The Black Mask (13 page)

‘Yes. We’ve all agreed to wear a touch of red about our persons. We knew, of course, that others would have the idea besides us, but obviously not on this absurd scale.” He gestured at the crowd below. “Well, at least my sister will be unique. Come along, love. You’ve promised me a gavotte or something, haven’t you?”

After they danced together, Aunt Paige joined Rose, looking rather flushed and very happy.

“I thought you’d be dancing with Sir Augustus,” Rose said, finding a seat along the wall with the other young ladies and their chaperones. She saw the envious glances cast at her costume by the pierrettes, medieval maidens, and milkmaids. No single costume had struck the feminine imagination the way the Black Mask had obsessed the males.

“I may occasionally be remiss in my duties at a party where everyone is known to me, but not at a masquerade. The company can be so very mixed and not everyone behaves themselves. Especially once the champagne starts flowing.”

“It reminds me of a child’s birthday I once attended. I went as Elaine, the Lily Maid of Astolat. Everything went very well until the tea was served. Then the boys became all but uncontrollable.”

Paige hushed her. “Never say this is like a child’s party. Mrs. Yarborough thinks she’s been so daring.” She tapped Rose’s knee with her fan. “Don’t look now, but a Black Mask is coming over to ask you to dance.”

“It’s pointless to tell me not to look, Aunt. I wouldn’t know which one you meant anyway.”

Rose felt a little flutter of excitement in her breast as the gentleman in black approached. She willingly laid her ruby-laden hand in his after he received permission from Paige.

“A magnificent ring, ma’am,” he said with a rather snuffy voice. Rose thanked him and chattered away about the ring, inflating its value in a very vulgar way, but she had a reason.

Rose’s excitement died, only to be revived with the next applicant for her hand. She wanted to be certain every Black Mask she danced with noticed her ring. Though she doubted the one true Black Mask was present tonight, he obviously had methods to discover what went on in the houses and, more interestingly, the heads of the
ton.
Let even a few gossips find her ring interesting, and perhaps the Black Mask would try to steal it. If he did, she had him just where she wanted him.

Every one of the young ladies waiting for partners knew her, just as she knew them. She liked several of them and drifted into a little knot with them after a few dances. It was constantly changing members as men asked this one and that one to dance and then returned them. The girls admired her costume, fingering the silk, but wondered how she’d come to think of such a thing. That was her chance to talk naturally about her ring. They admired it, too, more for the tales she wove about it than for its beauty.

“Have you ever seen such a crush?” Ariadne Belmont asked, returning from a dance with a Mephistopheles for a change.

“Never in my life,” Rose answered with a chorus of agreement from the other girls.

“When do we go to supper, do you suppose? My feet hurt in these shoes.” Usually brunette, she wore a yellow wig whose braids hung to her waist and a circlet of oak leaves around her waist. Otherwise, she was attired as any young lady in her first Season at a ball, yet claimed to be a Saxon maiden. She was a very pleasant and fun-loving girl who, unfortunately, was the second of six daughters. There was literally not an extra shilling to be had at her house.

“I don’t know, but it must not be far off. By the time we came up to the house, it was not much later than half past ten. I can’t think how the grooms and drivers are managing tonight. So many carriages in the streets.”

“Well, I’m not going in to supper with that devil,” Ariadne declared. “He stepped on my feet worse than anyone yet.”

“It must be Aubrey Dennison,” Rose deduced. “No one dances worse than he does, and he’s about that tall.”

“Oh, then I’m certainly not going in with him. All he wants to talk about is Jessica Howe. They’re going to be engaged as soon as she conies back from the seaside. Poor thing. When she had the green sickness, she lost all her color.”

“I wish there were more color here,” Rose said, looking again at all the black costumes. “At least Mephistopheles is all in red.”

“And the pierrots are all in white. The harlequins are colorful, though.”

Rose dropped her voice. “Here comes my brother to dance with you, Ariadne.”

“Oh? Where?” She looked where Rose nodded at the tall young man with the scarlet sash around his waist. “I like your brother. He’s cheerful. Tell him to ask me to supper, won’t you?”

Rose waved subtly to Rupert, who hurried over after bidding his friends farewell. “Monsieur Black Mask, may I introduce a Saxon maiden? Unfortunately, a wandering vagabond burned her cakes and she has none to eat. Can you aid her once the gong sounds?”

