Once Upon a Masquerade (5 page)

From the curiosity on Miss Bailey’s face, he could tell she wondered who this woman was to him. Her reaction shouldn’t please him, but it did.

“Miss Bailey.” He lifted his top hat, forcing her regard.

She nodded stiffly. “Mr. Black.” Quickly she turned her attention to Westerly. “Mr. Westerly, what opera will we be attending this evening?”

Westerly replied with a bemused expression, “I don’t know.” With a bit of a laugh, he added, “It’s irrelevant, isn’t it? One only attends the opera to be seen. If we adhere to proper decorum, we’ll arrive after curtain and depart shortly after intermission, preventing us from watching the entire performance anyway.”

“I—I see.” She shrank back in her seat and looked down at her hands clenched in her lap.

Was Boston society all that much different from that of New York? His experiences were limited by his short excursions there, but he’d never thought so. Westerly could have been less pretentious nonetheless. “We’ll be seeing Edmond Audran’s
La Mascotte
at the Casino.”

“Oh, I do hope we’ll have time to visit the rooftop gardens. You’ll simply love it, Miss Bailey,” Kimberly said. “Do you enjoy the opera?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never attended one.”

Westerly chortled. “How peculiar. Everyone has been to the opera.”

Miss Bailey turned from Westerly’s bemused stare. “Perhaps tonight will be the first performance of many I’ll see.”

Her gaze darted to Christopher and held for a moment. A current, almost like static electricity, traveled between them in the intimate confines of the carriage. He itched to explore the matter further even though he would surely regret it later. She couldn’t be his. He’d best remember that.

“Congratulations, Miss Ives, I understand you’ll be married soon,” Westerly said.

Miss Bailey’s eyes flared wide when Kimberly glanced at Christopher. “Yes, thank you. I’ve come to New York to assemble my trousseau.”

“Has a date been set?” Westerly asked.

“Although I’d prefer sooner, Mother insists we wait until the fall when guests will be back from their summer retreats.” Westerly and Kimberly delved deeper into the arduous undertaking involved with planning a high society wedding, while Christopher peered at Miss Bailey from the corner of his eye.

From all outward appearances, she remained calm and composed. Still, he detected something more. She sat with her back very straight and stiff, her fingers working her gloves as though looking to find just the right fit. As she stared intently at Kimberly, he guessed the cause—jealousy.

Kimberly’s flawless ivory skin contrasted starkly with her vibrant sapphire eyes. He supposed she would be considered beautiful by most. He hated to admit it, but Miss Bailey’s assumption tickled him. Jealous. The emotion looked good on her. Quite good. Although… What if she wasn’t jealous because of him? She could simply be upset by Westerly’s preoccupation with Kimberly. Damn it.

When Kimberly grasped Christopher’s hand and said, “The best man is a very good friend of ours,” he returned her slight squeeze, and Miss Bailey’s lips pressed into a thin line. His spirits lifted once more. Maybe her jealousy was for him. No, her outright glare bespoke of more. But what? Kimberly talked of marriage. Could it be she thought he was Kimberly’s intended?

Miss Bailey noticed his questioning gaze. She lifted her chin and turned toward Westerly, feigning polite interest in the conversation.

He could well imagine the frustration of discovering the man she’d kissed last eve would be married in the fall.
If
that was what she thought and not his imagination running wild.

Once the carriage lurched to a stop, Westerly helped Kimberly climb down from the step. Miss Bailey stood to follow, and Christopher blocked her path, his actions so quick she nearly bumped into him. A glint of anger brightened her eyes to a lustrous shine as he descended. He winked to his cousin, and Kimberly continued toward the restaurant’s entrance with Westerly in tow, deep in conversation of wedding guests and caterers.

Christopher waited for Miss Bailey. With obvious disappointment, she watched Westerly stroll away. Hesitating briefly, she slid her slim hand into his. She tensed and glanced down at his hand supporting hers.

“Everything all right?” he asked, suppressing the urge to graze his thumb along her fingertips.

“Yes.” Her voice a mite breathy, she tore her gaze away and stepped down from the coach, snatching her hand from his. Whatever terrible thoughts she harbored for him in her lovely head, she stayed by his side as they entered Delmonico’s, one of the finest restaurants in all of New York.

