Masquerade (20 page)

Sophie turned her head with the intention of scanning the sky to guess the lateness of the hour. Her gaze skimmed the crowd, and would have gone higher had she not caught a glimpse of a very familiar form. The smile froze on her face.

Colin stood ten feet from where she waited, his hands on the shoulders of a pretty woman. They spoke in lively terms, and although she couldn’t hear their words it was clear they were enjoying their conversation.

It made no sense, but rational or not Sophie recognized the sentiment that pierced her heart when Colin touched the woman’s hair. There was no hiding it—she was jealous, and the acknowledgement of the irrational emotion sent the blood in her veins boiling.

Clenching her hands so tightly her fingers hurt, Sophie counted to ten. Then, she counted to ten again, all the while watching the scene before her unfold in painstakingly slow motion.

Finally, Rachel emerged, empty-handed, from the shop.

“I could not decide,” Rachel said lightly as she came to a stop beside Sophie. “So I chose neither. After all, I don’t have a need for a length of green ribbon. I merely liked the shades and was nearly overcome with—Sophie? Are you listening, or shall I have to send you stumbling into another pile of something unsavory?”

Despite her sister’s teasing, Sophie couldn’t reply. She nodded toward the pair standing so near. They appeared to be parting, the woman turning toward a coach’s open door while Colin bowed farewell. As he straightened, he looked their way. Sophie didn’t lower her eyes, nor did she attempt to disguise her roiling emotions.

Not at first, anyhow.

****

Colin had no idea how they were moving so quickly in heeled boots over slushy cobbled walks. He wore sensible boots, yet the leather soles provided so little traction he had nearly stumbled several times. Still, with Sophie practically dragging her sister in the direction of the Teasdale residence, they covered ground so rapidly he had a difficult time keeping up with them.

All attempts at normal conversation had been rebuffed. With Sophie, that is. Rachel looked confused, and, to his annoyance, a bit smug, but she had at least responded to his greeting. When he offered to walk them home, she had, as Sophie tugged hard on her arm, agreed, but the words had nearly been lost in thunderous slap of heels against cobbles.

They passed his house at a rush. As he cast a sideways look at the residence, he prayed none of his family was presently beside a window. Humiliation after humiliation was hard for a man to endure. It was even more difficult to hold one’s head high when he knew his had been spied dashing after the woman who held his affection as if she did, indeed, carry his beating heart in her gloved hands.

To his immense relief, none of the draperies at the house’s windows stirred.

When they reached the Teasdale’s gate, Sophie grabbed the latch as if her life depended on opening the wooden door as quickly as humanly possible.

Colin didn’t hesitate. When she unlatched the gate, he caught her hand in his. Then, keeping his gaze locked with Sophie’s, he held the gate wide and said, “It has been a pleasure seeing you this afternoon, Rachel. Good day.”

Taking her cue, Rachel went through the opening in a swish of skirts. She called over her shoulder as she hurried to the front door. “My pleasure as well, Colin. Good day!”

Finally, they were alone. For several heartbeats neither spoke.

Sophie wouldn’t meet his gaze but she didn’t have to. Colin knew her well enough to recognize she was ill at ease.
She wants to get away from me—and hastily,
he thought sadly. It hurt him to see her displeasure at his nearness, to feel the urgent tug of her wrist where he held it.

“Good day, Colin.” Pulling herself free from his grasp, Sophie tried to move past him. He allowed her to break their connection, but he stopped her by putting his body between her and the path. The gate and fence closed them in. Sophie would have to go over, under, or through him to pass. Without lifting her eyes, she said, “Let me pass.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

“We have nothing to say. Now, get out of my way so I may go inside.”

The tone was so familiar it warmed his heart. Infrequently they had had squabbles as children, the way all children do, and Sophie had always gotten her way partly by using this particular tone of voice. In his mind, Colin called it her crabby voice, a fact he kept to himself. Now the crabby voice made him smile, but only for an instant because before he could say a word Sophie tried to push past him. The feel of her body against his, the force of her annoyance with him, stirred him to action.