The tall man bowed and offered Ariadne his arm. Only after they’d gone off together did Rose realize that she’d seen a tiny scar at the edge of the man’s well-formed mouth. He couldn’t have been Rupert. She would have to find Ariadne later to find out whom she’d eaten with.

Alone for a moment, Rose glanced back toward the row of gilt chairs against the wall. Aunt Paige was deep in conversation with some other older women. So much for her attention to duty. Rose smiled tenderly and turned toward her other friends.

She never knew what instinct made her look off in the distance, across the quadruple line of the dancers. Perhaps she had felt his eyes upon her, their intent focus like a touch. They seemed to blaze as he realized she was gazing back.

Like so many others, he wore all black. But where their clothes were obviously new or adapted for the purpose of the evening, his looked ... right. He wore a long vest over his black skirt, what appeared to be dyed riding officer’s breeches, and tall boots with a dull gloss. That alone marked him as different from the other men, worldly creatures who would sooner wear bonnets than unpolished leather.

Rose felt no need to move as he started to circle around the dancers. He was coming to find her and he would find her, even if she ran away. The Black Mask could find anyone, it seemed, even those who only dreamed of him. She closed her eyes, feeling a trifle dizzy. Yet she knew the instant he appeared before her.

The mask seemed to be part of his face, almost able to move like his skin. “Will you dance?” he asked huskily.

“No. I want to talk to you. I want...” Some sense of self-preservation remained to her so she didn’t speak all she thought, not here. “It’s terribly hot in here.”

“The terrace is that way.”

“Yes, I know.” She took his hand, gloved in worn leather, and it came to her even more strongly than when she’d first seen him that he was the one real and true Black Mask. She should have been very frightened. Inside, she felt a trembling, but it wasn’t fear—unless it was fear for him. Imitate him they might, talk about him, make him a hero, but if anyone guessed as she had guessed, they’d hang him.

“You were mad to come here.” She felt compelled to say it, though it was not what she wanted most to say.

“I had to come,” he said.

“But why?”

He chuckled soundlessly. “I didn’t know. Until...”

“Until?”

With a swift glance around, he led her out into the garden at the rear of the house.

* * * *

Well-camouflaged among the general conglomeration of Black Masks, Sir Niles had watched as Rupert escorted Rose downstairs as soon as they’d arrived. He’d been waiting for her, all the while denying to himself that was what he was doing. But the happiness he felt when he’d identified her in her exotic Indian costume was a clue he couldn’t ignore.

Besides, she looked adorable. He hadn’t realized her hair was so long or so lush. The bright red color of the silk flattered her far more than the more insipid colors then a la mode. The veil over her delightful little nose lent her an air of mystery at odds with her straightforward personality. He wondered if her clothes affected her thinking the way his Black Mask costume seemed to affect his. When he put on those clothes, he wasn’t staid Sir Niles Alardyce, whose days of adventure lay behind him. No, he was the avenging Black Mask, daring, dangerous, determined.

As the evening continued, as he watched her dancing with other men, laughing into their eyes, he found it harder and harder to stay the civilized Sir Niles. He wanted to take her out of the increasingly stuffy ballroom, out into the night. He would show her his London, the rooftops, the shadows, the hidden corners that gave access to secret worlds.

Sir Niles told himself that little Rose Spenser, sheltered innocent, would be appalled and frightened should he ever reveal any part of what he had done. She could never understand his need for justice, stronger even than his desire for vengeance. Outside the law, he’d collected his evidence, which had sent two men deservedly to ruin.

Despite all his arguments that bade him be gone, when Rose had seen him, his good intentions had shattered. He craved being with her, talking to her, even if only as a mysterious stranger. When she’d readily agreed to leave in his company, again he was torn. Did she feel this strange need, too? Or had he misjudged her? Would she have left with any man who asked her?

Then her concern for him struck him to the heart, and both sides of his spirit stopped struggling against the inevitable.

Niles kept her from stepping off the white stone terrace. She didn’t try to shake off his hands on her shoulders. “Wait. Your eyes will adjust in a moment.”

