Lord Harry's Folly (19 page)

Hetty placed her hand in the crook of the black domino’s arm and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

He slipped his hand lightly down about her waist and drew her into the circle of his arms. She responded readily to his lead and soon found herself being whirled in large, sweeping circles about the room. He quickened their pace suddenly, and she laughed aloud in excitement, tightening her hold on the black domino’s shoulder.

He lowered his head slightly and whispered in her ear, “Ah, a sign of affection? Or is it that you fear I shall drop you?”

“Please don’t flirt with me,” she said, leaning back to look up at his face, still maddeningly hidden by the black mask. “This is such fun. Don’t bother me with all that nonsense. Now, sir, please mind your steps, you very nearly stepped on my toes.”

He threw back his head and laughed aloud. His teeth were strong and white, his throat tanned. She very much liked that laugh of his. Who the devil was he?

She gave him a guileless smile. “There, you see? Making love is a bore, particularly when you’re dancing and having such fun.”

“So you don’t think lovemaking is fun?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion,” she said and he tightened his hand ever so slightly about her waist.

Hetty chose to ignore it. He was a man. Men, in her short but pungent experience, were strange creatures. Sex seemed to be the primary thing on their minds. And the secondary thing, too. When the music came to a halt, she was disappointed. “Oh dear,” she said. “The dance is over already? You’re quite good, but I’m sure all the ladies tell you that.”

She saw him raise his hand in some sort of signal to the musicians. In but an instant, another waltz was struck up.

She laughed. “Well done, sir, well done.” Without any thought as to the complexities of propriety, she laid her hand on his shoulder.

It was several breathless moments before the black domino slowed their pace. He looked down into the upturned smiling face and said in a thoughtful voice, “Your Louis XIV was a stupid fellow indeed to believe you experienced in dalliance. Rather, I would say that you are a young lady enjoying her first ball.”

He was right, damn him, but had she been so obvious? Surely not. She wouldn’t let him fluster her. “I know why you said that. You think I’m inexperienced just because I don’t want you flirting with me. That’s it, isn’t it? Just a male’s conceit.” She grinned up at him shamelessly.

“I wonder,” he said, “if you would goad me so much if we were to remove your mask?”

“Touch my mask and I’ll make you very sorry.”

“As sorry as you would have made Louis XIV?”

“You don’t deserve that. Something milder.” She stepped on his toes.

He winced, but said nothing more. He whirled her about in a wide circle. When he came to a halt, he landed adroitly upon her foot.

“Ouch!” She jumped, crying out more in surprise than in pain.

“Men are sometimes clumsy. I do apologize. Perhaps if your feet weren’t quite so big, I wouldn’t have succumbed to the temptation.”

She wanted to hit him and she wanted, oddly, to laugh, just to have him join in with her. His laugh was lovely.

“Shall I return you to your brother?”

All her fun dissolved in that instant. “You know my brother?”

“Certainly I do, Miss Rolland.”

At that moment, Hetty wanted to murder Jack. What was he doing anyway telling all his friends that his sister was in the scarlet domino and mask, and in need of partners? She backed away from him, turned abruptly, and slipped into a throng of guests before he could stop her.

She heard the black domino calling her name. She ignored him, wanting now to find Jack and hit him over the head with a potted palm. Damn him. Her enjoyment of her first ball was fading rapidly. The black domino knew who she was. Others might know also. Her voice couldn’t be that different from the dowdy Miss Henrietta Rolland’s voice or, for that matter, Lord Harry’s.

A high, trilling laugh drew her up short at the perimeter of a boisterously gay group of gentlemen. In their midst stood Melissande, her lustrous red hair piled high upon her head and a daring expanse of white bosom revealed by the extreme low cut of her green velvet gown. She looked utterly delicious. Hetty felt her heart start to thump fast and hard. If Melissande was here, then Lord Oberlon was here, too. She scanned the knot of gentlemen but didn’t see him.

She wanted nothing but to leave. Where were Jack and Louisa? She walked toward the edge of the crowded ballroom, hoping to position herself where she would see them. She slipped behind a huge potted fern to avoid an amorous-looking fellow, too deep in his cups, she thought, not to make a scene were she to refuse to dance with him. Wretched men. Lord Harry wouldn’t have to put up with such nonsense. She nearly laughed at that.

