Masquerade (6 page)

“Don’t you look at me like that. I can tell exactly what you’re thinking, even from behind that bird-face mask.” Sophie’s pulse quickened as she scrambled to think of something to say to defend herself against Rachel’s disbelief. “And for your information, I
do
believe I am easily satisfied—with respect to everything, including men. I am not nearly as persnickety as you are, that’s for certain.”

Flourishing a gloved hand between them, Rachel said, “I’m going to disregard the last part. Call it my New Year’s resolution. I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear what you said. But it amazes me that you think you’re easily satisfied. About some things, of course, that’s true. But about men? Humbug, I say! You are so exacting you cannot find one suitor even remotely up to your high standards.”

“But—”

“But nothing, Sophie.” Rachel’s tone became less accusatory. “They are men, dear sister, not gods. They have foibles and failings. They sweat, and do not always smell the way we would wish them to smell. They stumble and fall, and are clumsy when we want them to be dashing. But they are only men…we cannot expect the world from them.”

Sophie knew it was the truth, but she did not anticipate hearing it from Rachel’s lips. She was the elder sister. It lay on her shoulders to advise and counsel about relationships.

She should be telling Rachel the facts, not the other way around.

She put an arm around Rachel’s shoulders and pulled her close. The quick hug made them both smile.

“I see your point. I suppose I do have a tendency to be finicky where men are concerned.”

She sighed, and wondered why she could not be as readily satisfied as other women seemed to be. Didn’t they, too, yearn for the “ideal” man to dash into their lives, sweep them off their feet and carry them into the sunset? She couldn’t be the only who wanted such things—could she? Squaring her shoulders, Sophie made a resolution of her own.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” The idea taking shape in her mind was almost too daring, but now that she had begun to give it life there was no way to still it. “I promise that I’ll try to see past the usual barriers that keep me from giving a man a chance to show himself in his best light. I’ll…well, I’ll be open to the next man who asks me to dance. I won’t—” Sophie swallowed a nervous giggle. “I won’t focus on his bald head, sweaty hands, or droll comments. I won’t dismiss him as entirely unsuitable before I attempt to get to know him better. In short, I resolve to—”

“Entertain an offer from the next fellow who puts one forward?”

It was a shocking idea. A chill shot down her spine. How could Rachel even
think
such a thing? How could she imagine that an offer of marriage might come so nonchalantly? There was no one she had allowed to get at all close enough to suggest marriage in so long it was preposterous to envision the possibility.

If her little sister thought she was putting Sophie’s back to the wall, she had another think coming. Given the fact that there wasn’t one probable marriage-minded suitor in her life right now, there was no harm in agreeing to what Rachel pressed for.

A glance at Rachel’s smug smile cast aside any misgivings remaining in Sophie’s head.

“Yes,” Sophie said with a vigorous nod.

“Y-yes?” The word came out as a strangled gasp.

Sophie nearly laughed aloud, but watching Rachel wriggle like a worm from a hook dangling inches above a fish-filled pond was too much fun to spoil by laughing.

“That’s right. I resolve to entertain—
seriously entertain
—an offer from the next gentleman—a
gentleman
, mind you, not a rake or a rogue, but a gentleman—who puts one forth. That is my New Year’s resolution.”

Chapter 4

Sophie could hardly believe she had made such a drastic resolution, but the words were out and there was no way to call them back. She hoped they wouldn’t return later to haunt her, the way words spoken in jest or on the spur of the moment often had a terrible habit of doing.

There was no help for it. She would just have to wait and see what—if anything—came of the ridiculous resolution.

The truth was she had never gotten an offer of marriage she believed serious enough to consider. The even clearer truth was the only one who had come close to requesting her hand in marriage had been Colin, and it had been when she was seven and he nine. They both had the mumps and were confined indoors. He had sent her a note, by way of Penny who had already suffered through the childhood affliction and was deemed immune. The note had read:

Dear Sophie,

When we are better we should run off and eat biscuits for the rest of our lives. Are you agreeable?

