Masquerading the Marquess (12 page)

She put her arm around
Dee
. "That was peckish. And it’s not a night for peckishness. Let’s go set the gentlemen on their ears."

Dee
responded with a quick squeeze as they gathered their props and headed downstairs.

"Have a good night, miss.
Miss."
Grimmond nodded to both of them as they were bustled into the small coach Stephen had provided for when he was unavailable.

Deirdre revived her earlier gaiety and chattered excitedly as the coach swayed over the cobblestones. Her mood was contagious and Calliope felt a curl of anticipation.

They arrived to a flourish of color and noise, waiting excitedly for each carriage to unload its passengers and move on. In turn, they breezed up to the door, handing their invitations to the door attendants, who ushered them into a brightly lit foyer. Tonight there were no grand announcements enumerating the names of the guests. Identities were to remain secret until the moment of revelation much later in the evening. Calliope and Deirdre were encompassed in the din.

They descended the staircase slowly and absorbed the raucous scene. The room was warm and smelled faintly of wine and perfume. Revelers in every shape and size littered the floor. A small group of brightly plumed ladies paraded at the bottom of the steps to the left. A cluster of gaily attired gentlemen leered at them on the right. Couples danced in the center and their bright kaleidoscopes of hues were dazzling as they twirled in rhythmic circles. Across the ballroom, near the patio, huddles of people conversed and drank refreshments while groups of men fondled ladies who were indiscreetly flaunting their wares.

Since tonight’s masquerade was being hosted by a group of gentlemen, Calliope thought it should prove to be a lively night. She knew many of the demimonde and some of the more notorious women of the ton were supposed to attend. If the current display was any indication of later events, her pen would fill countless sheets and have a mind of its own in the morning.

Off to the side, James perused the masked guests passively. A few frolickers had discarded their masks, abandoning pretense for drinking and carousing. Others continued their flirtations in disguise. At one time he had loved these debaucheries, but tonight he was on a mission.

The woman in black and red caught his attention. She and another lady in green and gold were chatting with three gentlemen. The pair was striking. They appeared to be good friends and shared glances passed between them.

It was Miss Stafford. He would know her anywhere. She wore a classic gown with a lowered waistline. It was a style she preferred.
Evocative without baring anything.
The mere hint of her skin was more enticing and provocative than the frilly gowns the women wore that barely kept their assets concealed. If he concentrated, perhaps he could smell her perfume from here.

The other lady took to the dance floor, leaving Miss Stafford with the remaining two admirers. There was still no word from Stephen. Where in the devil was he?

One of the admirers appeared to be getting a bit too free with his hands and James frowned. He found himself walking toward the trio. "Dear lady, would you honor me with this dance?"

She paused and studied him for a moment before acquiescing. He twirled her onto the dance floor. She fit perfectly in his arms, soft yet strong. In all the times he had seen her at routs, he had never seen her dance. But as he reflected back, no one at those starchy ballrooms would have invited the dowdy Miss Stafford, lady’s companion with a cane, to dance.

Her light perfume wrapped around him and squeezed. The thought of anything of hers wrapped around him made his heart beat faster. She relaxed as he pulled her to him and made a circuit about the room.

Calliope was breathless. Angelford twirled her about, and she let herself melt into the movements. She had spotted him across the room earlier, instinctively knowing he would seek her out. The lights in the room became a blur as everything but Angelford receded from view.

She absorbed the spirit of the masquerade and pretended they were two people meeting for the first time. What a dashing suitor.
Midnight
eyes seared through her and soft lips curved into a smile. Lips like those were definitely . . .

"Are you enjoying yourself tonight, Esmerelda?"

Calliope missed a step. "Lord Angelford, I didn’t know you recognized me."

"My dear, I would recognize you in sackcloth."

She didn’t answer and he drew her in more closely, branding her everywhere they touched.

"Did you sleep well last night? Finn mentioned you prepared a tasty breakfast." His warm breath tickled her ear as he spun her and leaned closer. "It seems you have many surprising skills."

Heat kindled inside. His fingers trailed up her left arm.

"Have you heard from Stephen?" he asked.

"He said he would meet me here tonight, but I have yet to see him." Her voice was husky.

Angelford nodded thoughtfully.

The waltz ended too quickly and he returned her to her entourage. Bowing low, he kissed her hand and disappeared into the crowd.

Dancing was a heady experience, made all the more so by the proximity of her skillful partner and adversary. His strong lead made dancing easy, even with her temperamental leg.

After that first dance, she was in much demand. For the next two hours she laughed and chatted with nameless, faceless people. She found it novel that the men attended her in much the same manner they did the popular debutantes, only with more provocative suggestions and behavior.

But as the hour grew later and Stephen still hadn’t arrived, worry for him overrode the fun.