She suddenly saw Jack, leaning negligently against a curtained wall, in laughing conversation with another man. She stepped forward, then froze in her tracks. It was the black domino.

She ducked quickly behind the potted fern again. She simply couldn’t approach Jack while that man was there. For that matter, she couldn’t very well hide behind this ridiculous plant for the rest of the evening. What she needed was a very good excuse to remove herself from the ballroom. Her young lady’s repertoire wasn’t very impressive. She leaned down and gave a vicious tug on her domino, but the velvet was too strong for her fingers. She raised it to her mouth and bit into the hem with her white teeth. She felt it obligingly rip, and without thought to the beauty of the garment, pulled it away in a jagged circular tear. There, she thought with satisfaction, that should keep me from the dance floor for the remainder of the evening. She soon found Louisa conversing with Lady Ranleagh herself, and slipped quietly beside her.

“Louisa, I’ve ruined my domino and must go see to repairs.”

“My dear child,” Lady Ranleagh said, leaning over to inspect the gaping tear. “It looks like your partner was a clumsy oaf. Such a pity.”

Hetty fervently agreed. Then, as she’d hoped, Lady Ranleagh directed her to a large dressing room at the top of the stairs, where, she was informed, Lady Ranleagh’s maid, Celeste, would mend her costume. Louisa prepared to accompany her, but Hetty, having no wish for Louisa to see her dally away the rest of the evening, said, “Oh no, Louisa, I’ll be fine. A stupid accident and it was my fault, not a gentleman’s. Go dance with Jack. He looked too relaxed and rested.”

She’d nearly made good her escape when she heard Jack’s deep, booming voice behind her. “Hetty, wait a moment. Where are you off to, little sister?”

She turned reluctantly, fearing to see the black domino with her brother, but Jack was alone. “I just tore my domino. I’ll see you later, Jack. I have a few words I have to say to you, you interfering sod.”

“It’s probably just as well you take yourself out of commission for a while.” He grinned, took off his mask and rubbed his cheek. “You’ve got so many young bucks trailing after you, the ladies are beginning to plan your murder.”

She wanted to tell him to go take a good look at Melissande, but she managed to keep quiet.

“Go dance with Louisa,” she said, turned and set her foot upon the wide staircase. “Oh, Jack,” she said, turning, “who is that gentleman you were talking to in the black domino and black mask? The tall man with a very nice laugh?”

Jack gave a bark of laughter and gazed at her, a deep twinkle in his blue eyes. “I believe you must have enjoyed the fellow’s company, Hetty. Didn’t you waltz with him twice?”

“When he wasn’t laughing, which was nice, he was rude and arrogant, and quite amusing. Still, I didn’t like him.”

“Well, Hetty, I did put a word in the fellow’s ear you know, to stay clear of you but he is always one to tempt the fates.”

“You told him who I was. That wasn’t fair of you, Jack, damn you. Now, who is he?”

Sir John lifted a fair eyebrow and said in a voice so bland she wanted to scream, “He’s none other than your arch enemy, Hetty, the Marquess of Oberlon.” He turned about and waved to her impishly over his shoulder. His booming laughter rang in her ears.

Hetty clutched at the banister, staring after her laughing brother. No wonder the man’s voice had sounded so familiar to her. She forced herself to draw a deep breath. Obviously, his grace hadn’t recognized her. If he had, everything would have been lost. Thank the heavens for something. She would kill Jack, however.

“Had you continued to dance with me, Miss Rolland, I’m sure your domino wouldn’t now be in tatters.”

Hetty whirled about and very nearly tripped on her skirt at the sound of that shiftless drawl. The marquess stood but a few feet lower than her on the stairs. He was looking up at her, grinning widely.

“You.” There was nothing she could say. He might recognize her voice. She hated it, but she had no choice. She gathered up her skirts and fled up the stairs.

“An arrogant and rude man, I grant you, Miss Rolland,” he called after her. “But you quite like my laugh and find me amusing? You are a discerning young lady.” Rich, deep humor sounded in his voice. Without looking at him, she knew he was grinning like a gambler in a roomful of vicars.

Lord Harry rose to kick a log in the fireplace with the toe of his boot, sending crackling embers up toward the flue.

A knock sounded on the door. Lord Harry didn’t care who was there and didn’t bother looking up.

Pottson said, “Look at this, Miss Hetty. Why, it’s a message from a lady. The lass who delivered it wouldn’t tell me the lady’s name.”