Love, Colin

Of course, Sophie never considered he would expect her to run away with him unless they were lawfully wed, so she considered it a proposal. By the time their cheeks were no longer swollen and they were free from house confinement, Colin seemed to have forgotten the note. He never mentioned the idea again, so Sophie did what any well-mannered seven-year-old girl would do: She pretended she had forgotten his proposal, and went on with her life.

The note was tucked between the pages of Sophie’s Bible. She had kept it all these years, but she wouldn’t admit that to anyone—not even Rachel.

“Stand up straight,” Rachel whispered in her ear. The feeling of having Rachel’s warm breath stir her curls brought gooseflesh out on her arms, so Sophie rubbed her hands along the exposed flesh and pulled her head back.

“I am standing straight,” she hissed. “I feel like a ghost just walked over my grave…ugh, I hate when that happens, don’t you?”

“Forget about it. There is a new crush of people in the doorway, and some of them are well-cut figures of masked men. How can you not see them?” Rachel stuck an elbow in Sophie’s side. “Over there, look.”

“I see them! Don’t poke me again, or I shall…”

“What? What will you do—refuse to look at the handsome newcomer who is, even now, staring this way? Hmm?”

For one moment she considered giving one of Rachel’s elaborate curls a hard yank, but she resisted the urge—just barely. Instead, Sophie ever-so slowly turned her head toward the doorway. Rachel was right. Several new arrivals stood in the space, and most of them were male.

Rachel hadn’t stretched the truth about the newcomer who looked their way. He was dashing, and elegantly dressed—and her heart skipped a beat when she realized he was staring straight at her.

A wave of familiarity swept over her like the hint of a favorite flower fragrance borne on a warm summer breeze. It touched her, filling her head before disappearing as quickly as it was upon her.

The idea that the man in the doorway could be anyone she or Rachel was acquainted with was outrageous. They did not run in circles where gentlemen dressed so finely, or held their heads so proudly. There was no way at all she could have anything in common with such a fellow.

It was more likely the peonies in the back garden would suddenly bloom beneath their heavy layer of snow and ice than Sophie and the masked newcomer might share any familiar experience.

“He is a handsome devil, isn’t he?” Rachel whispered gleefully. Sophie felt a sharp poke in her side, and entertained yet again the idea of pulling one of her sister’s curls the way she had done when they were younger. “And, more to the point, he is staring right at you.”

“Stop sticking your elbow in my side. And how do you know I’m the object of his attention? He could just as easily be staring at you.” Even as the words left her lips, she knew they weren’t true. There could be no mistake—he held her in his gaze as tightly as if an invisible string stretched from his body to hers. They were attached, and neither one seemed ready to break the bond.

“I don’t think so, sister. Here he comes. His path looks like it will lead straight to you, and only you. Remember, now—we have a bargain. You’ve made a promise, and I won’t allow you to forget it.”

“Hush, Rachel. I am older than you are, but I am not so old as to be addlebrained. I remember my promise, although it is hardly at issue.” Sophie smoothed a suddenly damp palm down the front of her skirt. “The man hasn’t even said a word to me. There is little danger of his offering to marry me anytime soon. But—” She cut Rachel’s protest off with a brisk nod. “I won’t forget our agreement.”

“Good. That’s all I ask.” The words were so softly spoken that no one besides Sophie could hear them amidst the din of the swelling party.

He had reached their side of the dance floor. For one awful, heart-stopping instant she thought he might veer off and speak with someone else. He looked momentarily unsure, or as unsure as she could guess given the intricate mask covering almost all of his face.

Her own mask emboldened her. Sophie gave her best smile as she silently willed her legs to stop shaking. The green gown was good for one thing, at least. It hid her knocking knees more effectively than a more fashionable, sheerer gown would have done.

The ploy seemed to do the trick. The masked gentleman returned her smile. Then, he covered the remaining distance between them.

From across the wide room, he had seemed dashing. Up close, he was that—but much more so.

