The Marquis At Midnight (2 page)

Despite himself, Morvyn’s lips twitched.
‘From the state of him, it was a miracle he could speak at all.
Would you care to dance?’ He took himself by surprise with these
last words. So much for discovering the whereabouts of his sister
and leaving. ‘It would be poor behavior on my behalf if I were to
abandon you in the middle of the dance floor by yourself.’

‘Well you could escort me from it,’ the
smile in her voice was unmistakable. She sounded familiar, but that
was probably because he’d met her before at some tiresome social
rabble. It was impossible to get his head around all the females
that fluttered about so he didn’t even try. ‘But as I will be
leaving shortly, one last dance for the night would be
delightful.’

Stepping forward, Morvyn took the lady into
his arms and fit his unaccustomed feet to following the strains of
the waltz. He was not much of a one for dancing, but he did well
enough when called upon and his partner seemed to glide
effortlessly around the floor, making it easy for him. Something
about her stirred his other senses to life, the softness of the
fine boned hand in his own, the smooth feel of the satin against
his palm. He could feel the warmth of her body through the material
and for some reason it struck him as oddly intimate, as if he were
connecting with bare skin. The aroma of something flowery tickled
his nose – jasmine, perhaps, or honeysuckle – and he inhaled it,
enjoying the feminine scent of her.

Inwardly, Morvyn marveled at his own folly.
Minutes before he had been berating every damn fool in the place in
his quest to find Judith and now he was on the dance floor, holding
a woman in his arms and dwelling on her charms like a silly
mooncalf!

‘Have you had a pleasant evening?’ he asked,
rather abruptly.

‘It has been most agreeable. I have enjoyed
the dancing.’

‘You do it very well.’

She smiled up at him and he found himself
staring down into a pair of very expressive dark eyes through the
holes in her domino. ‘Thank you. I fear I am sadly out of
practice.’

‘Then I can only imagine
that you must float when you are
in
practice.’ He cringed at the words as soon as they
were out.
Float
?
Now where had
that
come from?

‘And what of you? Have you had an enjoyable
evening?’

‘I escorted my sister here,’ he told her
wryly, ‘which necessarily precludes enjoyable.’

His partner gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Oh
dear! I am assuming… younger than you?’

‘Considerably.’

‘Then you have my sympathy. A girl can give
an older brother a merry chase.’

‘Truly.’ He hesitated, wondering how it was
that a man of his years and social standing could not comfortably
engage in desultory conversation with a lady. Were his social
skills that rusty? ‘May I ask why you are out of practice? You do
not attend many dances?’

‘Not a great many, no. I am visiting London
from the country and provincial events do not have quite the cachet
of the ones that take place in London.’

She was from the country? He wondered which
county. He himself had extensive land in Yorkshire and Derbyshire.
Perhaps that was why she sounded familiar. He may well have met her
at home. ‘Are you in town for long?’

‘Several more weeks. I was thinking to
return next weekend, but I am staying with a friend and I believe
she desires my company for a little longer.’ It was odd, Morvyn
reflected, but the longer they danced together, the more relaxed he
became. She really was remarkably light on her feet. The waltz
finished and they came to a stop, but it was a brief pause because
another started almost immediately and, almost without thinking,
his hands were reaching for her once again, his left hand taking
her own, his right arm encircling her lightly. She moved back
towards him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

‘It must nearly be midnight,’ his partner
murmured, ‘time for the unmasking.’

‘Masks are to be removed at midnight?’

‘So I have been told.’

His interest was piqued, he had to admit.
Unusual as the situation was, he was curious to see what the
honey-voiced woman in his arms looked like. He was surprised to
find that he already knew certain things about her; she was
intelligent, she possessed a sense humor, and she was easy to talk
to, especially for a man who did not make a habit of engaging in
small talk with ladies. She would be attractive, he decided.
Probably no great beauty, but she was so relaxed that he could not
help but believe that she was perfectly comfortable with herself.
Plain women, he had frequently noted, were restive creatures that
usually overcompensated by wearing too fussy clothing. The woman he
was dancing with was elegant. Not, he surmised, in the first blush
of youth, she was far too confident for that, but not matronly,
either. Her voice was vibrant, her movements that of a still
youthful woman.

You sound as if you are
evaluating her for the position of wife.
The marquis was startled by the thought. He had not put
himself out to find a wife for himself as yet. That unwelcome task
was yet to come and at two and thirty he was in no particular hurry
despite his mother’s opinions to the contrary, but a woman such as
the one in his arms… If he could secure a woman like this as his
wife, perhaps the task might not seem so onerous.

What an absurd
thought!
I really must find
Judith
... But Morvyn’s feet continued to
move around the dance floor, breathing in the scent of the warm,
soft creature in his arms and all thought of his sister disappeared
once again.

Who is this
man
? Grace mused, feeling the heat from the
large hand on her back radiating through the thin satin of her
dress. It had been kind of him to rescue her from her previous
partner. If she had realized the poor fellow was so well foxed she
would not have accepted his invitation, but it wasn’t until the
music had started that he’d shown just how inebriated he
was.

Her new partner certainly wasn’t drunk. He
danced competently, although she could tell that dancing did not
figure large in his life, which she found oddly charming. He had
rescued her and he had danced with her. It was… sweet.