Inside, globe chandeliers hung from a ceiling of polished wood panels. Several potted plants, tucked discreetly about, lent a welcome atmosphere amid the elegant table settings, but nothing could keep his attention from the woman beside him.

Westerly and Kimberly walked some distance ahead to a private table near the back of the restaurant. As they followed, the same subtle scent of sweet, spicy cloves that had tantalized him in the Vanderbilt library invaded his senses. Her strides were swift, her lips locked together and her posture as stiff as a rod, and still she was the most beautiful woman in the room. “Have I angered you in some way? You seem out of sorts.”

She stared straight ahead. “Why did you invite us here?”

“I don’t trust Westerly,” he admitted. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he didn’t like the man. There was just something about him he didn’t care for.

“And you’ve nobly decided to take it upon yourself to act as chaperone?”

Hardly what he’d had in mind, and it rankled that she would now think of him as one. “If you’d brought a proper chaperone yourself I wouldn’t have to. Where is your brother? I thought I might meet him this evening.” Perhaps what she needed was saving from herself.

“It’s none of your concern,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “He had other plans that couldn’t be changed eleventh hour, and I wanted to spend more time with Mr. Westerly. Besides, no one seems to disapprove but you.”

Curse it. It bothered him more than he cared to admit that she preferred Philip Westerly’s company to his own. “Westerly certainly wouldn’t care. I’m sure he’s more than happy to accompany you without a chaperone, all the more opportunity to take advantage. He’s a rake, Miss Bailey, one who will soon move on to greener pastures.”

“Just because you don’t care for him doesn’t mean he and I don’t suit.”

Lowering his voice as curious stares turned their way, he pointed out the obvious, “You must be blind. He’s been a pretentious snob so far this evening.”

“There is nothing wrong with Mr. Westerly’s behavior. It’s you who has gone too far. Really, Mr. Black, leave me be.” She raised her chin and hurried ahead to their table.

He clenched his teeth. Damn, this wasn’t going as he’d planned. Instead of gaining her trust, he was driving her away.

Westerly and Kimberly were already seated at a linen-covered table with gold-rimmed place settings. An eager attendant relieved Miss Bailey of her cape. Westerly made no move to assist her, and she reluctantly accepted the red cushioned chair Christopher offered.

As she sank into her seat, he admired the sleek curve of her neck and the delicate skin just below her ear where a tiny mole begged to be kissed. How he’d love to caress that tempting spot. Instead, he handed his coat to the attendant and relaxed into the chair on her right.

The waiter poured everyone a glass of wine.

“No thank you, I’d best not,” Miss Bailey refused, with a sideways glance. Clearly she didn’t desire a repeat of the previous evening.

She attempted to break into the conversation already in progress, undoubtedly eager to regain Westerly’s attention. “Miss Ives, I wanted to congratulate you on your pending nuptials. I should have said so earlier. I’m afraid I was deep in my own thoughts.”

“I understand. I’m afraid I prattle on far too long about wedding preparations.” Kimberly directed a sly smile toward Christopher.

Miss Bailey noticeably tensed. She’d seen it too, and her reaction pleased him to no end. Apparently, she cared far more than she let on.

“Not at all. It’s a momentous day that requires much planning,” Miss Bailey replied as a waiter served the first course of their meal.

“Christopher, this looks simply scrumptious,” Kimberly cooed, marveling at the golden crust pastry before her. “I can’t wait to see what else you’ve selected for us.”

“My pleasure. I hope you enjoy the meal.” He hoped the menu selection also impressed someone else.

“You mentioned the operetta tonight is
La Mascotte
?” Westerly took a bite of the pastry.

“Yes, indeed it is.” Christopher sipped the full-bodied Bordeaux, wishing he could be alone with Miss Bailey. She was the shining light to an otherwise lackluster day.

“I think I’ve seen this performance before. It played in Boston a couple of years ago.”

“Did you like it?” Kimberly asked.

“Yes, it was highly amusing.”

Kimberly smiled. “I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting Boston. Tell me, what is it like to live there?”

Westerly leaned in, clearly enchanted. “I’d be delighted to. Miss Bailey, please join in.” He turned back to Kimberly. “Miss Bailey also hails from Boston and no doubt knows more about ladies’ fashion and interests.”

“Oh wonderful!”

Although a pleasant smile bowed Miss Bailey’s lovely lips, a nervous glint sharpened her gaze. But why?

