Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed (25 page)

Diverted, she asked, “Whatever did you think you were going to do when you ran off with his bride?”

“He’s such a stiff-rumped one. He’d wash his hands of her. No use crying over spilled milk and all that.”

She couldn’t repress a little titter. “Oh, Crossley, you do amuse me. But my cousin isn’t here yet, and in this setting, I’m sure you could find a discreet corner. She’s such a sweet girl and quite fond of you. I don’t think she’d set up a screech if you went about it the right way.”

“Protest my undying love, hopeless longings, that kind of tripe?”

“Exactly,” she approved. “You have a wonderful way with young things, my friend.”

“If my wonderful ways don’t bear fruit soon, Maria, I’ll be all rolled up,” he said disconsolately. “I would have probably starved to death this Season if I hadn’t discovered that the arty fellows set a damned good spread at their open evenings.” He nodded. “Yes, the chit owes me something.” And he went off on his search.

Jane, meanwhile, was watching the behavior of some of the guests and wondering what her mother would say. Merely to picture Lady Sandiford in this company made Jane giggle. It was beyond her powers of imagination. She, however, was not finding the event unpleasant. She enjoyed dancing and had many partners, some of whom she recognized and some she could only guess at. She was fairly sure that none had identified her. A few gentlemen flirted rather more than would normally be allowed but in the most harmless manner. She decided that unless one was unwise enough to wander off into the more secluded grottoes, the tenets of society still held, and a young lady was safe from incivility—and whispering voices.

Although she was enjoying herself, Jane scanned the room constantly, seeking Lord Wraybourne, sure that he would never find her unless Sophie was to describe her costume. But before Jane discovered her betrothed, she was detected by Sir Marius, who knew her at once and claimed not to have had help. He could not disguise his height and so wore only a domino. He had a mask but swung it from his fingers.

“It’s as well you didn’t live in medieval times, Jane,” he said. “There would have been wars fought over you.”

Jane was delighted. “I never thought to receive a compliment from you, Sir Marius.”

“I must be growing addled with age,” he sighed with a humorous look.

She suddenly became aware of him as a desirable man. Over time they had developed a kind of friendship, and she had learned to be at ease with him. Now she was shocked to find herself wondering what it would be like to be kissed by him and felt natural color adding to the rouge on her cheeks. She had never been kissed by any man other than her betrothed. On later reflection, she would decide she had been led astray by the free-flowing wine and the air of licentiousness. For the moment, forgetful of all her good intentions and the threat of the whisperer, she looked at Sir Marius with new eyes.

“A word with you, Sir Marius,” she said and drifted around some potted ferns into a secluded area.

“What are you about, minx?” he asked, following.

He sounded stern, but she could see the light of amusement in his eyes and that reassured her. This was as she imagined a game with a brother might be.

“I would request a favor of you, kind sir.”

“And what would that favor be, sweet maid?”

Now the moment had come, her nerve almost deserted her and she swallowed hard. “A kiss,” she said, breathlessly.

The humor glowed brighter in his eyes. “Why?”

“Let us call it a scientific study,” she got out, her heart choking in her throat.

What was she doing? He’d tell Lord Wraybourne, for sure. But that did not seem to be Sir Marius’s inclination.

He laughed. “The Royal Institution would not approve,” he remarked and raised her chin with one long, strong finger.

“I don’t suppose many people would approve,” she whispered, mesmerized by his face above hers.

“David would probably call me out,” he said conversationally, bending until his face was just inches from hers.

Panicked, she slipped away from him. “That would be dreadful,” she said quickly.

She would have left immediately, but he caught her hand. “I will be around all evening,” he said with a grin.

He had never really intended to kiss her, had known she would turn tail. She fled the grotto to the sound of an understanding chuckle. She knew he had been kind in a way, but she was ashamed of her flight nonetheless. Having once started the adventure, she should have had the nerve to go through with it. This surely would be the last chance for such experiments. In two days she would leave for home to prepare for her wedding. She wished she had the courage to return and surprise him by taking up his challenge. She wished Lord Wraybourne would arrive and take his position by her side so she would not be tempted to such foolishness.