The garden was long and narrow, with a white chip path down the center and tall conifers in pots standing along the walls on either side. Benches were interspersed between the trees, some already occupied. A soft brushing sound filled the air as two or three couples walked slowly down the path, the women’s antique gowns brushing over the gravel. Time seemed to have slowed almost to the stopping point, for this moment might have existed a hundred years ago or a thousand or for always.

Niles turned Rose toward him, feeling no resistance in her pliant body. The light from the ballroom, ablaze with candles, filtered through to show her face. “Why did you say I shouldn’t have come? Who do you think I am?”

“I know who you are.” Her whisper was as husky as his. It seemed to play along his nerves like brushing feathers. “You’re the Black Mask. Have you come to steal?”

“Yes, that’s why I came.”

‘Tonight? But Mrs. Yarborough is wearing her best necklace. I saw it.”

“A necklace? No, not that.” He lifted his hand and unfastened the tiny jeweled pin that secured her veil. The smooth silk slipped off the shining satin of her hair. She pushed her hair behind her ear, looking up at him with sweet confusion, her lips parted as though on a word she didn’t speak.

“I came for this,” he said, holding up the pin. “And for this.”

Niles knew what he wanted was wrong, but he couldn’t resist this attraction any longer. He cupped her face in his hands, searching her expression for any sign of what she wanted. Her eyes shone. She slid her hands over his, slipping them slowly up his sleeves.

Even Niles couldn’t tell which of them kissed first. He only knew he had a vibrant woman in his arms who, though obviously inexperienced, possessed all the depths of passion he’d been longing for. He saw the danger and disregarded it, drugged by the power of a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her so close, yet not as close as he wished.

After that first kiss, he drew her to the shadows at the side of the terrace. She followed him willingly, letting him put his arms around her again. Dropping her head onto his shoulder, she heaved a sigh so full of contentment that he all but proposed on the spot. But he had too much to explain first.

“Rose...”

“You know my name?”

“Of course.”

Did he see her smile or did he feel it? “Rose, I have so much to tell you.”

“I don’t care what you’ve done.”

“I had good reasons. And I’m afraid what I have still to do may hurt you. Tell me ...”

“Nothing you could do will hurt me,” Rose said, then hesitated. “Unless it’s Rupert. Is it?”

“No, he has absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“Good. Speaking of Rupert...”

A noise made Niles turn his head. Several dowagers had emerged from the ballroom. He tried to shield Rose from their far-seeing eyes. Their voices, ringing like a sergeant major’s on the parade ground, destroyed the mood of the garden. Cupid fled in self-defense, defeated at close range by their lorgnettes.

“My, isn’t it damp out?”

“Eh? Yes, very damp. You
there. Girl. Go inside before you catch your death.” One of them came right up to Niles and Rose. “Didn’t you hear me, child? It’s too damp to be flitting about gardens in those silly rags girls wear today. Not that the men have much more sense. Where’s your coat, sir? In my day, men knew better than to show a lady their shirtsleeves. What are you made up as, anyway?”

Niles stood his ground as Rose, showing a sad tendency to giggle, hurried past him. He knew the old parrot lecturing them, had known her ever since he’d first come to town. Maud Margaret had been one of those most fond of Christian but always giving more good advice than any mortal man could take.

Now she was peering at him and calling to her two friends. “Come here, Alamira, Beattie. Look who it is.”

With a premonition of disaster, Niles looked to discover whether Rose had gone out of earshot. She was just passing inside when Maud Margaret screeched, “It’s that nice Alardyce boy.”

Horrified and humiliated, Rose rushed down to the cloakroom. Alone in the peaceful room, warmly scented by the perfumes applied by guests, Rose stumbled to sit down on a bench near the door.

Sir Niles,
she thought.
How could he? To
play so cruelly upon her dreams merely to steal a kiss passed the bounds of decency. How had he guessed she was one of the Black Mask’s most fervent admirers when she hadn’t even known it herself until just now?

Rose pressed her cool hands to her burning hot face. “What a hussy he must think me?” she muttered. He had every cause. She’d not uttered a word of protest when he had kissed her. Nor had she so much as hinted he should call upon her guardian, however temporary or distracted, to obtain permission for a betrothal. No, not she. She’d hung in his arms like a jade, behavior made all the worse by her belief at the time that she was closely embracing a wanted criminal.