The Baron's Governess Bride (15 page)

“Please, sir, let me be.” Rupert overheard her beg the sultan, “I have told you I do not wish to dance. I am trying to find my friends.”

“They are poor friends if they let you wander off, my beauty. Make me your new friend and I assure you I will be more constant.” With that the scoundrel seized her hand and pressed it to his lips again and again as if he meant to devour it.

The lady shrank from his attentions. “Please, sir, keep your distance! The last thing I want from you is constancy!”

Rupert’s pulse thundered with outrage that he was hard-pressed to contain. Slamming his punch cup down on the refreshment table, he strode toward the pair and slid between the sultan and his victim. “The lady asked you to leave her alone, sir. I suggest you behave like a gentleman and withdraw.”

The sultan’s thick lips bowed in a sinister scowl. “And what if I ignore your suggestion?”

“Then I shall phrase it as a demand.” Rupert lowered his voice to a menacing rumble. “One you would ignore at your peril.”

His adversary’s gaze wavered. “Want her for yourself, do you? See how far you get with the icy little prude!”

With that he stormed off, deliberately bumping into a footman and sending a tray of refreshments crashing to the floor.

Rupert spun around, expecting to glimpse nothing more than the lady’s pink skirts as she disappeared into the crowd. To his considerable surprise he found her still standing there.

“Thank you for your assistance, sir.” She dropped a rather wobbly curtsy. “It was most gallant of you to intervene on my behalf.”

Her voice was breathless and high-pitched, yet Rupert fancied he had heard it somewhere before. Could this be one of the debutantes he had met at Almacks? Surely he would not have been so quick to dismiss her. “Pay no heed to that scoundrel’s malicious claim that I only chased him away to acquire your company for myself. Nothing could be further from the truth. However, if you would care to linger in my vicinity, it might discourage any other such rogues who would try to force their attentions upon you.”

“That is kind of you to offer, sir.” She regarded him with a wary air, as if trying to decide whether he was any better than the predator he had frightened off. “But would it not interfere with your enjoyment of the evening to have a strange woman following you about?”

The fierce emotions that had possessed him a few moments earlier now melted away under the influence of the lady’s quiet charm. His lips relaxed into a smile. “Quite the contrary. In the first place my enjoyment of such proceedings is not that great. And in the second, being shadowed by a mysterious beauty strikes me as a rather pleasant novelty.”

The visible portion of her face took on a cast only a few shades lighter than her gown. “Pardon my curiosity, but what are you doing here if you do not enjoy such events?”

Without mentioning Mrs. Cadmore’s name or his intentions, Rupert explained that the person he had planned to accompany had been prevented from attending at the last moment.

“I still believe our victory is an event worth celebrating,” he concluded. Suddenly he was glad he had decided to attend the masquerade after all.

Yet something about his explanation seemed to alarm the lady. She drew a sharp breath and her slender frame grew tense. Or perhaps it was something else altogether.

“Forgive me.” He made an apologetic bow. “I should have asked if you are quite recovered from the fright that wretched bounder gave you. Would a cup of punch revive you? Or perhaps you would prefer to find a seat in the garden and let the fresh air calm you. I would be happy to stand guard at a distance and make certain you are not disturbed.”

She cast a longing glance toward the open doors. “That does sound pleasant. But I really must locate my friends.”

So that had not been an excuse to fend off the sultan’s advances. Rupert tried to quell an unaccountable sting of disappointment. “If you would like me to accompany you on your search, I am at your service. At least it would provide me with a useful occupation.”

After taking a moment to consider his offer, the lady nodded, making her golden curls bounce in the most winsome manner. “I would appreciate your assistance, though I fear it may be difficult to locate my friends in this crowd.”

Rupert found himself curiously untroubled by the prospect of a long, fruitless search in the lady’s company. In fact, their quest proved even more enjoyable than he’d hoped. From room to room he followed her, always hovering close enough to discourage any other men from approaching her. At the same time, he tried to keep a respectful distance between them so she would not feel threatened by his presence. Each time they exchanged a few words, he racked his memory to recall where he had heard her voice before.

After they had peered into a number of rooms to no avail, Rupert asked, “Can you describe how your friends are dressed? Two pair of eyes may work better to spot them.”

“An excellent suggestion.” She leaned closer and raised her voice to carry over the loud conversations around them. “The gentleman is dressed as King Arthur and the lady as Helen of Troy.”

The most ridiculous quiver of satisfaction ran through Rupert when she failed to mention a third gentleman who might have been her escort. He told himself not to be so daft. It should not matter to him whether the lady was spoken for. He was about to ask another woman to be his wife. Yet he could not suppress a rush of relief that his plans for the evening had gone awry.

Though he kept diligent watch for the lady’s friends, Rupert’s spirits rose as more and more time passed without a glimpse of them. At last he and his mysterious companion found themselves back in the refreshment room where they’d started.

“I am sorry to have taken up so much of your time, sir—” she let him help her to a cup of punch “—with nothing gained for your efforts but a thirst.”

Rupert took a sip of the cool, tart compound of orange and lemon juices sweetened with sugar syrup and spiced with a hint of cinnamon and cloves. The punch was almost as welcome refreshment as her company.

He gave a cheerful shrug. “For your sake, I am sorry we were not able to locate your friends. For myself, I have no such regrets. Our search passed the time much more agreeably than I would have done if left to my own devices.”

Rupert doffed his oversize hat and waved it to fan himself. He longed to venture outside for a breath of cooler air but he could not bring himself to abandon the lady.

She seemed to divine his thoughts. “Does your earlier invitation to take a stroll in the garden still hold, sir? After wading through such a crush of humanity, a little peace and coolness would be most welcome.”

