Masquerade (21 page)

“Or not at all.” They continued down the stairs, nudged forward by the sudden crush of descending women behind them. Apparently all the bedrooms set aside for last-minute hair and face ministrations were emptying out all at once.

“You two really did have a falling out, didn’t you?”

“We did. I hoped to smooth the waters with him, but it looks like I’m not going to get the chance.”

“You might.” They both smiled as they approached Lady Atwell. From the side of her mouth Rachel whispered, “Who knows? Colin may feel love in the air and be especially forgiving. Certainly on a night like tonight anything is possible, don’t you think?”

Saved from having to reply by the outstretched arms of their hostess, Sophie thought,
Anything may be possible, but my finding love—tonight or any other night—seems wholly improbable.

It didn’t seem likely that even Cupid could untangle the mess Sophie had made of her life—especially not in one night’s time.

****

“If you tie that cravat any tighter you’ll strangle yourself.” The duke chuckled, and then put a gloved hand on the knot at his own neck. He gave it one quick tug before he cut the air with a slice of his outstretched fingers. “Honestly, you would think we were being granted an audience with the Queen instead of attending a little masked ball.”

The carriage rocked gently over the cobblestone streets, the team of horses
clip-clopping
in a cadence that would have ordinarily soothed Colin’s frayed nerves. Tonight, however, their steps felt so slow he fought the urge to lean out the window and spur them on with a loud yell.

A herd of elephants waltzed in his gut. Acid churned, scalding his throat, as he snorted before he replied.

“You should talk. I’ve known you for many years, yet I’ve never seen you take as long to dress as you did tonight. Did you see the look of astonishment on your valet’s face? He couldn’t believe you changed your shirt three times before deciding to wear the one he originally chose for you.”

John sighed. He couldn’t deny any of it.

“You have a point. I’ve been going to society affairs since I was in knee breeches, and none has given me quite the same feeling of unease as attending this silly dance has done. But that is false. I’m not feeling uneasy. It’s more a case of…oh, I cannot say but I know it is nothing I have felt before.” The duke would have raked his fingers through his hair, but a steadying grip on his forearm prevented such a disaster.

“Don’t do it, man. If you muss your hair, we will never get to the party.” Colin laughed, the tension inside him easing. “And I believe what you’re feeling is anticipation. You cannot hide it. You’re looking forward to seeing Rachel Teasdale again. A wise choice, if I do say so.”

Weeks ago Colin realized John felt more for Rachel than he had for any other woman, and had been glad to know it was the case. In his eyes, John and Rachel were perfectly matched and would make a highly compatible couple. Colin had thought so for quite some time, but playing matchmaker wasn’t something he ever intended to do, so watching two of his favorite people find each other on their own gave him great satisfaction.

“Thank you for that. I don’t want to arrive looking as if I rode beneath the carriage rather than inside it.” John shot him a grin. “And you’re right. Anticipation is the feeling I could not name. What about you? Have you made a decision about resolving the bumblebroth with your Miss Teasdale?”

Colin nodded, his nerves suddenly steadied by his resolve. “I have. There will be no more games, John. Tonight I will declare myself. One way or another I shall know whether or not Sophie will have me. My future—
our future
—will be decided tonight. Let’s hope she isn’t so peeved she won’t speak with me. If that happens, all is lost, I’m afraid.”

“Won’t she relent? Not even if you tell her how you feel?”

Colin didn’t know the answer, so he swallowed hard and shrugged his shoulders.

That is something I shall have to see when the time comes.

****

Without a snowstorm to keep people away, attendance at the dance far surpassed that of the New Year’s fete. Before the night grew old, the front parlor filled, masked dancers moving elbow to elbow through the stiflingly warm space. A plethora of perfumes scented the air, at times making it difficult to draw a breath.

Disappointment washed over Sophie in waves. Neither Colin nor the man she met at the previous Atwell function appeared at the party. Scanning the crowd proved fruitless so she had given the practice up, resigning herself to an evening devoid of both friendship and romance.

