His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6

To soldiers who bravely serve their country

In memory of Gaston Louis Alfred Leroux, without whom this novel might never have been conceived.

A gentle breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the smooth murmur of violins as Richard gazed out over the terrace of Thorncliff
Manor. The grand estate and guesthouse where his parents and siblings had chosen to spend the summer while their own home
was being renovated, sat solidly at his back—a welcome retreat for those who were wealthy enough to afford it. Standing to
one side, Richard watched the guests, their gemstones scattering the torchlight while feathers bowed and swayed.

Although they wore masks, he was able to recognize a few of those present. Certainly, he had seen many of them from his bedroom
window since arriving at Thorncliff a few weeks earlier. But there were those whose acquaintance he’d never had the pleasure
of, like the young ladies who’d made their debuts since 1815—a year he would not soon forget. In any event, it was a long
time since he’d spoken to any of these people. Some, he reflected, had been friends once . . . His heart beat slowly, dulled
by the lead that now flowed through his veins.

It was briefly forgotten when a gentle voice spoke at his shoulder. “Your company is much appreciated this evening, Mr. Heartly.”

Turning his head, Richard glanced down at his hostess, the incomparable Lady Duncaster. “After all . . .” His words faltered—no
doubt from lack of usage. Inhaling deeply, he took a moment to compose himself before trying again, more slowly this time.
“After all the effort you have gone to on my behalf, it would have been rude of me to stay away.” Rigidly, he glanced in her
direction, his nails digging against the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists. There was more to be said. “I . . .”

“Yes?” she queried.

“Please don’t use my real name, Countess. Tonight I am Signor Antonio.”

“Of course.” Her eyes gleamed with the mystery of a shared secret. “As to all the effort you mentioned, your presence here
after so many years of absence has made it all worthwhile.” A wry smile appeared beneath the edge of her over-embellished
mask. “Besides, I have always wondered what it might be like to restore the masquerade ball to its former glory.”

Dipping his head, Richard acknowledged her comment, the gesture encouraging her to continue.

“In my youth, my husband and I experienced a traditional one in Venice—before the Venetian Republic fell. . . . Masquerades
have since become popular in other parts of Europe, though they generally lack the flamboyance that I initially fell in love
with.” She shook her head somewhat wistfully, then straightened herself and earnestly asked, “What do you think,
Signor
? Is it grand enough?”

In Richard’s opinion the extravagance was overwhelming, but since he knew this was probably the effect Lady Duncaster was
aiming for, he said, “I think you have outdone all other masquerades, my lady.
I
am certainly impressed.”

Chuckling, Lady Duncaster slapped his arm playfully with her fan. “You are quite the charmer. Do you know that?”

“It is accidental, I can assure you,” he told her dryly, belatedly realizing that he probably should have thanked her for
the compliment.

She tsked in response. “I sincerely doubt that.” Taking him by the arm, she guided him slowly along the periphery of the terrace
while the orchestra on the opposite side struck up a new tune. In no time at all, the center of the terrace had been occupied
by guests who wished to participate in a country dance, their theatrical garments a testament to originality rather than taste.
“I know your parents, Signor, and I very much doubt that your mother would have raised a son capable of being anything but
a perfect gentleman.”

Richard grunted disagreement. “I have lived a solitary life these past five years,” he said slowly. “My brother and secretary
have been my only contacts to the outside world since my return.”

“Which is why I am so honored to have the pleasure of your company. Truly, it is greatly appreciated.”

“Even if I am not as polished as I once was?”

Her mouth tilted a little. “You are just a little rusty.” She patted his arm with her gloved hand. “It will come back to you
soon enough.”

He wasn’t so certain. “I feel as though I no longer belong.”

“Nonsense. But if we can find your brother then perhaps you will feel more yourself. Hmm?” She looked around.

“I must confess that he is unaware of my attendance this evening.” When she turned to him, eyes wide in question, he said,
“I should like to keep it that way.”

“May I ask why?”

Breaths came and went in slow succession before he settled on the right words. “The last thing I want is for him to get the
wrong idea—to presume that I have come for the purpose of socializing or, God forbid, dancing.”

