A Masquerade in the Moonlight (29 page)

Thomas nodded, idly waving Dooley on his way, for he had just caught sight of Lord Mappleton and the demurely dressed Miss Rollins. The young woman was thin as a rail and almost a full head taller than his lordship, and there was something about her—something faintly familiar in the tilt of her head—that he knew would bother him until he’d figured it out. But he wouldn’t figure it out this evening, for he had something far more important on his mind than Georgianna Rollins.

He had taken no more than a half dozen steps toward Marguerite when he felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Sir Ralph Harewood’s impassive, forgettable face.

“Good evening to you, Sir Ralph,” Thomas said, wishing the fellow on the other side of the moon. “I see you’re in your usual high good humor.”

“We have to talk,” Harewood said out of the corner of his mouth, as if he feared someone might overhear him in the loud, crowded ballroom.

“No,” Thomas answered cheerfully, pointedly looking down at Sir Ralph’s hand so that the man removed it with some alacrity. “We don’t have to talk. As I recall our last conversation, it’s now up to you to
act
.”

“The arrangements must go through as planned,” Harewood told him fiercely, so that Thomas raised his eyebrows, amazed at the man’s show of emotion. “We have mutual needs, shared objectives. Surely, if we only sit down together for some hours and discuss it, some compromise might be reached that will satisfy both of us. After all, we’re on the same side, so to speak.”

Thomas was pleased by Harewood’s seeming desperation. “Yes, I suppose such an outcome is not beyond the realm of possibility, but I am suddenly put in mind of the tragedy of Lord Thomond’s cocks. You do remember the story, don’t you, Sir Ralph? Lord Thomond’s hired feeder—an Irishman, as I remember—locked up his lordship’s cocks all in the same room the night before matches worth a considerable amount of money to his lordship, only to find the cocks all dead or lamed the next morning, for they had attacked each other quite viciously, as cocks are wont to do. The Irishman, when asked why he had put the birds together answered that,
as they were all on the same side
, he had not thought they would destroy each other.”

“I hold no animosity toward you, Mr. Donovan,” Harewood responded, his dark eyes looking as dead as nail heads in a coffin. “Perhaps you are made uneasy with having to deal with those fools who exhibited themselves so poorly at Richmond. I cannot blame you. But their work is all but completed, soon making them unnecessary to our plans. If you were to deal with me directly, exclusively—”

Harewood’s voice trailed off, his mouth snapped shut as if someone had pulled on a string attached to his jaw, and Thomas turned and looked behind him, surprised to see the Earl of Laleham enter the room, dressed most elegantly in his usual funereal black and dazzling white linen. The earl stopped just inside the room and lifted a hand to one corner of his tightly compressed mouth as if attempting to soothe away a pain, then moved on.

The thieves begin to fall out,
Thomas thought,
and so much so that an ailing Laleham must abandon his bandages and exert the power of his intimidating presence in order to keep his minions in line. How very intriguing.

Thomas smiled at Harewood, laying a hand on the man’s forearm in an openly friendly gesture he knew would not be lost on Lord Laleham. “You begin to interest me, sir,” he said, nodding to Laleham to show he’d seen him. The earl turned away, bowing politely to a dowager rigged out in ghastly purple. “I’ll be taking the air in the park tomorrow, at eleven. Perhaps you, too, enjoy a morning constitutional?”

Harewood shook his head. “No. That’s too public. On Friday Lord Brill and his lady will be hosting a masquerade at Vauxhall. Both Vauxhall and masquerades are entirely
déclassé
in this enlightened age, but it will serve us nicely, as there are too many eyes about for us to meet informally. You won’t even need an invitation, as long as you are in costume. I shall be wearing a gray domino.”

“Of course you will,” Thomas responded, enjoying the mental image of unremitting drabness Harewood had evoked. “And what shall I wear? Could I arrive dressed as Saint Patrick, casting out snakes before me, or do you believe that would be pushing the matter too far?”

“I fail to see any need for levity. A black domino will be sufficient—and a mask over your eyes. You would not wish to call attention to yourself.”

“Indeed, no,” Thomas agreed solemnly, or at least as solemnly as he could without questioning his own sanity. He removed his hand from Harewood’s arm and bowed, more than ready to remove himself from the fellow’s company. “Very well, Sir Ralph. Until Friday? At midnight? Midnight seems to be the appropriate hour, don’t you think?”

