Dark of the Moon

by Karen Robards

  Another footman had apparently been watching for her arrival. He led her to the box where Sir Edward waited with his party. For a moment after setting eyes on Sir Edward she hung back, struck by a wave of hatred and revulsion so strong that it was all she could do to make herself overcome it. Had she ever thought him not unattractive, with his tall, thin frame, thinning fair hair, and light gray eyes? It seemed inconceivable to her, as though that assessment belonged to another person in another life. But then, of course, she had had no notion of the true evil that dwelled beneath the bland exterior.

  Sir Edward turned and saw her. She put one foot on the marble step leading up to the box and walked across the wooden floor to join him. He watched her as she came, his eyes moving over her critically. His evening clothes were of dull gold satin, and she knew that he had ordered her to wear the emerald silk with an eye to the picture the pair of them would present. And she had to admit it: had she not known him as she did, she would have thought him an arresting-looking man. But she did know the cruelty and depravity that were the cornerstones of his char- acter, and as he reached out a hand to pull her close to his side, she had to repress a shudder. His eyes met hers, and she thought that he guessed something of what she felt and was enjoying the idea of her hating him while being helpless to do anything about it. Still holding her eyes, he bent his head to press a lusty kiss on her mouth. It was done for the benefit of his envious friends, she knew, but she had to steal herself not to pull away.

  "You're late," he said under his breath. Though his tone was mild, she knew that he intended for her to worry over his displeasure. Her pupils dilated slightly, but she tried not to let her instinctive fear show. Surely he wouldn't come to her again tonight! Please God he wouldn't!

  "I'm sorry," she managed, and was relieved when he nodded and turned to present her to those of the party she didn't know. There were three couples besides herself and Sir Edward. The men were all of the ton, though they were dissolutes who for the most part flitted around its edges. The females were of the Covent Garden variety. Like herself, they were dressed to appeal to the men who provided their daily bread. Their coiffures were elaborate, and two were thick with powder in the prevailing fashion; their faces were painted and patched, and they were clad in slightly vulgar ballgowns that left most of their charms on view. Their names were Yvette and Suzanne and Mimi, and if they had a drop of French blood in their veins, Caitlyn was an Englishwoman born and bred. She sat down with them to partake of supper, and though she tried to join in with their spirit-fueled hilarity for fear of Sir Edward's later displeasure, she had to make more of an effort than usual. When supper was over and couples began taking to the floor, she was relieved. Out of Sir Edward's immediate vicinity, she could concentrate on the problem at hand: how to get Connor safely out of her life again.

  One of Sir Edward's friends solicited her hand for the quadrille that was just at that moment striking up. She accepted with alacrity. The dancing master whom Sir Edward had employed to teach her had drilled the steps into her head so that she could dance without thinking about her feet. Her partner was not so fortunate. While he counted out the steps under his breath, her mind was free to turn itself to coming up with possible solutions.

  No matter what tale she thought up to tell him, Connor was not likely to just go away. She had known him too long and too well to believe that for more than a hopeful instant. The idea of telling him all, and asking his advice as to how Sir Edward could be circumvented, was tempting. Perhaps they could simply run away together, his brothers and Mickeen as well… No, it would never work. Connor's character and Connor's temper coupled with his hatred of Sir Edward, which had been born long before she had ever come on the scene, and his rage would know no bounds if he were to discover how Sir Edward had compelled her to go away with him. Once that was out, there was little likelihood that she could keep the secret of Sir Edward's physical abuse. Contemplating Connor's reaction to that, Caitlyn actually shuddered, causing the arms of the man holding her rather closer than the movements of the dance called for, to tighten.

  "You're so beautiful tonight, just like a glowing emerald. Why don't we take a stroll around the saloons together? There is much-oh, much!-I would show you." The Honorable Winthrop Cunningham actually giggled in her ear at what he doubtless considered the witticism of this last. He was well on his way to inebriation and was not quite steady on his feet as he moved with her in the elaborate figures of the dance. Caitlyn barely managed to mask the distaste on her face. Sir Edward, she knew from experience, would be furious were she to be openly rude to his friends.

  The Honorable Winthrop dared more than he ever had and placed his hand on her breast. Sir Edward or no, she kicked him in the shin, her reaction instinctive. The thought that he might complain to Sir Edward and she might suffer for it crossed her mind, yet she could not be sorry. She felt much of her old spirit beginning to return, ousting the hopeless despair that had been her companion for most of the past year. Though it was senseless, just knowing that Connor was nearby was bringing her back to life. She was less able to tolerate insults and pain, more likely to rebel. Only the thought that to do so would endanger Connor himself ultimately kept her in line.

  "Oh! Ah! Why, you kicked me!" The Honorable Winthrop jumped back and nearly fell on his amply padded rear. No one else on the crowded dance floor seemed to notice. They were too busy pursuing their own intrigues. Trading partners for the night or longer was one of the objects of those who visited the Pantheon. It was an ideal place for gentlemen to meet ladies who were less careful of their virtue than they should be, and for ladies to meet gentlemen wishful of getting to know them better. Of the three couples who had rounded out their party at supper, two, Caitlyn saw, gave every evidence of having already changed partners for the night.