Calliope declined dances, instead choosing to scan the crowd. Her court, along with Deirdre’s, remained loyal, providing beverages and sweets, and reciting outrageous poems and even more outrageous requests.

"My dear, you must allow me to be by your side at the unveiling. Nothing would give me more pleasure," said the man she had identified as Lord Pettigrew.

"May I also offer my services to unveil you?" said Lord Roth, laughter in his voice.

"He’s a wastrel, my lady.
just
like a baron to have a girl in every shire. I would be a much better choice," intoned a disguised Mr. Ronald Ternberry.

"Ah, but you are a complete boor, Ronnie. The lady needs excitement.
" Roth’s
posture was lazy as he nettled Ternberry. She had the distinct impression it was one of his favorite pastimes, and if perhaps the real reason he was part of her court.

Other voices were raised in chorus.

"Alas, you are all worthy," Calliope said, "but l if I have given my pledge to another
. "

Groans met her statement.

A squat, gravelly-voiced man in a jester costume approached their group with a note. "Mademoiselle, I was told to hand this to you."

She murmured her thanks and opened the note, concealing its contents from the others.

Mademoiselle,

I have discovered information on Stephen’s whereabouts. Please meet me in the garden

Angelford

Why hadn’t he just approached her directly? The man was strange and proving to be as secretive as she. The word "please" in the note was unexpected. She shrugged and excused herself from the group. Deirdre was occupied with a charming young man and appeared to be having a grand time, so Calliope signaled that she would return and then headed for the gardens.

A chill hung in the spring air. Calliope shivered and peered into the darkness. Couples were engaged in all sorts of licentious behavior on the terrace. She restrained a blush at one enthusiastic duo and searched for Angelford’s all-black attire.

The moon was dim, and she debated the wisdom of heading into the maze of hedges. The lingering unease grew as she looked into the shadowy foliage. Better to stick to the populated areas.

Calliope stepped to the left edge of the terrace. There was no sign of Angelford. She turned to walk back toward the entry when she spied him making his way through the doors.

She waved an arm to flag him, but he looked straight ahead and strode into the hedges. Her brows furrowed in frustration. She sighed and headed into the maze. She caught sight of him, the dim light glinting off his jet-black hair. Calliope opened her mouth to announce her presence when he veered left. What was be doing?

She clenched her jaw, irritated, and quickened her step. She reached the fork and turned left, but there was another branch and no sign of him. She looked down both paths to no avail, and then examined the ground. Fresh footfalls led to the right, so she followed them. She approached another fork some twenty steps in and threw up her hands. He could damn well talk to her in the ballroom.

Calliope smelled ale and dirty clothes a second before a callused hand was clamped over her mouth. An arm encircled her waist and arms, imprisoning her.

"Where is it?" a rough voice demanded.

Calliope struggled against her attacker. His arms were too strong to break free. She kicked backward into his shin with her slipper and bit hard into his hand, causing him to loosen the grip on her mouth.

"Help!"
She managed the start of a scream but he quickly clamped his hand back over her mouth using her chin and nose to force her teeth together.

"You’ll pay for that," he snarled.

His grip on her nose made Calliope’s vision swim. She could not seem to form a coherent thought. Everything dimmed.

She felt a whoosh of air and suddenly the pressure encasing her was gone. She sank to the ground.
Must run.
She awkwardly pushed upward off the rough pebbles.
Which way?
She was unable to distinguish shapes. Firm but gentle hands slid under her arms and lifted her to her feet. A scream rose in her throat.

"Take a deep breath." The soothing tones of Angelford’s voice calmed her. "I’m here. Everything will soon be better."

Shadows became shapes, which in turn became objects, and she was finally able to focus on his handsome face. Calliope looked down at the motionless form on the ground and leaned into Angelford, shivering. He tensed, then relaxed.

"Thank you. He appeared from nowhere."

She felt him tense again. "What in hell were you doing out here?"

She pulled away, surprise giving way to anger.
"Meeting you."

He scowled. "Meeting me? I’m flattered, but l followed when you left the ballroom."

She frowned and pulled the paper, now crumpled, from her pocket. "I received your message."

He took the note and squinted in the dim moonlight. "I didn’t write this."

The attacker stirred and Angelford reached down and thumped him on the head. The man slumped back. A harsh light played on Angelford’s face. "I’ll see you to your coach. Finn said your servants are back. Make sure you lock your doors tonight. I’ll take care of this."

Calliope was too stunned to argue. The excitement of the masquerade was over, and the realization of what might have occurred set in.

He held on to her arm as they re-entered the ballroom and steered her to the stairs.

"Wait, my lord, I need to get my, uh, friend."

But Calliope needn’t have worried. Deirdre must have observed their progress across the floor and interpreted that there was a problem because she immediately excused herself from her group of admirers amid heavy protests.