Dark of the Moon (46 page)

"I'd reward you handsomely should you like to visit one of the antechambers with me, you know. We'd be gone no more than a half hour, you have my word. If Neddie wouldn't like it, why, don't tell him. You may be sure I will not."

Caitlyn barely bothered to repress a sigh. She wished her amorous partner would hush so that she could think. Time was running out. Connor might even be waiting for her when she returned to Lisle Street that very night.

The dance came to a swirling conclusion, and Caitlyn curtsied to her partner. Already the musicians were striking up again. The Honorable Winthrop mopped his brow. The room was warm despite its size, and he was a full- figured man whose portliness was not one whit disguised by the creaky corset he wore beneath his elaborately embroidered waistcoat. So much exertion caused him to perspire profusely. Streaks of perspiration marred the exquisite maquillage which in any event did little to whiten his florid face.

"Should you care to dance again?" he inquired, delicately patting his cheeks with a perfumed handkerchief. Caitlyn was on the verge of taking pity on him and shaking her head when her attention was caught by a tall man in a black domino and mask making his way across the dance floor. Though he was some distance away, his progress impeded by both the other dancers who were now assuming their poses and the slight limp that was just barely noticeable as he threaded his way among the pos- turing crowd, she felt her heart begin to pound. The hood of the domino was pulled well over his head, his face was masked, and none of his features were visible. But she knew. She would have known Connor anywhere in the world, in any guise. A glad little thrill ran through her, followed immediately by a cold wash of dread.

Her time for reflection was at an end.

"No," she answered, her first instinct being flight. Then she realized that if Connor were to find her, the dance floor was the safest place to be discovered. She could not let him come across her in the box with Sir Edward at her side.

"I mean yes, I should very much like to dance," she amended quickly and, clutching the Honorable Winthrop's plump hand, urged the surprised gentleman into the twirling movements of the dance. She was not certain that Connor had seen her yet, though it was too much to hope that his presence at the Pantheon was merely a coincidence. Somehow he had found out where she was and had come after her. What was she to do?

Connor had changed direction and was coming directly toward them as they pirouetted around the floor. Caitlyn's heart began to beat so loudly that she could hardly hear the music over the frantic pounding. As she had with him, he had an uncanny sixth sense where she was concerned. As unobtrusively as possible, she looked around for Sir Edward. He was nowhere in sight. She could only hope that he had retired to a private room with Suzanne. If she could somehow get rid of Connor without Sir Edward seeing him, all might not yet be lost.

"Is something the matter, lovely one?" Even the Honorable Winthrop had noticed her agitation. Caitlyn wrenched her eyes back from their desperate survey of the huge ballroom to smile with forced unconcern at her partner.

"Oh, no, not really. I've just seen an old friend. I—it's rather tiresome, but I must speak to him, I suppose. He's— he's brought news of home."

The Honorable Winthrop looked both surprised and interested. "I had no notion you still had ties to your home.

Neddie gave me to understand that you had no one. In fact, he's been dashed mysterious about you, now I come to think of it.'

"Sir Edward is a—somewhat possessive man," Caitlyn said, her mini working rapidly.

Connor was nearly upon them. "Uh—Winthrop"—it was the first rime she had ever said his name—"if you could please fail to mention to Sir Edward that I've—I've encountered my friend, I would be most grateful.'"

The Honorable Winthrop almost stopped dancing as he looked at her speculatively. "How grateful?"

"Extremely grateful," Caitlyn said through her teeth. Connor was only a few feet away. As the Honorable Winthrop gave her to understand that nothing would ever induce him to betray her as long as she was sufficiently grateful, Connor came up behind him and put a hard hand on his shoulder. Though he was still masked and hooded, Caitlyn could see enough of his expression to guess what he was thinking. His jaw was grim, and his mouth was set in a hard, straight line.

"No, no, it isn't he," she squeaked, while the Honorable Winthrop turned toward Connor with an indignant protest that died to a sputter as he took in the size and style of his adversary.

"Dance with me," Caitlyn said desperately, sliding between Connor and the Honorable Winthrop before any attention-attracting altercation could occur. From the set of Connor's jaw, he was ripe for murder. "Please!"

