The Dangers Of Deceiving A Viscount (37 page)

Will looked at Phoebe. She smiled a little self-consciously. “I hardly have the proper attire, Miss Dumbarton. I am not a guest here.”

“The honor would be ours, Madame Dupree, if you would attend the ball,” Will said. “I would escort you myself—”

“My lord, you will have quite enough to keep you occupied,” she interjected, and glanced at the children. “I will keep company with Mr. and Mrs. Turner. They’ve invited me to dine.”

“Are you certain?” he asked, feeling hopeless. “Miss Dumbarton and I will be inconsolable if you do not attend.”

“Yes, we will!” Miss Dumbarton chimed in. “I have come to rely on her friendship.”

Phoebe laughed. “You will hardly be inconsolable! There will be much to divert you!”

“Master David! Please do not put dirt in your sister’s hair!” Miss Dumbarton called. “Excuse me,” she said, hurrying off to tend the children.

Will looked at Phoebe. He felt remarkably chaotic inside—he needed a moment alone with her, just a moment.

“Oh, Madame Dupree, will you lend a hand?” Miss Dumbarton called. The children’s hands were both covered in mud.

“Yes, of course,” Phoebe said, and left Will standing there wearing his heart on his sleeve.

No matter how much Susan begged her, Phoebe declined to attend the ball. She couldn’t tell Susan that Lady Purnam might see her—or worse, Will might offer for Miss Fitzherbert and shatter her heart to pieces. She could not attend. She was really quite adamant about it.

But the night of the ball, there was a knock at her door that she was certain must be Susan. Phoebe stopped her packing—she’d been slowly and methodically packing her things these last two days—and opened the door.

“You seem surprised,” Alice drawled as she swept inside, wearing a gold ball gown Phoebe had made her. She looked resplendent. Regal.

“Come to the ball,” Alice said, dispensing with any small talk.

“What?” Phoebe said, certain she’d not heard her correctly.

Alice touched a gloved hand to her forehead. “Please, Phoebe,” she said softly. “I cannot face them alone. I’ve been such a fool.”

“You won’t be alone—”

“Yes, of course I will. Who will be by my side? Jane? My brothers?” She laughed sardonically. “Please. I…I need a friend just now.”

Phoebe sighed. They had clearly crossed some line. “But I have nothing to wear,” she said low.

Alice smiled and held up a silky blue mask she had kept hidden in the folds of her gown. “I found it among all the other masks in the room downstairs. There is a hood to go with it. It would go well with your eyes…and the silver gown.”

“The silver gown?” Phoebe asked her suspiciously. The silver gown was the one she’d worn to her court presentation. “How do you know about the silver gown?”

Lady Alice chuckled. “Really, Madame Dupree—do you think Jane and I haven’t had a look through your wardrobe? The silver gown with the lovely embroidery and beading is beautiful and would go well with this mask,” she said, thrusting it forward.

Phoebe looked at the mask and smiled a little. “It would indeed.”

Will stood at the door to receive the guests arriving at Wentworth Hall, feeling a bit ridiculous in his mask. He stood a head taller than most men—it was hardly a disguise.

He’d heard enough talk to know that all of Bedfordshire had looked forward to this event. When he was a boy, his parents were renowned for their beautiful balls, which were still remembered with reverence. There were many in the county, he gathered, who hoped there would be a return to those idyllic days at Wentworth Hall when he married.

His guests were in high spirits. Someone thrust a tot of whiskey in Will’s hand, and Jane, wearing plumes of feathers, trilled with excitement when he pretended not to know her.

Will moved through the crowd, playing at the game of masquerade, but inside, he was counting the moments until he might slip away to Phoebe. He had realized these last two days how excruciatingly empty the week had been without her. He didn’t want to be host to more than two hundred souls without her. He didn’t want to dine at his table if she were not seated there. He could no longer deny what was in his heart—Phoebe was the one woman he would love all his life. Now that he’d tasted that sort of love, he was afraid of losing it.

But the end was in sight. On the morrow, his guests would begin to take their leave. He had only to endure a day, two at most, and then he might chart a course with Phoebe, the two of them thinking and planning together. He had only to make it through this night.