Henrietta Rolland’s folly was promptly forgotten as Lord Harry raised the soft pink envelope and sniffed the heavy musk scent.

“Ah, this isn’t from a lady, Pottson,” she said, grinning shamelessly at him. She ripped the envelope open and pulled out a single sheet of pink paper, covered with a flowery script. Her eyes widened and she gave a shout of glee.

“What is it, Miss Hetty?”

“Now, I don’t want you to screech, Pottson. Here’s the way of it. I paid a visit to Lord Oberlon’s mistress as Lord Harry, of course. Her name is Melissande, and she is no lady, I assure you. It appears she’s free this afternoon for a ride in the park with me.”

“You what? Gawd, you visited Lord Oberlon’s mistress? Miss Harry no, I mean, Miss Hetty you can’t mean you’ll be riding with his mistress? If the marquess discovers it, he’ll be after your blood. He’ll want not just to thrash you, he’ll want to kill you.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’m off to purchase a green velvet riding habit for my lady and secure a docile mare from Mr. Scuddimore. I just hope the mare is showy enough.”

It was a properly unassuming, yet charming young gentleman who strolled into Madame Cartier’s fashionable boutique and purchased a riding habit and matching bonnet at an outrageous price, for it had originally been destined for a Miss Caroline Busby. Mr. Scuddimore proved a bit more difficult, but after much wheedling and coaxing, Hetty secured a bay mare named Coquette a most appropriate name, Hetty thought. At promptly five o’clock in the afternoon, Hetty secured Coquette at the railing outside Melissande’s town house.

Melissande was a vision to behold when she glided into the small drawing room where Lord Harry had sat waiting for her for a good half hour.

“You wonderful naughty boy,” she said, dancing into the parlor. “However did you know my exact measurements? I vow I would have chosen no other riding habit myself.”

Hetty doubted that Madame Cartier would have let Melissande anywhere near Miss Caroline Busby’s riding habit. She was forced to admit that the green velvet riding habit, high cut, fitting snugly below her succulent breasts, couldn’t look better on another female. Row upon row of frothy white lace sprung from the green to touch her chin. An arched black plume swept in a high circle, framing the thick auburn ringlets about her face.

Melissande knew she looked glorious. She knew that this lovely young gentleman shouldn’t have given her such a gift, but after all, a girl had to enjoy herself. Lord Monteith was a charming boy, no more, and if she wished to spend a small part of her time with him well, where was the harm in that? If the marquess were to find out she drew up a moment with this rather daunting thought, then shrugged her white shoulders. Perhaps he would take her less for granted. Perhaps he would take her to more balls like the lovely masked ball the previous evening.

Now, as she pirouetted in front of the raptly admiring young Lord Harry, she applauded her decision. The marquess never extolled her beauty in such glowing terms. Nor, she thought, forgetting momentarily the ruby necklace he had bestowed upon her after his return from Italy, had he ever bought her such an exquisite riding habit.

“Men will envy me today in the park, Melissande. They will want to slit my throat. They won’t understand why such a goddess as you lower yourself to be seen with me. Ah, you should ride Pegasus, not the mare I brought for you.”

Melissande could sit a horse beautifully, but that was about all she could do. Making a horse go or stop was beyond her. Hetty was profoundly thankful that the gentle Coquette was docile almost to the point of being unconscious. She led Melissande carefully through the London traffic and into the park. Few pedestrians were present, for the winter wind was sharp, and the air so chilly Hetty could see her breath.

But it didn’t matter. It was that time of day to be seen and to visit. Phaetons, horses, and carriages were in abundance. Hetty felt her heart jump into her throat as a gentleman astride a huge black stallion cantered toward them. It wasn’t the marquess. She had wondered just what she would do were they to meet Lord Oberlon in the park, had ruminated over possible scenes, then finally banished it from her mind. She wanted very much to confront him. She was prepared, she knew, with a limitless array of insults. But not here, not just yet.

They cantered past a closed carriage, and Hetty was delighted to see Lady Melberry’s face pressed against the closed window, her eyes fastened in surprise on the magnificent Melissande. Hetty raised her hand in polite salute, suppressing the smile on her lips. Even if Lady Melberry weren’t a gossip, Hetty thought, even the most sainted of persons would have difficulty keeping such a juicy tidbit to themselves. Of course, how could Lady Melberry possibly know who she was?