useless in this situation. What could I do, apart from snatching Elissa and vanishing with her into the Golden Hall? That would be no use at all. Firstly, I would have to listen to her lectures there for hours, even if Mr. Gregson or Lady Fotherington didn’t appear as well, to make up a horrible magical party. And secondly, hiding in the Golden Hall could hardly be considered a long-term solution.

So I just stood there, choking on rage and that hideous, unbearable feeling I’d discovered earlier.
Helplessness
. I breathed in the smell of charred meat and almost gagged. Someone in a nearby house must have let their dinner burn.

I could actually feel Sir Neville’s power circling through the air around him. It prickled against my skin like a thousand tiny needles. It made me want to sink to the ground like a coward and give up.

Weapon
, I thought. All I had to do was find the right weapon to use against him.

It was so laughable, I couldn’t even pretend to believe it. All I could do was clench my jaw to hold myself back. Even if I didn’t know how to fight Sir Neville in a way I could win, I did know that launching myself at him with my fists in public would do nobody any good at all.

Although it would feel satisfying …

A discreet cough sounded behind me. “Sir Neville,” Mr. Gregson said.

For once, his voice came as a welcome interruption. I looked back and found him standing just behind me, his spectacles glinting oddly in the shadows. He smiled faintly but didn’t look at me.

“Gregson.” Sir Neville turned away from Elissa, focusing his hard gaze on my would-be tutor. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

“No?” Mr. Gregson said mildly. “You know I enjoy observing local customs. Especially when something worthwhile is at stake.”

“You know I enjoy winning,” said Sir Neville, and his stare hardened into a fierce glare. “You might as well have stayed at home.”

“My, you’re both acting mysterious,” Angeline said, and yawned behind her fan. “Might the rest of us be included in your conversation, please, or must we all start speaking enthusiastically about the weather?”

“I … beg your pardon, Miss Angeline,” Sir Neville said. It looked like it took a real effort for him to yank his gaze away from Mr. Gregson’s calm face and assume an unconvincing smile. “Gregson and I are old friends, you see. We sometimes forget our company and lapse into childish banter when we are together.”

Mr. Gregson coughed. It was not a sound of agreement. But when Sir Neville turned sharply to look at him, Mr. Gregson was smiling charmingly … at me.

“And how are you enjoying your first ball, Miss Katherine?” he asked. “Are you terribly excited by it?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I might be, if we ever went inside.”

Dangerous as Mr. Gregson might be, at least I could breathe when I was around him. Ever since he’d arrived, the tight knot of tension—
helplessness
—in my throat had disappeared. The horrible smell of burned meat was gone. Even the prickles against my skin had eased. So I was happy to throw myself into battle against him once more.

“You must be very bored, though, after all those elegant London balls you usually attend,” I said. “Sometimes,” I added, looking him in the eye and thinking of the first night we’d met, “you probably don’t even return to your townhouse until dawn. It must be exhausting.”

Amusement glinted in his eyes. “It is a bit exhausting. And yet, I expect you might enjoy it too, if you gave the London life a chance.”

Sir Neville muttered something under his breath.

“I beg your pardon, Sir Neville?” Mr. Gregson said.

Sir Neville bared his teeth. “I wouldn’t recommend it, Miss Katherine,” he said loudly. “I have known many young ladies who found that life more dangerous than they had expected. Some of them even lost their lives to it.”

“Lost their lives to too much dancing?” Angeline said dryly. “My goodness. What pitiful young ladies you must have known, Sir Neville.”

It wasn’t until she’d finished saying it that I realized—and
she did too, I could see it in her face—exactly which young lady Sir Neville had known.

His first wife, to be specific.

Angeline’s face tightened into something sharp and dangerous. I clenched my hands around my skirts, feeling that choking sensation start up again.

Elissa flicked her fan out with a jerky, nervous gesture. “We shall all have to hope we may manage some dancing tonight, at least.” Her voice sounded tight, almost as choked as I felt. “And look—here comes Stepmama. Perhaps we won’t be out until dawn after all.”

“Perhaps not,” Mr. Gregson murmured, and faded back into the crowd as Stepmama approached.

Now that all the older women had broken up their gossip group, the rest of the crowd prepared for action. As Stepmama sailed toward us, the crowd pressed close, pushing us forward.

“Sir Neville!” she said brightly. “How delightful to see you. I hope you come prepared for dancing tonight.”

“Indeed I do, Mrs. Stephenson,” Sir Neville said. “I hope to dance with all three of your daughters tonight.”

I gritted my teeth even harder and wished Mr. Gregson were still there to tarnish the smug arrogance on Sir Neville’s face.

“Miss Stephenson, may I escort you into the ball?” Sir Neville asked, holding out his arm.

“She would be delighted,” Stepmama answered for her, and Elissa took his arm.

She looked wistfully over his shoulder as she did it, and I looked too, but Mr. Collingwood was nowhere to be seen.
Poor Elissa
, I thought. She’d probably spent all day dreaming of dancing with Sir Neville’s younger brother and enjoying the tragic bitterness of hopeless love.

The thought of it irritated me so much that it loosened the knot in my throat and let me speak. “Where is Mr. Collingwood tonight?” I asked Sir Neville.

“My brother?” He blinked. “I’m afraid he felt unwell and could not come.”

“Oh, no!” Elissa said. Then she caught herself, looking guiltily up at her escort. “I mean—do please give him our condolences. It is terrible to miss a ball.”

“Terrible indeed,” said Sir Neville. His gaze had sharpened, but he didn’t look displeased. “Those who miss it must be pitied,” he added, and smiled.

I thought if I ever heard a double meaning again in my life, I might be violently sick.

I was still simmering as we all finally filed into the main assembly room and heard ourselves announced like kings and queens to the locals. And I was ready to throttle myself out of sheer boredom by the end of the first hour of the ball, when I’d sat on the sidelines with my hands folded, listening to Stepmama gossip, for longer than any reasonable creature could possibly stand.

But I was surprised when the orchestra drew to a sudden, screeching halt. The dancers in the middle of the floor stopped too, and the patterns broke into confusion
as they all turned around, looking for the source of the interruption. Whispers and high-pitched speculation rose to fill the room.

A shot exploded in the center of the dance floor. Plaster rained down on the heads of the dancers. Screaming, they scattered toward the sidelines.

A man’s confident voice rang out and silenced even the most panicked screams.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called. “I am sorry to break up such a charming party, but I really must insist. My associates are here to assist me in asking you all to make a choice, and I beg you each to consider the question carefully: your money … or your life?”

The highwayman had arrived after all.

As the dancers scattered in a panicked rush, a man in a
cloak and black half mask stood revealed in the center of the floor. His first pistol, now empty, was still aimed at the ceiling, where a large chunk of molded plaster was missing. Somehow, none of it had fallen on him.

He was smiling underneath the half mask, and he held a second loaded pistol ready in his right hand.

“You may form two lines, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “As quickly as possible, if you please.”

“This is absurd!” It was the burly man who’d sat next to Mrs. Banfi eld on our first night, the one who’d told her not to worry about the highwayman. “It’s only one impudent rascal. We can all—”

The second loaded pistol was suddenly aimed directly
at him across the room, and the burly man’s neighbors were clearing away from him as rapidly as they had from the highwayman.

“I must request that no one does anything rash,” the highwayman said. “Not even you, Major Connors.”