Mastering the Marquess (32 page)

The door that separated their rooms closed with only the slightest click as she snuck back to her chambers, ringing for her maid.

There were decisions to be made, questions to be asked.

She just wished she knew what they were.

One hour until it was time to leave for the masquerade. She’d avoided her husband all day, unsure of what to say, how to act, but now, quite soon, she would meet him in the hall, ride with him to the masquerade at the home of Lord and Lady Willis.

When she’d first remembered the engagement, Louisa had thought about sending her regrets. She was so unsettled by the realizations about her husband that she wasn’t sure she was fit to be seen in public.

She hadn’t even been able to bear her maid’s attentions as her head spun with choices. No, she did not wish people around.

On the other hand, the thought of being alone with Geoffrey was a little frightening. She didn’t know what to say or what to do. Did she tell him that she knew? Did she act any differently? Did she keep it all a secret?

Was she even capable of keeping such a secret?

No, it was better to be out, to see how he acted toward her before she made any decisions. And a masquerade seemed fitting. They had been masked when first they met; perhaps it was time to don masks again. Although truth be told, she felt as if she’d been wearing a mask all these last weeks, pretending to be a demure lady, a good wife. Last night had been freeing. Somehow, in releasing her anger, her frustration, at him over his visiting Madame’s, she’d opened something inside herself. It felt like she was drawing her first good breath of fresh air after being lost in a fog.

What a ridiculous thought—she was the woman she’d always been.

Well, almost the same.

She pivoted in front of the mirror. The gown fit her perfectly—at least what little of it there was. She wasn’t sure she’d ever worn anything so thin, so light. Usually she’d attended
costume affairs dressed in medieval finery, the thick stomachers and heavy brocade skirts shielding her from all. The last one she attended, the year before John’s death, she’d been Queen Elizabeth, with a collar higher than her head and skirts extending a good two feet on either side.

This … this was different.

Greek and Roman wear had become quite the fashion in recent years, but she’d never thought she’d try it.

She’d surprised herself ordering the dress; it was far from her usual taste. But something had changed in her, not just last night, but over the past weeks.

She looked at herself again.

Persephone.

Thin white cotton, almost transparent, dropped from silver clips at the shoulders, caught at the waist with a thin silver belt designed to look like sheaves of wheat. There were several layers of fabric, so that nothing was actually revealed—which was a good thing, because there was no way to wear a chemise or corset under the gown without looking silly.

Which brought her to her biggest concern: She’d never gone without support for her breasts before. She couldn’t decide if she felt sensuous or uncomfortable.

Did she jiggle and flop? She jumped a little, watching the movement of her breasts. The tips of her nipples rubbed against the fabric, sending a little frisson through her whole body. It was sinful.

The whole dress was sinful.

Yesterday she would have decided not to wear it, afraid of what her husband would think, afraid he would be surprised, would think less of her.

Now she was not afraid. She knew he would be surprised, but that didn’t have to be a bad thing.

She rather thought he’d been surprised by her last night, and didn’t think he’d minded in the least.

Indeed, that was putting it rather mildly.

Red began to seep up her chest and onto her cheeks. Thinking about last night was heating her whole being from the toes up.

Geoffrey would be here soon. Her body tingled at the thought. Her breath caught as she thought of him seeing her in the gown … and seeing her remove it. She imagined the hot glow
in his eyes—and how she would feel being examined, being watched.

He’d seen her in her chemise—would he find this different?

She pivoted again, watching how the fabric clung to her curves, outlining even the cleft of her behind. It was quite different, nothing at all like the loose chemise she wore to sleep.

Enough. If she kept thinking like this she’d either go up in flames, become a puddle on the floor, or attack her husband the moment he walked into the hall. Maybe not attack, but seduce. Or perhaps she should allow him to seduce her. Geoffrey did seem to like control, and she had to admit that she had few complaints.

No. She picked up the delicate silver mask that covered the upper half of her face and tied it into place. There was a reason she had decided they should attend the masquerade, and she would not change her mind now.

Being in public would give them the space they both needed.

Running fingers through her loose curls, she arranged them about the edges of the mask, hiding the strings that held it in place. Her hair was loose except for one small clip that held some of it high on the crown.

Should she have braided it? He’d always liked it plaited tight about her head—but then, last night …

Was she going to second-guess every decision that she made?

A simple gilded sheaf of wheat and one ripe pomegranate were all that accompanied the gown. She could not begin to wonder how a pomegranate had been procured at this time of year.

She was ready. It was a little early, but delaying would only make her more nervous.

One last look in the mirror.

Yes, the dress was decent—if only barely so.

A twist of the handle, thirteen steps down the hall, a left turn, and down the stairs. Would Geoffrey be there, waiting for her?

She was halfway down when a footman crossed the marble floor below her.

He looked up, startled by her presence. “Forgive me, my lady. I was hoping to catch you before you came down. His lordship sends his regrets. He has been delayed and will meet you at Lord Willis’s house. Do you wish me to send for the coach now?”

Geoffrey was not coming home first. It felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach, or at least she imagined this was what it must feel like: hollow and empty and breathless.

Her features did not move as she continued to descend the stairs. “Yes, that would be wonderful. I will wait in the blue parlor.”