  The third gentleman was the Honorable Winthrop, whose friend Suzanne had disappeared with Sir Edward, for which Caitlyn was thankful. Not that there was a hope that Sir Edward would replace her as his established mistress. He could not perform as he preferred with the others. There was always the fear that they would scream, and cry, and tattle.

  "I'm so sorry, my foot must have slipped," Caitlyn answered, speaking carefully to keep as much of the Irish as she could out of her speech. Sir Edward did not like her to appear too provincial before his friends. It was something else that might lessen her value in their eyes. She smiled with patently false contrition at her partner. "It does that, you know, when gentlemen allow their hands to slip."

  "You're a saucy wench," the Honorable Winthrop told her with a hiccup, reaching for her to resume their dance. There was really no harm in this portly gentleman, so Caitlyn allowed him to pull her back into the quadrille. Some others of Sir Edward's friends genuinely frightened her. She took good care never to be alone with any of them if she could help it, and locked her door whenever she was forced to attend one of their house parties. The Honorable Winthrop was a fat fool, but she could handle him without much difficulty.

  "Where did Neddie find you, anyway?" her partner muttered as the movements of the dance brought them close again. "You are truly exquisite! A pearl beyond price!"

  "You must ask him." Caitlyn responded as she had painfully learned to do to any too-intimate inquiry into her history. Sir Edward had made his views plain the time or two, when she had first appeared in public as his mistress, that she had given out too much information. Caitlyn rather suspected that, despite all his safeguards, Sir Edward feared the news of her whereabouts might somehow find its way to Connor. Sir Edward feared Connor almost as much as he hated him, and with good reason.

  "I'd reward you handsomely should you like to visit one of the antechambers with me, you know. We'd be gone no more than a half hour, you have my word. If Neddie wouldn't like it, why, don't tell him. You may be sure I will not."

  Caitlyn barely bothered to repress a sigh. She wished her amorous partner would hush so that she could think. Time was running out. Connor might even be waiting for h
er when she returned to Lisle Street that very night.

  The dance came to a swirling conclusion, and Caitlyn curtsied to her partner. Already the musicians were striking up again. The Honorable Winthrop mopped his brow. The room was warm despite its size, and he was a full- figured man whose portliness was not one whit disguised by the creaky corset he wore beneath his elaborately embroidered waistcoat. So much exertion caused him to perspire profusely. Streaks of perspiration marred the exquisite maquillage which in any event did little to whiten his florid face.

  "Should you care to dance again?" he inquired, delicately patting his cheeks with a perfumed handkerchief. Caitlyn was on the verge of taking pity on him and shaking her head when her attention was caught by a tall man in a black domino and mask making his way across the dance floor. Though he was some distance away, his progress impeded by both the other dancers who were now assuming their poses and the slight limp that was just barely noticeable as he threaded his way among the pos- turing crowd, she felt her heart begin to pound. The hood of the domino was pulled well over his head, his face was masked, and none of his features were visible. But she knew. She would have known Connor anywhere in the world, in any guise. A glad little thrill ran through her, followed immediately by a cold wash of dread. Her time for reflection was at an end.

  "No," she answered, her first instinct being flight. Then she realized that if Connor were to find her, the dance floor was the safest place to be discovered. She could not let him come across her in the box with Sir Edward at her side.

  "I mean yes, I should very much like to dance," she amended quickly and, clutching the Honorable Winthrop's plump hand, urged the surprised gentleman into the twirling movements of the dance. She was not certain that Connor had seen her yet, though it was too much to hope that his presence at the Pantheon was merely a coincidence. Somehow he had found out where she was and had come after her. What was she to do?

  Connor had changed direction and was coming directly toward them as they pirouetted around the floor. Caitlyn's heart began to beat so loudly that she could hardly hear the music over the frantic pounding. As she had with him, he had an uncanny sixth sense where she was concerned. As unobtrusively as possible, she looked around for Sir Edward. He was nowhere in sight. She could only hope that he had retired to a private room with Suzanne. If she could somehow get rid of Connor without Sir Edward seeing him, all might not yet be lost.

  "Is something the matter, lovely one?" Even the Honorable Winthrop had noticed her agitation. Caitlyn wrenched her eyes back from their desperate survey of the huge ballroom to smile with forced unconcern at her partner.

  "Oh, no, not really. I've just seen an old friend. I-it's rather tiresome, but I must speak to him, I suppose. He's- he's brought news of home."

  The Honorable Winthrop looked both surprised and interested. "I had no notion you still had ties to your home.

  Neddie gave me to understand that you had no one. In fact, he's been dashed mysterious about you, now I come to think of it.'

  "Sir Edward is a-somewhat possessive man," Caitlyn said, her mini working rapidly. Connor was nearly upon them. "Uh-Winthrop"-it was the first rime she had ever said his name-"if you could please fail to mention to Sir Edward that I've-I've encountered my friend, I would be most grateful.'"

  The Honorable Winthrop almost stopped dancing as he looked at her speculatively. "How grateful?"