Intent on making the best of it, Will tried to enjoy the event. He’d attended two masquerade balls in his life—one in Paris, one in Barcelona—and both had led to rapacious behavior on the part of most everyone in attendance. A simple mask seemed to release the most basic inhibitions in the meekest of people.

Tonight was no exception. Henry was in high spirits, dancing with all the young women. Will looked for Caroline, but could not make her out in the sea of young women with plumes and masks who were dressed in various shades of white. He danced with a woman in black who brushed her fingers suggestively high across his thigh and said, “What a pleasure it is to dance, my lord. Would that we might enjoy a more intimate dance.”

Another time, another version of himself, and Will would have enjoyed her offer of an intimate dance. But he handed her off when the music ended and sipped another tot of whiskey as he moved below the glittering light of the candles in three massive chandeliers.

He was surprised to see Alice standing to one side. He’d not seen her enter the ballroom. She looked, he thought, very lovely. Her mask was simple and gold to match her gown, her smile beneath it pretty. It was amazing, he thought, how her countenance was so transformed with her smile—he’d never really noticed that before because she smiled so seldom.

Was Alice truly so unhappy? He questioned his wisdom in keeping her from Hughes. But, no, he assured himself. Hughes was not only from the wrong rung of the social ladder, he was a rogue and a bounder. His sister deserved much better than that.

He turned away from admiring Alice and inadvertently collided with a woman whose jeweled mask could not have come from Bedfordshire. It was so exquisite and expensive it could only have come from London.

“Lord Summerfield,” she purred. “How lovely of you to have such a delicious gathering so far from London.”

Will leaned forward and peered at the sparkling, wide brown eyes behind the mask. “Lady Holland?”

“You have discovered me,” she said smoothly, sinking into a curtsy.

“How good of you to come all this way,” he said, taking up her hand and bowing over it. “I regret that I did not receive you when you arrived.”

“You were dutifully occupied when I arrived, my lord. But of course I came! The notion of a country ball was simply too grand to be missed. My good friend Lady Purnam from London has never attended a country masquerade, can you imagine? I assured her she would be suitably diverted. The poor woman has not stopped dancing since the orchestra began playing, and she has not once complained of her poor ankles! Have you any idea how remarkable that is?”

“I do not,” he said, smiling. “You must point her out so that I might make her acquaintance,” he said.

“She is just there!” Lady Holland said, and pointed across the room. He followed the line of her fan and spied a slightly rotund woman with a similarly elaborate mask, dancing the quadrille. And about ten feet behind her was Alice, speaking with a woman who stood partially in the shadows. The woman put her hand to her throat and Will started.

Phoebe.

His entire body reacted, filling with heat. She was speaking with Alice, her conversation animated. Dear God, had he noticed how gracefully she moved before this moment? The regal carriage? The beauty in her when even her face was covered? She wore a silver gown embroidered and beaded with tiny crystals, and a pale blue hood that covered her lustrous pale blond hair. Beneath it, she wore a matching blue silk mask shaped like cat’s eyes.

He could hardly carry on the conversation with Lady Holland. His whole body felt as if it were reverberating with his heartbeat. He managed to nod and smile at Lady Holland as she spoke, and finally extracted himself.

He headed directly for Phoebe, pushing through the crowd, ignoring any greeting put to him as the quadrille ended and the dancers moved into the crowd, making the navigation across the room even more difficult.

When he reached them, he spoke to his sister first. “Alice,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “How lovely you are.”

“Thank you,” Alice said with a surprised smile.

Standing beside her, something flickered across Phoebe’s blue eyes.

Will turned to her and inclined his head. “Madam.”

A smile curved her rouged lips. “Sir, I believe I know your identity.”

“I am certain I know yours, and if my sister will be kind enough to excuse us, I should like to invite you to dance.”

Alice looked at him, then at Phoebe, and nodded politely. Will offered his arm; Phoebe glanced around the room as if she were looking for someone before hesitantly laying her hand on his arm. He covered it quickly, lest she take it away, and led her to the dance floor.