Harewood shook his head, looking disgusted. “It is quite obvious you have had little experience in society. Everyone is to unmask at midnight. We will have to meet earlier—say, at eleven. Then we can be gone our separate ways long before the unmasking.”

Thomas inclined his head a second time. “I bow to your superior planning and intelligence, my friend.”

Harewood lifted a hand to just below his left eye, where a nerve had begun to twitch. “Your friend? How nice of you to say that, Mr. Donovan. I like it. Yes, I believe you’re correct. Friends can be very helpful to each other, can’t they?”

“Extremely helpful, Sir Ralph,” Thomas said, suddenly realizing Marguerite had been busy again, for this was not quite the same Sir Ralph he had been dealing with since coming to London. He seemed less sure of himself, yet at the same time was showing signs of independent thinking Thomas had not noticed earlier. “But now I must be off, for I have promised Miss Balfour I would speak with her tonight about her grandfather’s wish to meet and discuss life in Philadelphia.”

“Marguerite?” Harewood questioned, frowning. “She is in disgrace this evening, Mr. Donovan, having flaunted convention by eschewing maidenly pearls for colored stones. Sir Gilbert has let her run wild and, much as I wish to be her friend”—he blinked hard as he said the words, then collected himself—“I, and the rest of us, cannot continue to champion her if she’s determined to make a spectacle of herself.”

“Then I am no longer being warned off, Sir Ralph? And do your associates agree as well? Lord Chorley? Lord Mappleton? Sir Peregrine?
Laleham
? How accommodating of you all.”

Harewood slipped a finger beneath his collar, easing it away from his throat, as if he felt the rough hemp of a noose around his neck and was seeking escape. “I don’t care what you do with her, Mr. Donovan. She’s no longer of any concern to me. Just meet with me at Vauxhall so that we might conclude our negotiations. Our plans must move forward, and quickly. I need my future assured now that—never mind. I see Lord Mappleton over there, with his latest, and only, conquest. I believe it’s time I congratulated him on his good fortune, even if Sir Peregrine is convinced he will be throwing himself away on a rich tradesman’s chit—as if I care either way. Good evening to you, Mr. Donovan—until Friday night?”

Thomas watched after Harewood as the man moved away, noting the new air of confidence in his stride while trying to understand the reason behind both it and Sir Ralph’s new forthcoming manner, especially in the face of Laleham’s presence.

This could get ugly,
he decided before dismissing the thought of intriguer falling out with intriguer from his mind. He made his way down the length of the enormous ballroom to meet the beautiful, outrageous, and most certainly conniving young woman he knew to be his fate.

“Good evening, Mrs. Billings, Miss Balfour,” he said by way of greeting once he’d bowed in front of the ladies, smiling as he saw Marguerite was wearing his gift in her hair. If he had needed another sign of her unspoken agreement to what he had planned for this evening, the hairpin was it.

“Mr. Donovan,” Marguerite responded, snapping open her fan and beginning to wave it rapidly beneath her chin. “You are very daring this evening, sir, to approach these outcasts. Or haven’t you noticed Mrs. Billings and I have been consigned to limbo, thanks to my grandmother’s rubies.”

Mrs. Billings, who had been in the process of concealing a wide yawn behind her lace-mitted paws, leaned forward confidingly. “I have thrown up my hands, Mr. Donovan, and take no responsibility for this hoydenish behavior. Not that it matters, for I am already ruined. I shall never find gainful employ as a chaperone again! Oh, I am so weary, and have the most crushing headache!”

“I suggested she adjourn to Scotland, where no one will know her, and become governess to someone’s little kilted laird but, alas, she is still overset,” Marguerite told him, her emerald eyes shining with what he knew was an almost unholy glee. “Do you know, Mr. Donovan, that even my dearest friends have deserted me? Not Mappleton, nor Harewood, nor Chorley—not even Sir Peregrine—have dared to approach me this evening. And I did so wish to speak with Miss Eyebrows again. It is vastly amusing, you know, being a pariah.”

“Oh, my head, my head!” Mrs. Billings exclaimed, searching in her reticule for her vinaigrette, then seeming to give it up, only to blink a half dozen times and begin listing slightly to one side, like a ship whose cargo has unaccountably shifted.