When she emerged onto the dance floor she was claimed by her next partner, Sir Edwin. He did not wear a mask and was dressed as Shakespeare. The costume was tolerably successful because of his half-bald head and a false beard. Unfortunately he felt obliged to quote from the Bard, not always appropriately.

“ ‘Your azure veins, your alabaster skin / Your coral lips, your snow-white dimpled chin,’ ” he murmured to her. “Is not that appropriate, sweet miss?”

“I have no dimple, Sir,” she replied as she curtsied to begin the dance.

“But you have golden hair. How about this, my dear. ‘Her hair like golden threads played with her breath. Oh modest wantons, wanton modesty.’ ”

“My hair is most suitably confined,” she remarked as she passed under his arm, a little startled by the tone of his words. “Does that absolve me from wantonness?”

“Would that I could loose it,” he whispered hotly, making her glad the dance separated them at that point.

The whisper reminded her horribly of her tormentor, though of course it was ridiculous to think of Sir Edwin lurking in corners to distress young ladies. But no matter how trustworthy he was, the atmosphere of the masque had obviously had its effect on him. She had no wish to dare a kiss with Sir Edwin, whose lips were probably as clammy as his hands.

When the dance brought them together again he declared, “ ‘Frailty, thy name is woman.’ I feel I know you.”

“Not if you think me frail, Sir Edwin,” she said sharply, causing him to miss his step and confuse the other couples in their set.

“All women are frail,” he said crossly, “in mind if not in body. The Bard says, ‘For men have marble, women waxen minds / And therefore are they formed as marble will.’ ”

“If you expect women to shape themselves to your liking, Sir Edwin, I wonder at your pursuit of Lady Sophie.”

“Good God!” he said suddenly. “It’s Miss Sandiford. You always had too forward a tongue.”

Again the dance separated them before she could answer, but this time she was not thankful. She longed to give Sir Edwin a sharp retort.

The time spent moving through the set from partner to partner cooled her irritation, however, and when they met again she merely said, with genuine curiosity, “Pray tell me, Sir Edwin, if you feel so about women, why have you been so much in our company? There are many more waxlike ladies around Town.”

“I do not seek the easy way,” he said with fervor. “It is my task to save Lady Sophie. Her brother is too lax. I would have prevented her from so imprudently displaying her limbs this evening. But I forgive. She is merely poorly governed. Consider her ruinous course, however, if she does not marry a man capable of forming her afresh.”

Jane could think of nothing to say after this diatribe. She was thankful that there was no possibility of Sophie accepting his suit. She found him slightly frightening, and as soon as the dance was over she slipped away.

She had a mind to search for Sophie to relate the incident. She thought her friend should be on her guard. But Sophie was in the refreshment room amid a large, noisy group, so Jane decided instead to go to the entrance to see if the footman there had noticed Lord Wraybourne enter.

As she came to the top of the steps, however, she saw Lord Wraybourne entering below. Like his sister he had made no great effort to disguise his identity. He was dressed as Robin Hood in a medieval tunic of green and brown. A knife and hunting horn hung from his belt. The outfit suited him remarkably well, and she could not help but notice how the strong muscles in his legs were revealed by the green hose he wore.

She suddenly felt quite warm and dry in the mouth. How appropriate his costume was. She, after all, could be Maid Marian. She wondered with a smile whether she should make herself known to him or wait until she was recognized. The next moment she received a great shock. He turned to the lady who had entered with him and gave her his arm.

The lady was dressed as a Dresden shepherdess in a lacy and beribboned gown. She wore a charming villager hat, decorated with more ribbons, and carried a crook. Her plain mask was really no disguise, and Jane was sure that she was not a relative of her betrothed or even a close friend in Society. Jane tried to tell herself that the lady was merely chance-met, and yet there was something in the way they walked and talked together that said otherwise. Suspicions she had believed put aside crept to the front of her mind again. Unhappily, and guiltily, Jane stepped back a little from the door and prepared to spy on them.