Her eyebrows rose in two sharp points. “Dancing is not so bad and neither is socializing.”

“I am only here because of your insistence. As Grandmamma’s dearest friend, it would be difficult for me to deny you. Which
is not to say that I am unhappy that I came.”

“She would be proud of you, if she were still alive.”

“I hope so,” he muttered. “You have offered me a refreshing change, but I am afraid that dancing and socializing would serve
no purpose.”

“I suppose that explains why you have not asked
me
to dance,” Lady Duncaster said as they moved toward a shadowy corner where a stone bench stood vacant.

“You see! My manners have completely deserted me.” He waited for Lady Duncaster to sit before lowering himself onto the empty
spot beside her. “Perhaps a minuet would not be too appalling, if I can still recall the steps, mind you.”

“Forgive me, but was that an invitation?” In spite of her advanced years, it was impossible to deny that she had spirit.

Richard grimaced. “Lady Duncaster, would you please do me the honor of dancing the minuet with me?” As much as he dreaded
it, he owed her the courtesy of asking.

“I would be delighted to,” she said, looking pleased. “See, that was not so difficult, was it? But if you step on my toes
I shall slap you.”

Although Richard feared that she might have to follow through on that threat, her words eased his tension. “In public? Surely
not!”

“I find that the older I get, the less I care about protocol, or the opinion of others, for that matter.”

“Then we are of like minds, my lady.”

Lady Duncaster snorted. “My dear boy, you are entirely mistaken! If you were really as indifferent as I, then you would not
feel inclined to hide away as you do. That said, however, I must compliment you on your choice of costume. The complete concealment
of your face beneath your Bauta mask and tricorn does add a distinct air of mystery to you.”

“I am not the only one here who has chosen to dress in traditional
Carnevale
style,” he said as he watched a couple strolling in their direction. Both wore full masks with silver lips and eye-slits outlined
in blue. Just like Richard, their hair and necks had been covered by tightly fitted silk hoods, revealing not an inch of skin
and making it impossible to discern their identities.

“True,” Lady Duncaster agreed, “but unlike everyone else here this evening, there is a certain darkness about you that I am
sure the ladies will find compelling.”

“I have no interest in attracting any woman’s attention.” The evening black had been a given. He could not imagine himself
in anything else. And the mask . . . well, he had his reasons for that as well. “I am not a coward,” he told her gruffly.
“I am just not ready for all the attention my return to Society will likely incur.” She nodded in understanding, but said
nothing further. He was grateful for that.

And as silence settled between them, he allowed his gaze to sweep across the terrace in silent observation until it finally
found one singular lady who stood like a beacon in the night due to her lack of embellishments. “Who is that?” Richard murmured
close to Lady Duncaster’s ear.

“Who is who?” she asked, searching the crowd.

“The lady standing next to the potted rose tree.” She was turned sideways, offering Richard a view of only her profile as
she spoke to an older woman.

“Considering the number of potted rose trees on this terrace, you will have to be more specific.”

“Of course,” Richard said, surprised that he hadn’t noticed. “I am referring to the lady in the . . .”—he struggled for an
apt description—“whitish gown with gold along the bottom.” It was a very plain gown, he noted, not as puffy as the rest. It
had no frills or lace, but was cut in a simple style that hugged the torso before flaring out below the hips. It reminded
Richard of something that might have been worn by a medieval queen. Rebelliously, the lady had even chosen to wear her hair
down, resulting in a tumbling mass of dark brown curls that almost reached her waist.

“I see what you mean,” Lady Duncaster said. “There is an elegance about her that surely would be lost if her gown had been
outfitted with beads, feathers, and lace.”

“She would have looked just like the rest,” Richard said as the lady who’d captured his interest turned to look in his direction.
The upper half of her face, including the bridge of her nose, were completely concealed by a Colombina mask that matched her
gown. Even so, Richard found himself helplessly drawn to the sharp look in her eyes. And her lips . . . they were the sort
of lips that a man like him—a man who’d spent five years without female companionship—would be sorely tempted to kiss. Clenching
his jaw, he expelled a slow and tortured breath.