Colin placed his hands on her upper arms, took a step back to put distance between them, and held her in place.

“You aren’t the only one who can be stubborn, Sophie. And I won’t be rattled by that crabby tone of voice, either. Moreover, since I easily outweigh you, it seems futile for you to try to shove past me.”

“Crabby tone of voice? You must be joking!” She looked up at him, astonishment making her lovely green eyes flash angrily. “How dare you?”

He chuckled. “Oh, I dare quite easily, I assure you. And while the label isn’t complimentary, it fits. So are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or are we going to stand here until the stars come out?” Looking up at the sky, which was rapidly turning an ominous shade of gray, he shrugged. Then, he met her gaze again. “Makes no difference to me, Sophie. I could happily spend the night here with you.”

Instantly, and regrettably, he saw she wasn’t going to be charmed. His turn of phrase was met by a scowl, and had her eyes been daggers he would have fallen dead at her feet.

“Nothing is bothering me,” she insisted. Stamping her foot—thankfully not on one of his—Sophie spat, “Now, unhand me. One would think you might be tired of holding onto women in the street by now.”

With another small push, she tried in vain to go around him. When would she get it into her head that he didn’t intend to let her go until they had hashed things out?

“Holding women in the street? What has come over you? What on earth are you—” Understanding struck him like a bolt of lightning.
She saw me talking to that woman, that Penny Something-Or-Other! That’s what is under her skin!
“That’s it—you saw me on the street holding Miss What’s-Her-Name, didn’t you?”

Disgust turned Sophie’s pretty features hard. “‘Miss What’s-Her-Name’? You mean to tell me you don’t even know the poor girl’s name? Why, you’re disgraceful, Colin Randolph. Absolutely despicable!”

Forgetting a name was no sin. And any man, even one as taken with a woman as he was with Sophie, had his limits. The vehement disapproval being heaped on his head pushed Colin to his.

Leaning so close he could smell the lavender scent she used to rinse her hair, Colin growled, “Name-calling doesn’t suit you. And it’s not at all attractive, either.”

“You’re just angry because you were caught out with your red-headed companion,” she shot back. Then, a throaty growl of her own turning her voice husky with emotion, she added, “You have quite a penchant for women with astonishing hair, don’t you? Yes, you’ve got a real eye for a fantastic head of hair.”

How one who possessed such a keen mind could fly between ideas with no more direction than a seed tossed on a spring breeze was beyond him. Completely and utterly lost, Colin scowled. His frustration grew with each passing minute. It took all of his self-restraint not to simply lean forward and kiss the woman—if for no other reason than to make her stop speaking in riddles!

While kissing held a distinct lure, it would get them no closer to resolving their affairs. “What are you talking about now? What does hair have to do with all this?”

“It seems to have slipped your mind that only a few days ago you seemed smitten by Miss Wendy Wentworth—and her trailing blond curls. I suppose you’ve forgotten Wendy in favor of the red-headed woman I just saw you with.” Sophie clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head disapprovingly. “I never thought you were the fickle type, Colin. What a surprise!”

Swallowing hard, he released her and took a step back. With an exaggerated sweep of his hand, he gestured to the front door where, he felt certain, curious eyes watched their exchange. When Sophie took one step forward, bringing her ear directly in front of his mouth, he said, “And I never figured you for the jealous type, my dear.”

Without another word, Colin turned and walked away. Even a patient man has a breaking point—and she had just found his.

Chapter 13

Lord and Lady Atwell’s home had been festooned with red, pink, and white live flowers, feathers, bows, and paper garlands. There was so much decoration, the garlands hung so low and draped over every available surface that entering the residence felt like stepping into a huge pinkish puff. The effect was attention grabbing, if somewhat shocking, but once guests began to mingle no one seemed to mind pushing aside protruding bows or ducking beneath nose-height swags.

Rachel and Sophie had been quite breathless upon first witnessing the Atwell décor. Who wouldn’t have been? But by the time they emerged from the upstairs bedroom where they had done a last-minute check on their appearances, they were both focused on far more pressing interests than dangling carnations or overly large tissue-paper clouds.