“You came,” he said, feeling ridiculously pleased as they faced each other on the dance floor.

“How did you know me? My hair is covered,” she said, sounding disappointed.

He couldn’t help but smile. “It is impossible to explain how the heart knows what it knows. I would know you if you were covered in muck.”

She laughed softly. “Let us hope you will never know me in that state.”

“I am surprised you have come,” he said softly. “You seemed determined to avoid this masque.”

She smiled again and glanced anxiously about. “I came for Alice,” she said, and glanced up at him. The music was beginning; Will took her in hand and stepped into the dance. Phoebe’s eyes were glittering behind the mask, and for Will, the effect was astonishingly arousing.

“Alice is…she is uncertain of herself,” she added.

“That is very kind of you. Phoebe…I must speak with you privately,” he said. “Before the night is done.”

“No,” she said instantly. “There are too many people here.”

He twirled her and pulled her close. “I hardly care if anyone should notice.”

“Will—”

“Meet me on the side terrace.”

“What you are suggesting is careless,” she said, and gripped his hand tightly as he twirled her again.

“I’ve scarcely seen you this week,” he said earnestly. “I must see you. I must speak to you privately.”

Phoebe blinked. He was reminded of other times he’d looked into those pale blue eyes, when he’d been on top of her, loving her. He realized his breathing was shallow, as if he could not catch his breath as he waited for her answer. He was breathing underwater. He was gasping for breath.

“All right,” she whispered, giving him the breath he needed. “But only a moment—”

“The side terrace, outside the breakfast room,” he said before she could change her mind. “Do you know it?”

She nodded.

“It is dark there—you will not be noticed.”

“Are you certain? It’s so warm that there seemed to be dozens milling about outside.”

“There is a full moon and a torchlit path that leads to the lake. Most of the guests are walking there.”

She nodded, and glanced around again, shifting slightly so that she did not stand so close. “When?” she whispered.

“One hour. Midnight. Most will go up for supper then.”

Phoebe’s gaze was filled with longing, Will thought, and another emotion that eluded him. “Midnight,” she whispered.

Will smiled and spun her into the stream of dancers.

T he minutes until midnight seemed the longest of Phoebe’s life.

People were going out of the house in groups and returning with their masks askew. Women were brazenly flirting with men, and men were actively pursuing women, and not always their wives.

The only bright spot in the night was that Phoebe was certain Lady Purnam had not come. She hadn’t seen her familiar rotund figure walking among the more than two hundred guests.

She thought she’d never endure the waiting, but when the clock struck twelve—the witching hour, she wryly noted—she walked through the terrace doors and took several deep breaths.

The night was cloyingly warm, a sign of changes to come. Everyone seemed to feel it—there were people everywhere in various stages of unmasking, laughing together, and roaming about the parterres. Beyond the gardens, beneath a full moon, were more guests. They were not, as Will had suggested, going up to supper.

Phoebe moved around the edge of the terrace, glancing over her shoulder before she stepped through the large planters that separated the main terrace from the narrow one that ran along the east wing of the house.

But before she could slip through, she caught sight of something in the full moon’s light that arrested her. Just below the parterres, near the gazebo, stood Apollo. She would recognize that majestic beast anywhere.

For a moment she thought she had imagined it, for the horse moved into a shadow. Phoebe hurried to the edge of the terrace, leaning forward, straining to see in the dark. The horse moved back into view beneath the full moon. He seemed to be alone, and she wondered if his herd had been completely decimated by poachers. It seemed as if no one could see him but Phoebe—no one turned in his direction. The people by the lake were diverted by something else, all of them gathered around someone or something near the water’s edge. She could hear the raised voices, the deep tones of the men, and the ladies exclaiming.

Phoebe removed her mask and watched Apollo paw the ground. He seemed anxious, as if the people made him skittish. And then, just as he had appeared, Apollo wheeled about and cantered into the woods.

“Lady Phoebe? As I breathe! It is you!”

Phoebe gasped and whirled about, her eyes wide and her heart already in her throat.

Lady Purnam pushed up her mask and squinted at Phoebe. “What on earth are you doing here?” she demanded, clearly confused.