  "Extremely grateful," Caitlyn said through her teeth. Connor was only a few feet away. As the Honorable Winthrop gave her to understand that nothing would ever induce him to betray her as long as she was sufficiently grateful, Connor came up behind him and put a hard hand on his shoulder. Though he was still masked and hooded, Caitlyn could see enough of his expression to guess what he was thinking. His jaw was grim, and his mouth was set in a hard, straight line.

  "No, no, it isn't he," she squeaked, while the Honorable Winthrop turned toward Connor with an indignant protest that died to a sputter as he took in the size and style of his adversary.

  "Dance with me," Caitlyn said desperately, sliding between Connor and the Honorable Winthrop before any attention-attracting altercation could occur. From the set of Connor's jaw, he was ripe for murder. "Please!"

  "I expect you to be very, very grateful," the Honorable Winthrop said to her in a sullen undertone as she caught Connor's arm and tugged frantically. Connor stood eyeing her for a moment, his eyes glittering at her through his mask, and the Honorable Winthrop, still muttering, melted away.

  "Not carrying any candlesticks up your skirt, are you?" Connor inquired nastily, ignoring her efforts to get him to move.

  "Please dance," she said again, disregarding his remark. "I don't want to attract attention."

  "Don't you, now?" Connor said in a voice that warned her of trouble to come. "Why is that, pray?"

  They were standing stock-still in the middle of the ballroom while all around them brightly clad dancers turned and swayed. Connor's grim demeanor, coupled with his height and size, which were emphasized by the starkness of the black domino, was already beginning to cause a buzz.

  "Dance!" Caitlyn hissed, aware of speculative eyes turning toward them from all sides and praying that none of them belonged to Sir Edward. She curtsied and turned in her part of the dance, and after an instant Connor followed her lead. He was amazingly adept despite his injured leg. It occurred to her that she had never before danced with him, never even imagined dancing with him. Dancing in this formal, correct fashion had been as foreign to her as the French tongue when she had lived at Donoughmore. Now she thought that, under other circumstances, dancing with Connor would be pure pleasure. His hand was warm and firm as he guided her in the movements, his body strong when she brushed against it. The domino parted as he moved, and she saw that he was wearing an evening coat of silver brocade over a matching waistcoat and black inexpressibles. He looked every inch a gentleman of the ton. Caitlyn felt a heady influx of pride in him, which was immediately erased by fear. She had to get him out of the ballroom, away from the Pantheon, at once. For Sir Edward's later delectation, she would make up some story of having suddenly become ill. Though he would be furious and take out his fury on her flesh, he would not know the truth. And Connor would be safe for a little while longer.

  She danced with him down the length of the room, keeping a wary eye out for Sir Edward, who could come looking for her at any minute. She had only to keep the two men from meeting. Even if he saw Connor from a distance, he would not recognize him. Not with Connor in domino and mask. And not with the limp, about which Sir Edward knew nothing.

  "Is your lover here? Is that why you're as nervy as a canary with a cat in the room?" That hard voice made Caitlyn jump, startled out of her thoughts. Looking up at that well-loved chin, which at the moment was set more aggressively than she had ever seen it, Caitlyn felt her heart sink. Connor was spoiling for a fight.

  "How did you know I was here?"She tried to control the quick, nervous looks she had been casting around her as they danced, knowing that it would be fatal to let him see the panic that suffused her. They were near the edge of the dance floor. Sir Edward could be in any of the little saloons.

  Connor smiled grimly down at her as she twirled beneath his hand.

  "I've had a man watching your house since you disappeared. He saw you arrive this afternoon and came to tell me. I was away from home, but when I returned I got his message. I immediately paid a call in Lisle Street, only to discover that you were out for the evening. At the Pantheon. So here I am. You won't get away from me this time, my lass, so you needn't bother trying to bash in my skull again."

  "Connor, won't you leave me be? Even if I tell you that I'm happy, I don't want you, and you're spoiling things for me?" Real despair colored her voice. Through the slits in his mask she could see that his eyes had narrowed.

  "You belong to me, my own. I'll never leave you be. You know that as well as I do."

  So be it, then. That was the answer she had expected, the one she'd
both longed for and dreaded to hear. Suddenly she knew, as well as if some higher being had whispered in her ear, what they had to do.

  "Then let's get away from this place now, together. Quickly." Her words were urgent. He frowned as he looked down at her. Around her, the other ladies pirouetted and curtsied, but Caitlyn quite forgot to perform her part. Instead she stood clutching his hand, kerry blue eyes wide and frightened in the whiteness of her face.

  "Let's get off the dance floor, at any rate," Connor said, studying her from behind the protection of his mask as he tucked her hand beneath his arm and led her to the side. Behind them, the dancing continued unabated. Laughter and music and the lighthearted banter of countless flirtations washed over them from all sides. It was a merry scene, no place for fear or desperate flight. Yet Caitlyn was both fearful and anxious to flee.

  "Hurry," she said, trying to tug him along at a faster pace as she made for the nearest exit. Like the dance floor itself, the edges of the ballroom were packed. Dodging the loitering throngs was no easy task, especially without Connor's cooperation. He resisted her efforts to hurry him, strolling along as though he had all the time in the world.