Lord Wraybourne stopped at the top of the stairs and tied on his own mask. He pulled the hood of his tunic over his auburn curls and was suddenly well-disguised.

“Ready?” he asked, smiling fondly at his companion.

She nodded but then asked, “David, are you sure this is wise? If anything goes wrong it could cause a great deal of talk.”

“It is our only chance,” he said and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “Be brave.”

With that they entered the ballroom.

Jane stood frozen with disbelief. She realized that this could be the woman he had embraced on Clarke Street. Had he brought his mistress to the ball? It seemed unlike him to do anything so outrageous. And was this the same woman he had been seen with in Harrogate? Her waist was too small and trim for one with child. The shepherdess had made free with his name, which Jane had not yet brought herself to do, and that seemed the most terrible thing of all. The hurt that had been building in her was suddenly swamped by anger. She would not be duped, if that was their plan, nor would she give him up. How dare he. She would face them both, and if it caused a scandal, so be it!

However, by the time she had come out of her place of concealment and entered the crowded room, there was no sight of them. She angrily circled the dance floor, refusing a number of partners, and eventually spotted the shepherdess dancing with a Red Indian Jane suspected to be Lord Marchmont. There was no sign of her betrothed. Had she been wrong in her suspicions? And yet, there was that conversation, which was
not
open to misinterpretation. Jane wondered if she could be losing her mind. As she passed a thicket of potted bamboo, however, she heard his voice.

“. . . if you could keep an eye on Jane for me.”

There was no opening on this side. Trying to appear calm, Jane hurried around to the grotto entrance, but found no Robin Hood within, only a sinister-looking Renaissance gentleman all in black. She recognized Lord Randal.

“Where is Lord Wraybourne?” she demanded.

“He just left,” he said calmly. “It is Jane, is it not?”

As she turned to go, he caught her hand and said rather plaintively, “Are you too going to desert me? Alas, all the ladies seem to be out of kindness tonight.”

“Perhaps you should not look so evil, Lord Randal,” she said, not resisting his restraining hand. She would make herself ridiculous, scouring the room for her betrothed. He could not avoid her all night. “You make me think of those Venetian stories where someone is always slipping a knife into someone else’s back.”

He gave her a hug. “Delightful child! That was precisely my intention. It is tedious to be always seen as decorative.”

Within the impersonal embrace Jane looked up at him. Her anger and bewilderment focussed. “Kiss me,” she said. It was no longer curiosity which drove her but the desire for revenge. She just wished she could force David Kyle to watch!

With mischievous humor, Lord Randal dropped a kiss upon her lips. Jane shook her head.

“No wonder the ladies are unkind if that is your best kiss.”

Fire suddenly danced behind the black mask as he grinned at her. “You didn’t say that you wanted my
best
kiss. . . .”

His arms enveloped her as his head bent down, and she found her body shaped and curved to his. Off balance and breathless, she would have fallen if he had not supported her and yet she was secure in the strength of his arms. His lips played upon hers with such sureness and pleasure that she gladly responded. It stirred a kind of excitement, and yet she had to accept there was none of the devastation her betrothed could arouse in her. At last Lord Randal withdrew his lips. He said nothing, merely smiled at her.

“That was a very nice kiss,” she said truthfully.

He gave an elegant bow to acknowledge the compliment, but his eyes told her he guessed something of her motives. “Do you mind telling me what you are about?” he asked.

Jane felt unable to confess that she had been using him for revenge and so she summoned up a light manner. “Oh, despite my undeservedly
risqué
reputation, I have led an unexciting life, my friend,” she said airily. “I decided I should have a few little adventures before I become a dull married lady.” But she forgot her act and spoke seriously as she added, “Once I am wed I am determined to be completely faithful, even if Lord Wraybourne proves not to be.”

“I am sure he would never be so uncourteous,” he said quietly and with equal sobriety. “Are you still bothered by that letter? I assure you, he is not much given to wickedness.”