"I expect you to be very, very grateful," the Honorable Winthrop said to her in a sullen undertone as she caught Connor's arm and tugged frantically. Connor stood eyeing her for a moment, his eyes glittering at her through his mask, and the Honorable Winthrop, still muttering, melted away.

"Not carrying any candlesticks up your skirt, are you?" Connor inquired nastily, ignoring her efforts to get him to move.

"Please dance," she said again, disregarding his remark. "I don't want to attract attention."

"Don't you, now?" Connor said in a voice that warned her of trouble to come. "Why is that, pray?"

They were standing stock-still in the middle of the ballroom while all around them brightly clad dancers turned and swayed. Connor's grim demeanor, coupled with his height and size, which were emphasized by the starkness of the black domino, was already beginning to cause a buzz.

"Dance!" Caitlyn hissed, aware of speculative eyes turning toward them from all sides and praying that none of them belonged to Sir Edward. She curtsied and turned in her part of the dance, and after an instant Connor followed her lead. He was amazingly adept despite his injured leg. It occurred to her that she had never before danced with him, never even imagined dancing with him. Dancing in this formal, correct fashion had been as foreign to her as the French tongue when she had lived at Donoughmore. Now she thought that, under other circumstances, dancing with Connor would be pure pleasure. His hand was warm and firm as he guided her in the movements, his body strong when she brushed against it. The domino parted as he moved, and she saw that he was wearing an evening coat of silver brocade over a matching waistcoat and black inexpressibles. He looked every inch a gentleman of the
ton.

Caitlyn felt a heady influx of pride in him, which was immediately erased by fear. She had to get him out of the ballroom, away from the Pantheon, at once. For Sir Edward's later delectation, she would make up some story of having suddenly become ill. Though he would be furious and take out his fury on her flesh, he would not know the truth. And Connor would be safe for a little while longer.

She danced with him down the length of the room, keeping a wary eye out for Sir Edward, who could come looking for her at any minute. She had only to keep the two men from meeting. Even if he saw Connor from a distance, he would not recognize him. Not with Connor in domino and mask. And not with the limp, about which Sir Edward knew nothing.

"Is your lover here? Is that why you're as nervy as a canary with a cat in the room?" That hard voice made Caitlyn jump, startled out of her thoughts. Looking up at that well-loved chin, which at the moment was set more aggressively than she had ever seen it, Caitlyn felt her heart sink. Connor was spoiling for a fight.

"How did you know I was here?"She tried to control the quick, nervous looks she had been casting around her as they danced, knowing that it would be fatal to let him see the panic that suffused her. They were near the edge of the dance floor. Sir Edward could be in any of the little saloons.

Connor smiled grimly down at her as she twirled beneath his hand.

"I've had a man watching your house since you disappeared. He saw you arrive this afternoon and came to tell me. I was away from home, but when I returned I got his message. I immediately paid a call in Lisle Street, only to discover that you were out for the evening. At the Pantheon. So here I am. You won't get away from me this time, my lass, so you needn't bother trying to bash in my skull again."

"Connor, won't you leave me be? Even if I tell you that I'm happy, I don't want you, and you're spoiling things for me?" Real despair colored her voice. Through the slits in his mask she could see that his eyes had narrowed.

"You belong to me, my own. I'll never leave you be. You know that as well as I do."

So be it, then. That was the answer she had expected, the one she'd both longed for and dreaded to hear. Suddenly she knew, as well as if some higher being had whispered in her ear, what they had to do.

"Then let's get away from this place now, together. Quickly." Her words were urgent. He frowned as he looked down at her. Around her, the other ladies pirouetted and curtsied, but Caitlyn quite forgot to perform her part. Instead she stood clutching his hand, kerry blue eyes wide and frightened in the whiteness of her face.

"Let's get off the dance floor, at any rate," Connor said, studying her from behind the protection of his mask as he tucked her hand beneath his arm and led her to the side. Behind them, the dancing continued unabated. Laughter and music and the lighthearted banter of countless flirtations washed over them from all sides. It was a merry scene, no place for fear or desperate flight. Yet Caitlyn was both fearful and anxious to flee.