Sophie had seen her share of Bond Street Beaus—but only from a distance. She had never had occasion to shop on fashionable Bond Street herself, one of the London areas where the shops were far out of reach of her purse. But she was not immune to the fashionably turned-out gentlemen who exited the street, their greatcoats, boots, and inexpressibles impeccable and exceedingly more expensive and fashionable than any man she personally knew might wear.

This masked man standing before her was of such substance. His eveningwear made him appear larger than life. The jacket, vest, and breeches were made of finer fabric than she had seen before. The shade of gray was so dark that only the most costly weave could hold such a vast amount of color. His white shirt was starched and pressed to razor sharpness, and the cravat he wore at his neck was flawlessly tied.

She tilted her head back slightly and attempted to see into his eyes, but he took that exact moment to sweep a magnificent leg and bow deeply. Sophie returned the gesture by curtseying lower than she normally did. The moment felt charged, but she could not understand why it was so. Men did not usually have the effect this one was having. She shook her head. Suddenly she was more befogged than she had been all evening.

The heat is getting to me
, she thought absently. She didn’t feel overly warm, but what else would account for the unexpected wave of fuzziness between her ears?

“Good evening.” His voice was gravelly but his words perfectly polite.

Part of the excitement of a masked dance was allowing some of the “normal” societal strictures to relax. Had their faces been on display, they would not have been able to simply speak without a proper introduction. But with the masks came freedom—to a point.

“Good evening.” Sophie hoped her voice pleased him as much as his sent a thrill through her.

She waited for him to proceed, but he stared at her for a long, silent moment. His scrutiny was neither rude nor disconcerting. He seemed to struggle to find something to say, although she couldn’t see why that was the case. Why, they certainly couldn’t have run out of words this early in their association! They had each only used two words from the entire English language. Countless possibilities were still open to them.

Finally, he spoke. “The weather has been unseasonably brutal, hasn’t it?”

The statement was absurd. They were fully into winter, which was, by its very nature, a brutal time of the year. Sophie did not try to restrain herself—she laughed aloud.

Astonishment widened the two eyes peeking out of his mask. She noted his eyebrows disappeared behind the screen of black silk and feathers. He looked rather like a startled owl, but since she had almost certainly annoyed him by laughing outright at his opening line she kept the thought to herself.

Apparently, the gentleman had a sense of humor. He shook his head, and the wavering light thrown by the gas lamps made his thick black waves shine. “Why, that is rather funny, isn’t it? How could I have made such a ridiculous observation? It’s a good thing for me you can’t see my face, and witness my humiliation.”

He dropped his chin to his chest, and closed his eyes. The pose lasted a few seconds but it was long enough for Sophie to see the square jaw line and lush mop of hair obscured by a front view of his mask.

So he does have hair. A full head, at that!

A smile twitched her lips upward at the edges. She had met a man with hair. Now, if she could only be lucky enough that he ask for a dance.

“Are you laughing at me?” The huskiness in his voice made each word sound almost gruff. She looked closely into his eyes. They twinkled, so she smiled. “Aha! I see you are finding your amusement at my expense.”

“No, of course I’m not.” Sophie giggled into one gloved hand. “Well, perhaps I am, but just a very little.”

She remembered Rachel, who had been standing right beside her when the stranger first approached. Now she turned, speaking as she did. “Have you met my sister? Of course I cannot divulge her name but—” At the sight of Rachel laughing up into the face of a handsome man, Sophie snapped her mouth shut. The pair stood a few yards away, and seemed fully engaged in conversation.

“Your sister seems to have met someone already.” Amusement made him sound less gruff. “I wouldn’t worry overmuch. She is speaking with Jo—oh! I nearly forgot, we aren’t divulging names tonight, are we? Well, your sister is speaking with one of my closest friends. He is a reputable gentleman, so she is perfectly safe in his company.”

The next logical comment would be to point out that she had just met him, so how could she take his guarantee on his friend’s reputation? When she turned to say so, she found him looking at her so intently the words flew from her mind.