Perhaps he had a good reason for being late, a reason that had nothing to do with her.

If only she could believe that.

And if only—the thought suddenly struck her—she had any idea what her husband’s costume was. The very idea of not recognizing him again was almost more than she could bear.

Chapter Twenty-two

“She is not here.” The footman spoke firmly.

“What do you mean she is not here? I stopped by my father’s home and was told that my sister was spending the evening with the Countess Ormande. I wish to speak with either my sister or the Countess. Now.” Swanston made certain his tone betrayed his fury.

The footman paled. “I am sorry, my lord. They were here earlier, but they are not now.”

“And where did they go?”

“I do not know. Perhaps when the coachman returns he can provide the direction.”

“That is not acceptable.” Swanston took a step forward, letting his stick tap upon the marble floor.

The footman’s gulp sounded throughout the entryway.

Swanston took another step.

“I truly do not know where, my lord. But …”

“But …?” Another step.

“… they were in fancy dress.” The footman stepped back.

“Fancy dress?”

“Your sister was dressed as a fairy. She had gold sparkles in her hair, and wings. She wanted large ones but Lady Ormande recommended the smaller ones.”

Swanston was not going to inquire why there were multiple wings about. “And the Countess. What was she wearing?”

“A red dress and strange hair. I cannot exactly describe it, but she did have a crown.”

That was not helpful, but the general description was. They had to be at the Willises’; there was nowhere else fancy dress would be appropriate tonight. Damn. He could have driven over with Louisa and still found his sister.

He had not wanted to chase all over town looking for his sister. In fact, it was the last thing he wanted to do, but from the time he’d heard that she was with the Countess there had been no choice, his having been unable to forget the Countess’s last, threatening words.

At least he knew what their costumes would be.

Just as he knew his wife’s.

Where was he? It was not like Geoffrey to be late. She had tried to understand his not arriving to accompany her. Sometimes things happened. His lateness did not have to be because of last night.

But where was he?

Louisa stared at the crowd of kings, monks, Roman legions, and more than one shepherdess with fat sheep. She was beginning to worry again that he was avoiding her.

Had last night been too much for him? Had his father been right, after all? Had she repulsed him with her passion?

No. That was nonsense.

Geoffrey was Charles. And Charles was anything but afraid of passion. Charles had encouraged her every ardent desire. He would not turn away from her because she’d begun to reveal her passions.

“There you are.”

Louisa turned to find Bliss, with wings flapping behind, hurrying across the ballroom toward her.

“I’ve been looking for you for what seems like forever,” Bliss exclaimed.

“Looking for me? Is your brother here?”

“I have no idea if Swanston is here or not—frankly, I’d rather just assume not. He always tries to get me to stop doing whatever I am doing. He can’t believe I am not causing trouble.” Bliss stopped and fiddled with her skirts. The girl had so much energy it was impossible to imagine her completely still.

“If not because of Swanston, why are you looking for me?” Louisa hoped she did not sound too impatient. Her only true concern was finding her husband. Earlier it had seemed like a good idea to avoid him for a while, but “a while” had passed and she was anxious to get things settled between them.

“Oh, I’ve got someone I want you to meet. I know she has much to say to you.”

She? Louisa had no idea what Bliss was talking about, but as Geoffrey didn’t appear to
be here yet she figured she might as well find out. “Lead the way, my lady.”

Bliss gave a little chuckle at the unnecessary use of her title and then, grabbing Louisa by the arm, hurried off, sidestepping dancers and taking little notice of the many people who tried to wave her down. It was clear that Bliss was liked by all.

Bliss drew to a stop before a pair of heavy oak doors. “She’s just in here. I do hope nobody saw us. It would be a shame if someone told Swanston.”

Told Swanston what? But before Louisa could ask, Bliss had opened the doors and slipped through, leaving Louisa little choice but to follow.

The room was poorly lit, a single candle burning upon the mantel. The circle of light extended about halfway across the room, the corners left in blackness. It appeared empty.

Louisa looked about confused, but Bliss only smiled, a little girl with a basketful of puppies.

“I am so pleased to finally meet you.” The voice was low and husky but very feminine.

Still glancing about, Louisa tried to peer into the darkened corner that the voice had sounded from as she placed her pomegranate and wheat on a side table. A silhouette drew her eye, but she could make out no details.

“I am sorry, but do I know you?” She squinted into the dark.

“I could perhaps say we have met, but we have not been introduced.” The figure moved forward.

Red. The woman was wearing a red dress of quite a startling shade. It appeared black in the shadows, but when the light from the candle hit it, it shone near orange.

And then the Countess Ormande stepped into the light, and Louisa felt as if she’d been grabbed and held still. She didn’t know what it was about the woman, but something about her was both controlling and strangely intimate. And her dress—Louisa had never seen such a creation. The tight, heart-shaped bodice pressed her breasts up until they almost popped, a fashion that had not been common for decades. The skirt hugged her hips like a second skin; was it made of leather? Her hair was even stranger, rising up on each side of her head around a small crown, causing the appearance of yet another heart. What was she supposed to be? Louisa was sure that the viewer was supposed to wonder. Red and hearts? The Queen of Hearts?