"Hurry," she said, trying to tug him along at a faster pace as she made for the nearest exit.

Like the dance floor itself, the edges of the ballroom were packed. Dodging the loitering throngs was no easy task, especially without Connor's cooperation. He resisted her efforts to hurry him, strolling along as though he had all the time in the world.

" 'Tis very eager you are to go away with me all of a sudden." There was a thoughtful note in Connor's voice. "What of your gentleman friend? The one you were so in love with?"

" 'Twas naught but a lie," Caitlyn said, tugging at him. "I'll explain it all to you, if you'll just hurry."

"Caitlyn!" The call behind her made her gasp and glance around in terror. Connor stopped dead, his head swinging around in the direction from which the call had come.

"Where have you been? I've been looking for you. It is most reprehensible of you to desert our friends. And who is this gentleman?" Sir Edward's icy voice sent a chill down Caitlyn's spine. From the look of him as he approached her, eyes as cold as his voice and hardly sparing her tall companion a glance, he had no inkling as to Connor's identity. His fury was all for her.

As Connor turned to face the man, menace suddenly stiffened his entire body at the sight of Sir Edward. He was incredulous, and the confrontation Caitlyn had most feared was on the verge of happening.

"Please go! Please. You can come for me later, to Lisle Street," she whispered frantically to Connor, though she knew it was a waste of her breath. Even as she beseeched him, he was reaching up to untie his mask.

"At last I begin—just faintly—to see the light," Connor said, releasing her hand at the same time as he removed his mask. Sir Edward stopped as if turned to stone. His face shook once as if the muscles beneath had suddenly been afflicted with a palsy, and his skin turned pasty white.

"D'Arcy," he croaked. Connor pushed back the hood of his domino and stood regarding Sir Edward with a frighteningly grim smile.

Frozen with horror, Caitlyn looked on helplessly. The situation was beyond fixing.

Connor's hair gleamed black as a raven's wing in the light of the hundreds of candles illuminating the room. His aqua eyes glinted dangerously at Sir Edward. Inches taller and more muscular than his opponent, in any fair fight Connor would be the winner by a rout. But Sir Edward, still pasty-pale but regaining his composure, would not fight fair.

"I give you good evening, Sir Edward," Connor said with the most awful affability she had ever heard. Then those glittering light eyes shifted to her face. "Tell me something, my own: by what means did this English cur compel you to become his mistress?" His tone of voice was almost conversational. Only Caitlyn, who knew him so well, could detect the violence of the rage that was building inside him. Looking from Connor's face to Sir Edward, she saw that the latter had nearly recovered from his shock. There was precious little time left for Connor to escape. Yet she knew he would never leave without her. Not in this life.

"He did not compel me. I went to him of my own free will. I—I knew you would be angry.

'Tis why I didn't tell you. Oh, please, won't you go away and leave us alone? For my sake?'' Her words were frantic as she pushed at Connor's arm. Her eyes gave him a desperate warning, but he was as unmoving as a stone. His eyes traveled with leisurely interest over her face before fixing on Sir Edward again. An interested crowd, sensing a scene in the making, was forming around them. None of the three principals had a glance to spare for the spectators. All were focused upon themselves, upon the drama that was being played out among them.

"Indeed, d'Arcy, she chose me over you," Sir Edward said with a glint in his eyes. "Do you find that so hard to believe? I have much more to offer, you know. Let her choose, and see if she does not come to me. Witness for yourself that it is of her own free will."

Sir Edward was indeed recovering his aplomb. Caitlyn saw a chance, just a chance, of getting Connor out of this with a whole skin. If she could only convince Connor that she had willingly gone with Sir Edward, he might stalk off in a rage and leave her to lie in the bed she had made. Sir Edward would be delighted to triumph over Connor— though she would be made to pay for it later. What did that matter, when the cost of her freedom was Connor's life?

"Would you truly go to him, my own?" Caitlyn met Connor's steady gaze and nodded jerkily.

" 'Tis a pity I let you talk me out of killing him the last time. We would all have been spared much," Connor observed, still without apparent heat. Then he looked at Sir Edward again.