Sophie had been awake nearly all the previous night. Staring at the ceiling above her bed, wondering hour after hour whether or not the mysterious gentleman she had met the last time she visited the Atwell home would once again be present for the Valentine’s Day dance should have left her feeling tired, but that was not the case. Thankfully, she felt as invigorated as if she had slept the effortless sleep of a babe in the cradle. So fully rested, there was a definite bounce to her step as she descended the wide staircase with Rachel at her side.

While her sister hadn’t said a word, and had actually been quieter than was her custom, Sophie suspected Rachel’s mind was concentrated on the charming fellow who had quite literally swept her off her slippered feet during the New Year’s dance. It seemed odd that they were both intrigued by men on the very same evening, but there was some logical sense to the fact, as well.

During their early years, the two sisters had often fallen into the same puddles together, so to speak, so tumbling heart first into masked strangers’ arms didn’t seem atypical at all. The difference when they were little girls had been their degree of wetness; usually one or the other of them was much more committed to exploring the depths of any puddle, and would generally spend more time splashing around. Consequently, one was always more soaked than the other.

Are men like puddles?
Sophie wondered as she dragged her palm along the wide, polished balustrade. It seemed too simple a comparison, but she had learned that sometimes the most obvious explanations for the most complicated questions truly gave the simplest, and best, answers.

Rachel cut short her musing by giving her a sharp poke in the ribs. Her fingertip found little resistance between the scarlet gown and Sophie’s tender skin. The whalebone stays, as well as the voluminous underskirts, included in the original gown’s design had all been dispensed with. The fabric, so soft and shimmery it caressed Sophie’s willowy form like a silk cloud, draped attractively around her body without need of unnecessary structure or padding.

Sophie felt—and knew she looked—fabulous. The knowledge gave her a heady feeling, one she had not known before now. Always she had been the older, sensible sister. Now she felt daring and carefree.

Almost. She sighed, the memory of the harsh words she and Colin shared still stinging her mind and heart. They were a keen reminder that even the one she thought she knew best could unpleasantly shock her. The run-in also showed she had a less-than-agreeable side to her own personality.

She couldn’t wait to make up with Colin. Their disagreement cast a gloomy cloud on what should be a glittering moment.

“Look.” Rachel had better manners than to point. Instead, she tilted her head toward the corner of the room nearest the refreshment table. A loose group of men surrounded one young woman. Her mask concealed her face but the tinkling laughter gave her identity away. “Penny seems to have a whole legion of men falling at her feet.”

“She does at that,” Sophie answered absently as she scanned the room for a sign of Colin. To her dismay, she didn’t spot him. “I wonder—”

“How she gets men to flock to her the way she does? I’ve asked the very same question of her, and she insists she has no idea why—or how—she attracts so many men. Of course, Penny is as pleasant and interesting as anyone might be, and she is, obviously, very pretty, but aside from those attributes she is no more startling than any of the rest of us.”

Rachel stopped near the bottom step, forcing Sophie to pause beside her. A throng of newcomers was just passing below them, entering the large front parlor. Lady Atwell, once again sans mask, welcomed each visitor to Woodhaven before ushering them into the party.

With a resigned sigh, Rachel held her hands before her, palms open to the ceiling, and said, “Penny isn’t any more intriguing than the rest of us, yet she has men buzzing about her like bees around a pollen-filled bloom. It is, I suppose, just the luck of the draw that dictates a woman’s circumstance. Don’t you agree?”

She had been searching the newcomers for a hint that one might be Colin, so when the question came to her Sophie had to scramble for an answer.

“I—I…Well, I don’t know what I think right now, to tell you the truth. And you actually answered a question I didn’t pose, while cutting me off when I was about to go on. Honestly, you can be exasperating at times.” She smiled to show the love behind her words. “I wondered whether or not Colin was here, too, when I saw Penny. It doesn’t seem that he is—at least I don’t see him. Do you?”

After a fast glance at the figures near the bottom of the stairs, Rachel shook her head. “No, I don’t. Perhaps he’s planning to arrive later on?”