“What are your favorite shops in Boston, Miss Bailey?” Kimberly asked.

“There are so many excellent places, I couldn’t possibly choose.” Miss Bailey stared at her plate, nibbling the delicate fare like a timid rabbit.

“Surely there must be one that stands out. Have you purchased gowns from Worth?” Westerly persisted. “I understand he’s very popular. I’ve heard he shows his collection by gaslight, his mannequins dressed entirely in black, and chooses the particular gowns and colors he feels his patrons should wear instead of asking what they’d prefer.”

Christopher waited for Miss Bailey to correct him, as the Black ships routinely delivered Worth orders to the States from overseas, not Boston.

Miss Bailey dabbed her napkin on her lips. “Yes, of course. He’s always been one of my favorites.”

“No, wait a moment. Worth isn’t a Boston designer is he?” Westerly corrected himself.

“Paris I believe,” Kimberly provided, gazing curiously at Miss Bailey.

Miss Bailey exhaled a tremulous breath. “I’m sorry, you’re absolutely right. How silly of me.”

Poor girl was painfully flustered, and yet, after a shake of his head, Westerly continued to enlighten his avid audience. “In Boston, most of society winters in Brookline and summers in Newport or Mount Desert Island, two places with very different cultures. Miss Bailey, where does your family summer?” he asked, showing more interest in Miss Bailey than he had all evening.

She raised her water glass to her lips with a quivering hand, before answering, “We’ve always preferred Mount Desert Island. It’s truly a wonderful place.”

Christopher refilled her water and puzzled over her obvious discomfort, sorely tempted to soothe her in some way.

“Interesting.” Westerly turned his focus back on Kimberly. “Over the past several years, Newport has become an attractive location for the more fashionable set. Even Mrs. Astor has a cottage there. I find those who visit the island are largely Brahmins who believe themselves to be exceedingly tolerant and traditional. They speak more simply and dress unassumingly. It’s said that it’s commonplace on the island to allow couples to socialize unchaperoned.”

“Oh my,” Kimberly sighed.

Miss Bailey flushed. Setting down her glass, she caught the edge of the fork resting on her plate. The silver piece flipped through the air to the floor.

Christopher reached down to retrieve the acrobatic utensil with a silent curse. The boorish ass could have held his tongue on the matter of chaperones.

As Westerly expounded on the superiority of summering in Newport, Christopher slipped the wayward fork back onto the table. “Nice trick,” he teased. “Enjoying your meal?” He hoped at least the food was to her liking.

Miss Bailey greeted him with an angry glare. She likely thought he needled her about Westerly’s tendency to be a prick. The situation baffled and infuriated him. “Why are you so interested in Westerly?” he whispered, confident their dining companions were too consumed by their own discussion to overhear. “He’s ignored and insulted you, spending all of his energies fawning on Kimberly.”

Miss Bailey glanced across the table to the couple chatting contentedly. “I don’t believe this is the appropriate time or place for this discussion. Besides, I’d think you should be more concerned about Mr. Westerly’s attentions to Miss Ives than I.”

“Why would that be? Kimberly is an intelligent woman.” He enjoyed the way the green of her eyes glowed when she was piqued.

“Your relationship with her is very interesting, Mr. Black,” she pointed out in a clipped tone.

So she did believe he was Kimberly’s fiancé. He smiled and sat back in his chair. “You’re jealous.”

She sucked in her breath. “I most certainly am not.”

He leaned forward. Time to end this game. “She’s my cousin. She and her mother are staying with my parents until her wedding day.”

“Oh, I assumed…” A delicate pink crept up her neck. With the arrival of the Lobstera la Newburg, Miss Bailey became engrossed with the meal, immediately sampling the dish.

He studied her with an amused grin. Evidently, her ravenous appetite was a tactic to avoid being drawn into unpleasant conversation.

When she caught sight of him watching, she stopped eating, her fork held high over her plate. “Am I entertaining you?”

She did indeed entertain him, and her stern look, meant to take him to task, tickled him all the more. So much so, he couldn’t stop the fit of chuckles that shook his shoulders.

“Stop that this instant,” she demanded, even as her lips twitched into a smile.

“You know you’ll never last if you insist on finishing every dish set before you,” he told her sagely. “We’ve several courses remaining that are exceedingly good, including a decadent cheesecake I’m confident you won’t find fault with.”