I have put my foot in it this time.
Standing alone in one corner, having begged for relief after dancing the last two dances with a man whose charm matched his lackluster dancing ability, Sophie hitched a deep breath.
Not even Mother’s beautiful red gown can save me from my life’s chaos. I could just stick my spoon in the wall now, and be done with it. A long life as a spinster does not appeal to me—better to be dead than alone for the rest of my days.

Rachel had been dancing with the man she met at New Year’s for the past quarter-hour. He had appeared before them not long after they left their respective partners at the end of the first round of dancing. Each woman had been hoping when she looked up from her punch glass that the long legs clad in evening breeches which suddenly stood before them belonged to the one who occupied her thoughts.

Only Rachel’s wish had come true. She happily traded her crystal glass for the arm of the dashing escort. Sophie had been watching them smile at each other since they found a place on the crowded dance floor. Now, with the overpowering scent of perfumed air filling her lungs and making her head spin, she could watch no longer.

A break in the crowd allowed her to squeeze between bodies without having to stop to speak with anyone. She pressed through as quickly as she was able, holding her hem off the ground with one hand while she held her mask in place with the other. It wouldn’t do to become unmasked, not now when she felt moisture pool in her eyes. Anyone who saw might speculate she was unhappy at being left standing in the corner while her younger sister danced the night away. That conjecture would be partly true. Of course Sophie would have loved to be dancing—with the right person—but the tear that slid slowly down her left cheek had more behind it.

Once out of the front parlor the crowd thinned. Small clusters of partygoers stood randomly in the wide hall, and while the chatter seemed loud, it was nothing compared to the din in the main room. Sophie was glad for the respite, but it wasn’t enough. She sought a quieter refuge, a place where she might pass some time until it was proper to take her leave.

To the left lay the Atwell’s library. On a previous visit she and Rachel had been received in the room. She remembered it being a cozy, welcoming space and in her rush to find refuge, didn’t hesitate to turn the doorknob and enter. Thankfully, the room was empty.

Crossing the floor in a few fast steps, Sophie dropped into one of the armchairs flanking the hearth. A small fire flickered in the grate, sending ribbons of light dancing across the walls, ceiling and furnishings. The flames’ reddish-gold hue bathed the room in a soft glow. It brought some measure of peace to her overwrought mind.

The only reason she could think of for Colin’s absence from the affair was their disagreement. It seemed pompous to believe that anything she might say or do would affect him to such an extent, but given the way she felt after their harsh exchange, it felt a rational explanation.

She had offended him, plain and simple. That had to be it—what else could keep him from the ball?

A palm across the silky fabric covering her brought a scowl. What a horrid waste of an extraordinary dress.

A door opened, letting a jumble of loud voices penetrate the library. She turned swiftly to the noise and saw out into the hallway where the crowd had grown—and obviously become more animated.

One figure entered the room. She recognized the man’s clothing, particularly his mask, instantly. She had met the gentleman on New Year’s.

With a careless hand, he pushed the door closed behind him. It swung nearly shut but failed to latch properly so a muted, although still substantial, version of the hallway babble followed him inside.

As she stood, he strode toward her. By his demeanor, Sophie knew he was aware she occupied the library.

Her tummy tingled. A sheen broke out on her temple.

Dropping into a neat curtsey, she murmured, “Good evening.”

He didn’t immediately return the gesture with a bow, standing immobile before her for a long moment before he bent at the waist. The firelight illuminated the cut of his jacket, showed the crease of his breeches and the tightness of his silk cravat.

“You look ravishing.”

Three words, but they made Sophie’s heart flutter. No man had ever spoken thus to her, and she didn’t know how to respond. Startled into silence, she stared at him.

Her gaze met and held his, making something in her midsection tumble dramatically. A flicker of recognition passed between them. It seemed deeper, and more profound, than just near strangers seeing each other again, but of course that was ridiculous. This was only their second meeting—how could they share anything more than a casual friendship?