“Perhaps you should ask her to dance,” Lady Duncaster suggested.

Without thinking, Richard stood, then sat back down again when he recalled that a gentleman did not stand while a lady remained
seated. “Perhaps not,” he said, chancing another glance in the lady’s direction. To dance with her would do nothing but torment
him. She would never be his. It was best if he remembered that.

Lady Duncaster shrugged. “I think you may be sorry if you do not,” she said. “Take it from a woman who never held back, but
who always lived her life to the fullest—there is nothing worse than growing old with regret.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Richard tried not to think of all the things that could never be changed. “Unfortunately, it does
not seem as though I will have much choice in that regard.” It was impossible to keep the bitterness he felt from seeping
into the words.

“If you say so.” She was silent for a moment before saying, “You are not the only one faced with obstacles, you know. In my
experience, when it comes to romance, there are plenty of things that can get in the way of that happily-ever-after, which
is why it is only the most determined who ever secure a love match. That said, I do believe it is time for that minuet you
promised me. Shall we proceed?”

Reluctantly, Richard nodded. “By all means.”

Lady Duncaster’s insightful words had thrown him slightly off balance. His expectations of ever sharing a future with a wife
and children had been dashed long ago. He’d come to terms with that, even if he wasn’t happy about it. In fact, he was still
bloody furious and very much aware that there was little chance of altering his fate, though he still sought retribution.
Indeed, he doubted that there was anything on earth that could make him stop his vendetta. It had become an obsession over
the years—a living creature whose hunger he hoped to one day satisfy. He could not afford any distraction, least of all when
it would serve no purpose.

And yet, in the space of only a moment, an eccentric old lady with a towering wig perched precariously on top of her head
and dressed in a gown that looked more like a bouquet of flowers than something one might actually wear, had forced a tiny
piece of hope upon his mind. It made him wish that he had the courage to do as Lady Duncaster suggested and seek out the mystery
lady, perhaps ask her to dance. But it was a fanciful thought—a dream that he deliberately allowed to fade.

“I must say that I have thoroughly enjoyed your company, Signor,” Lady Duncaster said as Richard led her away from the dance
floor a short while later. “And you danced superbly, by the way.”

“You are too kind.” Nothing could be truer. He’d counted five missteps in total, though not on her ladyship’s toes, for which
he was grateful.

“Not at all. In fact, I am quite sure that you have drawn attention to yourself.”

Following Lady Duncaster’s line of vision, Richard spotted a group of young ladies who appeared to be whispering behind their
fans while looking his way. As soon as they noted his quiet perusal, they burst into unified giggles and batted their eyes
flirtatiously.

“A lesser man might take advantage,” he told Lady Duncaster disapprovingly.

“Which is why I have every intention of finding their parents and having a word with them before their daughters get themselves
ruined.” Leaning closer to Richard, she whispered, “I may not be as strict or judgmental as most, but I will not stand for
naiveté either. Will you excuse me?”

“Of course,” he said, bowing low before her. He did not grant the giggling young ladies a second glance as he walked away,
his eyes searching for the only lady who’d captured his interest. Perhaps she’d gone back inside? Pausing, he looked toward
the French doors and the blazing light that filled the great hall beyond. It didn’t tempt him in the least, and he decided
therefore that he would seek refuge amidst the shadows of the garden instead.

Crossing to the stairs, he snatched a glass of champagne from a nearby footman. Tossing back the drink, he discarded the glass
and descended to the graveled path below, his long cape swirling out behind him as he went. There were plenty of revelers
here as well, some strolling amidst the flickering lights of torches while others were seated on blankets spread out on the
lawn. Some were even enjoying boat rides on the lake while violinists along the lakeside filled the air with music matching
the tune being played on the terrace.

Stepping down from the bottom step, Richard breathed in the rich scent of jasmine permeating the air. He was just about to
start forward when a lady wearing a purple gown stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Dipping into a slight curtsy,
she offered him a broad smile. “My lord,” she said, by way of greeting.