Marguerite closed her fan and tapped it none too gently against the older woman’s wrist, momentarily rousing her. “That will be quite enough, Billie. If you cannot control yourself I suggest you retire to one of the withdrawing rooms, lie down with a cool cloth over your eyes, and indulge in a small rest. Mr. Donovan? You will do us the extreme favor of escorting us? And then, once she is settled, I believe I should enjoy a stroll around the room on your arm, just for the sport of the thing, you understand.”

Mrs. Billings allowed Thomas to assist her in rising, her movements slow and studied, as if she had to marshal all her resources into performing this simple task. “You won’t go into any dark corners in my absence, will you, Marguerite?” She lifted drooping eyes to Thomas. “We should withdraw, you know, and return to Portman Square, but I do not believe I am up to wading through the multitude of people still on the stairs awaiting their turn on the receiving line. I vow, this has to be the worst crush of the Season. Lady Jersey must be very proud.”

Thomas drew Mrs. Billings’s arm through his, leaving Marguerite to follow along as best she could as he threaded his way toward the withdrawing rooms set aside for the ladies. “I give you my word, madam. Miss Balfour will not be found in any dark corners.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Donovan!” Mrs. Billings trilled, batting her scanty eyelashes at him once more as she leaned heavily on his arm. “You are such a gentleman, no matter what they say about you.” And then she gave out another wide, vocal yawn.

He heard Marguerite’s giggle behind him and swiveled his head about to see her grinning in real enjoyment—the minx. He had wondered how they were going to be shed of her chaperone, but he had been correct not to worry overmuch about the logistics of the thing. After all, anyone who could handle Laleham and the rest couldn’t have to strain her talents in ridding herself of one missish old lady.

Once Mrs. Billings was reclining on a couch in a small alcove set away from the ballroom, her eyes already closing, he led Marguerite down a side hallway, away from the crowd, and assisted her through an opened French window and onto one of the large dark balconies.

“See? Not a corner to be found. I wouldn’t wish to shame myself with a fib. How long will Mrs. Billings stay put?” he asked without preamble, holding tightly to both of Marguerite’s hands, drinking in the beauty of her exposed shoulders as they glowed like living marble in the moonlight.

The beautiful shoulders shrugged eloquently. “I don’t know, Donovan. I’ve never dosed anyone with laudanum before tonight. Several hours, I suppose. You can’t know the bother I’ve had keeping her awake until you could bear to pull yourself away from Ralph. What was he so earnest about, anyway? For a moment, I almost believed I saw him smile.”

“Now, now,
aingeal
. I think we can agree we are both to keep our own secrets. I won’t tease you any more about what you’re planning for Harewood and those other Methuselahs, and you won’t ask me about my business. Besides,” he added, stepping closer, so that he could smell the scent of crushed roses emanating from her hair, “I believe we have, without speaking, already agreed on our activity for this evening. The rubies were an inspired touch, by the way. No one save myself has come near you, and no one will be surprised to find you have gone missing, although I imagine there will be more than a few wagers as to just who is tumbling the outrageous Miss Balfour in the bushes.”

Her smile faded, to be replaced by a steely glare. “Of all the cork-brained things I have attempted in my life, this one surely bears off the palm,” she said, trying to disengage her hands from his. “And it’s not as if I didn’t know this is nothing more than a game to you. Just another silly debutante with more hair than wit who is willing—nay,
eager
—to disgrace herself with a handsome rogue with nothing save his own pleasure on his mind. Let go of me, Donovan.”

Thomas continued to hold her hands, his thumbs moving in small, tantalizing circles against her palms. He knew she wasn’t being coy, trying too hard to show she was not a common wanton. She was frightened, and he didn’t blame her. He was frightened himself, for they were about to take a step that could not be undone. “Handsome, is it, Marguerite?” he asked teasingly, attempting to stoke her temper. “Thank you. I’m flattered. Then you’ve begun to favor my mustache?”

“Only if I could make soup of it!” she countered, this time succeeding in freeing her hands, and then rushing over to the balustrade to look out over the rapidly darkening gardens.

He followed after her, laying his hands on her shoulders, to find that she was trembling even though the night was warm, almost hot. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. He had planned it all out, instinctively knowing he had her cooperation, her assistance—knowing that this evening was as inevitable as the morning’s tide.