“To me, as well.” The only boon more welcome at that moment was the opportunity to savor more of her company in quiet and privacy.

After her disagreeable encounter with the sultan, Rupert would have understood if the lady shrank from being alone with any man. He was flattered and touched by her demonstration of trust in his honor, especially after so brief an acquaintance in which they had not even exchanged names. This mysterious lady, who he’d known less than an hour, engaged his interest far more than his prospective bride.

Did she also suspect a previous acquaintance between them? Rupert could not escape the sense of familiarity. But the harder he strove to place her, the more her identity eluded him. Besides, part of him resented any thought that distracted him from the enjoyment of her company.

As they wandered out into the moonlit garden together, Rupert fancied his disguise somehow hid him from his old heartache and fear of future hurt. Suddenly he wanted to live again. Not just for the sake of his children and Nethercross, but to experience the divine gifts of life—and perhaps love—to their richest depths. Perhaps he had been wrong to sacrifice all his hope for future happiness upon the altar of safety.

Someone else had tried to tell him that, but he had not been able to understand until tonight.

* * *

The gentleman in the black garb and strange white mask was the very one Grace had set out to find. When he first strode to her rescue, she had been too surprised and grateful to notice he was wearing the very costume Charlotte had described. In any case, he appeared to be alone. Only after the gentleman explained how he had come to be at the masquerade by himself did she realize his true identity.

Knowing there was no fear of his lordship proposing to Mrs. Cadmore that evening, Grace had meant to return home at once and share her good news with his daughters. But to do that she must first find her friends while trying to avoid that beastly sultan and others like him. Against her better judgment, she’d accepted Lord Steadwell’s offer of assistance.

But as they searched in vain for the Benedicts and his lordship showed no sign of recognizing her, Grace began to wonder if she ought to take advantage of this incognito meeting. Since her previous efforts to suppress her feelings for the gentleman had only intensified them, perhaps indulging those feelings might break the dangerous hold he had gained over her heart. Tonight might be her only opportunity to find out without risking the life she had made for herself at Nethercross.

Plucking up her courage, she asked if he might accompany her on a stroll in the garden.

His swift acceptance made her heart flutter, like a butterfly emerging from its drab, safe cocoon to spread its glorious wings for the very first time. Was she truly seeking to purge her feelings, as prudence demanded, or was she only using that as an excuse to indulge her forbidden fancy? Her rebellious heart refused to consider the question.

Once outside, the frantic clamor of the ball gave way to the whisper of fresh night breezes subtly sweetened with the aroma of country flowers. A welcome sense of ease stole over Grace as she inhaled a deep draft of that cool, flower-scented air. “I am in your debt, sir. First you came to my rescue, then you gave me your protection and assistance. How can I ever repay you?”

He dismissed her suggestion with an airy wave of his hand. “What need is there for repayment of services you never requested? Do they not say virtue is its own reward?”

Before Grace could answer he continued, “Not that I claim my actions were
virtuous
. That sounds insufferably self-righteous. I only mean to say I acted of my own accord. Even if you did owe me a debt, the pleasure of your company would be more than sufficient payment.”

The music and raised voices from the party had muted to a pleasant backdrop for the soft rustle of her skirts and their unhurried footsteps on the brickwork path that wound through the flowerbeds and herbaceous borders. The pleasure of
his
company was worth more to Grace than she dared reckon.

“That is high praise, for the assistance you provided was invaluable to me. All the more so because none of the other guests seemed disposed to intervene on my behalf.”

“That is to their shame, not to my credit.” His tone took on a sharp edge of scorn. “I do not approve of the way some people cast off their principles when they put on a mask. I doubt that scoundrel in the purple turban would have dared accost you in so reprehensible a manner if you had met at an assembly where his face and name were known.”

“Perhaps I share some of the blame,” Grace ventured. It was a secret fear that had hounded her ever since Captain Townsend had offered to make her his mistress rather than his wife. “If I had only dressed more modestly, rather than in a manner likely to attract attention…”

“Nonsense!” His retort cut through the night air like a switch, yet it did not alarm Grace, for she knew his vexation was not directed at her. “No woman should be obliged to conceal her beauty to prevent men from taking liberties. Part of the reason I came to your aid was that I wanted to show you we men are not all like him.”

“I know that,” she murmured without true conviction.

For years she had regarded all men as alike in that respect and she’d treated them accordingly. But since coming to Nethercross, she had begun to realize some men were different.
He
was different. His actions this evening only proved what she’d believed about him for some time. His declaration about women not hiding their beauty helped ease her feeling of responsibility for the harassment she had suffered.

“But let us not dwell on that unpleasantness,” he suggested. “I do not wish to oppress your spirits.”

“Nor do I,” Grace agreed. “Let us enjoy this quiet time together in our unsociable way.”

“I would not call myself unsociable.” He tempered his protest with a wry chuckle. “I quite like good company in small doses and familiar surroundings.”

“How small a dose do you favor?” She teased him in a flirtatious way mousy Miss Ellerby would never dare.

“Usually more than one,” he quipped back. Then his voice softened. “But tonight I reckon it is a perfect number.”

Did he mean that the way it sounded? He had no idea who she was and must assume she was equally ignorant of his identity. He might think he could say anything to her without fear of consequences. Perhaps he, too, had inconvenient feelings he sought to purge before he embarked on a marriage in which love would play no part.

For this one night, Grace felt free to speak words she had never dared address to him before—words she would be obliged to lock away in her heart beginning tomorrow. Might they place less of a burden on her heart if she gave them their freedom now?