The mask hid most of his face down to his chin, but she saw a tightening along his jaw line. He gave the impression he could stand and stare all night long, so she shifted from one foot to the other and wracked her mind for intelligent conversation. None came, so she opened her mouth and hoped for the best.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” His words were tender, and sent gooseflesh across her skin.

Sophie’s mouth felt filled with cotton, so dry it was hard to speak. No one save her family and close friends had wished her the salutation of the day. It was amazing how the words sounded so completely different when they came from a man’s mouth.

In an evening filled with romance, she struggled to return the sentiment. The words could not be given lightly, and he was in principle no more than a casual acquaintance.

She settled on, “And to you.”

“You look lovely in scarlet.” The noise outside grew, making it difficult to hear him so Sophie leaned closer. He added, slightly louder, “It is different than the dark green—more exotic, I think—but no less enchanting.”

So, he hadn’t happened in on her randomly! He recognized her, despite the drastic change in her appearance. With her hair done the way Wendy suggested and the abrupt change in her style, as well as color, of gown, Sophie had wondered if anyone would take her for the same woman who walked these halls on New Year’s.

“You know who I am?”

He turned to the door, which had been pushed wider four more inches by a shoulder passing in the hallway. Crossing the floor to the now-nearly-open door, he said, “Of course I do. I recognized you the instant I saw you.”

Silence fell between them when the door closed. The sounds of the party were dim but not altogether gone. Sophie knew she should request, for propriety’s sake, that the door be left slightly ajar but leaving the din beyond the wood panel seemed preferable to worrying about her reputation. Besides, they weren’t doing anything behind the closed door that she wouldn’t do had the door been thrown wide, so why allow society to dictate every nuance of life?

The assurance made her smile. It was flattering to hear, but she could not unquestioningly believe the words.

“I find that difficult to accept as true.”

“You would call me a liar?”

“Of course not,” she said quickly. He stood with his back against the closed door, a hand still on the doorknob. Sophie didn’t want him to leave, so she hurried to add, “It’s just that I’m so drastically altered since we last met.” She swept a hand in front of her from her head to her waist. “Hair…gown…even the style of presentation is completely different, yet you say you recognized me straight off. Why, I don’t wish to call you false, but I do believe that had my own mother not seen me without my mask she wouldn’t be able to recognize me.”

He chuckled, the sound sending a thrill as sharp as lightning up Sophie’s spine. The sound was remarkably familiar. Could she have held it so closely in her memory all these weeks that it felt incredibly well known?

“But I’m not your mother.” He drew closer, but not as close as he had been earlier. Standing just beyond the settee, in a shadowy spot, he was the embodiment of sophistication. A straight profile, wide shoulders, and chin tilted at just the right angle all worked to show him to his best—although Sophie doubted a man of his social standing had any side aside from a “best” side.

“But…” She faltered. What could she say?

“And I could be blindfolded and still pick you out of a roomful of women.” One tiny step closer brought him partially from the shadows but not close enough. Sophie would have moved toward him, but he held a hand up, stopping her before she moved her toes more than six inches away from the firelight. “Please, stay as you are. I’m entranced watching the firelight dance along the drape of your skirt. You are, as I said, entirely ravishing.”

As much as the man flattered, Sophie couldn’t allow him to continue. She placed a hand over her heart, for it galloped in her chest, and said, “May I remind you that we are just casual acquaintances? It is hardly fitting that you speak so…” Words tumbled rapidly through her mind. Each was regarded, and then dismissed. The one that felt most suitable was “intimately” but the word itself felt out of place. At a loss, she stared at him for a moment. Then, she said, “It isn’t proper for you to address me so. We don’t know each other well enough.”

For a full minute, he stared at her, and she wondered if he would speak again or just leave the room as suddenly as he had entered it. Then, he inhaled deeply, sending his shoulders high and bringing his jacket tight across his arms. She was reminded of the muscles she had felt when they danced, the ones that hid beneath the superior cut of his dress clothes.