She was enjoying this.
Perhaps it had something to do with the glass of champagne Hester
had pressed on her earlier, but Grace didn’t think so. Once again,
she had that same inkling that life might not be
entirely
over for her.
For the first time since Justin’s death, she felt as if she was
actually waking up. It was delightful to dance in this man’s arms.
He was tall and solid and she
liked
his awkward, tentative conversation. That deep
voice. Grace was almost sure she had heard it before, but it was
impossible to tell where and when. She had practically been a
hermit for eighteen months, locked away in Yorkshire, although she
had nobody but herself to blame for that. Despite the fact that her
marriage had produced no children, Grace had thought it unlikely
that she could ever contemplate marrying again. The pain of
Justin’s death had cut to deep. At five and twenty she was
certainly a matron but somehow, she felt too young to be
matronly
. Perhaps if she
had had children…

Still, here she was,
dancing in the arms of an unknown stranger.
An unknown stranger.
Grace said the
three words in her head again and shivered with pleasure that felt
almost… wicked.

He was tall, no doubt about that. He was
definitely dark, if the wealth of springy black locks were any
indication. A tall, dark stranger was even more tantalizing and
Grace smiled to herself. This was a delightful way to reenter the
hectic world that was society. Unknown strangers who did not know
her history, a night of unrelenting dancing and now? Now she
appeared to be finishing her evening in the arms of the most
interesting man she had encountered all night.

Hester must surely be proud of her for
willingness to embrace such gaiety. Perhaps now she could stop
chiding Grace for behaving like the poor, maudlin creature she
feared she had become.

As was often the case with such affairs, the
masqueraders were to shed their disguises at midnight and reveal
their true identities. What would she find behind this man’s mask?
She could already see a firm mouth and squared chin, both of which
were in keeping with his rather awkward demeanor. Not a ladies man,
but very much a man, just the same. She rather liked the way he
held her; confidently, yet carefully, as if holding a woman in his
arms was a novel experience.

The music came to a stop and they did too.
Grace and her unknown partner, falling into momentary stillness.
Somehow, they had ended up at the side of the dance floor where a
large statue loomed, cutting of the light from the candle sconces,
encasing them both in shadow.

‘Time for the unmasking.’ Grace could only
wonder that she sounded so breathless.

‘Yes,’ he murmured, but he did not move.

‘Shall I?’ She reached up a hand to undo the
string that held on the domino, but, strangely, he reached out to
lay a hand on her arm. Grace paused, looking up at him enquiringly.
There was something, some magic in the air. She could feel it,
trembling and fragile, making her catch her breath. How was it
possible, she wondered, to feel as if she were alone with this man,
in the middle of a noisy, laughing crowd?

But that was exactly how she did feel.

His voice was soft and to Grace, it felt as
deep as the shadows enfolding them. ‘Please. Wait for just a
moment.’

Grace waited, holding her
breath as she stared up at him. He stood still for a moment longer,
then dropping his head, he caught her surprised lips, his own warm
and firm, gentle yet oh so definite, as if he meant it.
He is so certain
, Grace
thought dazedly.
Dear God, he kisses much
as he dances; confidently and without compromise.

She shivered beneath the kiss, but she did
not pull away for the pressure of his lips against her own had
triggered a flurry of warmth within. It rushed through her,
starting in the pit of her belly and flowing outwards, a burst of
sunlight that was as unexpected as the stranger’s kiss.

I am not a wanton woman, but oh, I do not
want this to stop!

When he raised his head, she felt his breath
against her face, coming fast, just as her own was. ‘I’m sorry,’ he
whispered, face still close to her own. ‘That was unpardonable of
me.’

The right words, but he did not sound sorry
and Grace, still humming with the knowledge that she had been
thoroughly kissed by a man whose name she did not even know, smiled
despite herself. ‘It was,’ she agreed, ‘but as it was equally
unpardonable of me to allow it, perhaps we can absolve each
other.’

She saw a smile curve his lips. Reaching up,
he undid the string that held her domino in place and tugged gently
at the knot. Grace pulled off the mask and arched an eyebrow at
him, amused by this highhanded approach.

‘And you, fellow stranger?’

Reaching up, he removed his own mask and
stood looking down at her, gray eyes searching.

Grace felt her smile freeze in place before
it slowly dissolved completely. The muscles in her face seemed to
stiffen, one by one, as recognition chased away her happiness, cold
replacing the warmth inside. She took an unsteady step backwards,
hand coming up as if to ward off the knowledge that she had just
made a hideous mistake.

He appeared bewildered by the change in her.
‘Are you all right?’

‘I...’ She could not speak.
She felt sick. She felt…
Oh God!

She had to get away!

She stumbled back, moving away from him. He
made as if to follow, but she turning and plunged through the crowd
of bodies, desperate to escape. Moving blindly, she suddenly found
herself free of people and flew forward, looking for space, frantic
to be alone.

And then, somehow, she was outside. Without
her cloak and in the chill of a very frigid March night. Grace
welcomed the cold, as effective as a slap in the face for her
turbulent emotions. Moving away from the entrance, she found an
empty alcove and stepped into it, pressing her hands against her
flushed cheeks and her back against the cold stone wall.

How? Oh how could she have not recognized
him?

Although truthfully, they had not met
frequently, no more than twice, and his face had become a blur in
the trauma that had followed their last, brief meeting.

Even so, of all the men in all of England,
she had chosen to end the night with the devil himself. The one man
she had sworn as an enemy, dishonest and craven as he was. And she
had kissed him!

What she would not do to banish the past
half hour from her memory forever.

But how could she have known that she had
allowed herself to be kissed by the man responsible for her
husband’s death?

Grace felt the tears come and let them
flow.

There were not enough tears in the world to
make this right.

Chapter Two

Grace slept in the next morning and awoke
heavy eyed and headachy, but no longer feeling as if the world were
coming to an end. She was not, by nature, a dramatic woman and
found it hard to maintain the level of shocked distress that she
had experienced the night before. Hester had always said she was
positively dull, unable to show the proper level of histrionics
most females reveled in.