The Wooing of Miss Masters

by Susan Carroll

  As the line inched forward, Audra soon caught a glimpse of Raeburn himself at the head of the stairs. He towered above most of his guests, the powerful frame of his square shoulders encased in a black evening coat. The glow of candlelight that picked out the flecks of silver in his glossy dark hair did little to soften the harsh cast of his countenance. Audra sensed he was trying to appear affable as he greeted so many chattering females, but it was difficult. His scowl seemed to come so much more naturally, but perhaps that was all a trick of those heavy black brows.

  Still, he looked magnificent, as blazingly fierce as any conqueror of old, very much the duke and the lord of his castle. It occurred to Audra that she had felt much more on an equal footing when she had just blundered into him out by the moat. He seemed much more formidable looming at the top of the stairs, and her heart gave a flutter of trepidation.

  She could have slapped herself for it. After all she wasn't an intruder this time. She was here by his invitation. That reminder did not seem to help, and she started unreasonably when Cecily plucked at her sleeve.

  "Audra," Cecily whispered. "Is that the duke?" She indicated an excessively handsome young sprig near the top of the receiving line, his curls as golden as Cecily's own.

  "No!" Audra was appalled that her sister could mistake such a stripling for the Duke of Raeburn. "He's right over there, by that petite lady that I suppose must be his sister."

  Cecily followed Audra's pointing finger. "Oh," she said, her voice considerably subdued.

  Audra was not surprised that her sister should be awed. Though not classically handsome, Raeburn possessed one of those striking countenances no woman could forget. Audra felt obliged to drop a word of warning in Cecily's ear.

  "Now, I know you have been weaving a great deal of romantic fantasies in your head, Muffin. But I pray you, don't go losing your heart to the man."

  Cecily gave her a very odd look. "No, of course not, Audra."

  Audra did not have time to say more for at that moment she became aware that a footman was intoning the names of her own party.

  "The Reverend Mr. Masters, Miss Audra Masters, and Miss Cecily Holt."

  Uncle Matthew made his leg, but he did not waste much time upon the duke, the old rogue moving straightaway to bend over the pretty Lady Augusta's hand. Cecily seemed to have frozen with terror, but at a gentle nudge from Audra, she sank into her curtsy.

  Faced with Raeburn's scowl, she only managed to blush and stammer, "Thank you for inviting me. You have a very nice castle. I-I have always liked antiquities."

  "You are very welcome, young lady," Raeburn said, "but I am not quite that old."

  His gruff jest completely discomposed Cecily, and she all but stumbled in her haste to get away from him. Raeburn rolled his eyes heavenward, and Audra bristled. What more did he expect from the poor child when he had looked as if he were about to have her for breakfast?

  Her own nervousness dispelled by anger, Audra determined he would not find her so easily intimidated. When his attention shifted in her direction, she dropped a stiff curtsy.

  His eyes skated over her, and he started as though in sudden recognition. He then subjected her to a more thorough and, Audra thought, more critical inspection. His gaze locked with hers at last, and her chin came up. She felt like a duelist about to raise her pistol, but she managed to say civilly enough, "Good evening, Your Grace."

  "Miss Masters. I almost did not know you. What have you done to your hair? I liked it better down."

  "I did not fix it with any thought of pleasing you."

  "Indeed?"

  She hadn't offered him her hand, but he took it anyway, engulfing it in the calloused strength of his own. His mouth actually twitched in the semblance of a smile.

  He asked, "So have you come here tonight for my head or merely to dance?"

  "Neither," she said. "I came to chaperon my sister."

  "Sister?" Raeburn's gaze shifted to where Cecily stood talking to Lady Augusta. Under the older woman's kindness, the girl had recovered and appeared once more aglow with excitement.

  "Ah, yes," Raeburn said. "Would that be the same sister who also didn't want to attend the ball?"

  Audra refused to rise to this baiting, merely wrenching her hand away. Raeburn bent, making an elaborate show of examining the knees of his breeches. Audra was certain she would be sorry for asking, but she couldn't help herself.

  "What, pray, are you doing?"

  "Checking for smudge marks." His eyes danced wickedly. "I don't recall getting down on my knees, but I suppose I must have done so. After all, you did say something about being reluctant—"

  "I said I would not come if you begged, and I'm beginning to wonder why I did." Audra glared at him. "Did you only invite me here to continue our quarrel?"

  "I fear I didn't invite you at all. It was my sister's notion."

  Audra felt her face wash red with humiliation. Forgetting all her noble resolves about spoiling her sister's evening, she turned, preparing to gather up Cecily and Uncle Matthew to leave at once.

  But Raeburn seized her by the wrist, preventing her. "All the same, Miss Masters, I am deuced glad you came."

  The look in his eyes was steady, unexpectedly sincere. Audra found it more unnerving than when he mocked her. She said, "I only accepted the invitation, Your Grace, because I believed you would behave like a gentleman."

  "No! What did I ever do to give you such a foolish idea as that?"

  The thunderstruck expression he feigned coaxed a reluctant smile from her.

  "That's better," he approved. "Put up your sword, madam, and I shall do the same. What do you say? Shall we call a truce?"

  Audra merely arched both brows. For the second time that evening, she regained possession of her hand from him. Since the next cluster of ladies pressed closer, eager to be presented, he was obliged to let her go.

  Simon watched Audra gather up her sister and vanish into the crowded ballroom. It was harder than ever to return to his task of greeting these other insipid females, but he managed. Seeing Miss Masters had given his spirits an odd lift, rendering him almost gracious.

  He had nearly given up on her arrival, thinking she must have changed her mind. Since he barely heeded the names flung at him, he had not been aware of her presence until he had glanced around to find her standing before him.

  Even then he hadn't recognized her at first. She looked so different in that rather drab brown gown, her hair done up so primly. He had been disappointed, wondering if memory had failed him, if he had been incorrect in fancying her something out of the common way.

  But one look into those forthright eyes had reassured him. He should be ashamed of himself for how he had teased her, deliberately provoking her. But her eyes turned the most delightful storm gray when she was angry, like a warrior queen dispensing her thunderbolts.

  Simon never thought he would look forward to such a thing as the first dance, but he became impatient for the orchestra to strike up the music.

  He was down to the last few guests straggling in when his sister stole a chance to whisper to him. Lady Augusta's smooth brow was marred by a frown.

  "I must say, Simon. Your Miss Masters is certainly a pretty little thing with engaging manners, but I would not have expected such an infant to capture your attention."

  "You got the sisters mixed up, my dear," Simon murmured back. "Miss Masters was the other one."

  "The tall one with the flashing eyes who looked like she wanted to poleax you." Augusta brightened. "But, Simon, how delightful."

  Simon gave his sister a wry glance. "Just don't be handing her any weapons."

  He made a smart bow to the last late arrival and excused himself. As he stalked eagerly across the ballroom, the crowd parted and fell back for him.

  A hush seemed to fall all over the room and, at any other time, Simon would have found the air of breathless expectation embarrassing. Every lady present craned her neck, waiting to see whom he would favor with the first danc
e.

  But they were as doomed to disappointment as him. The strains of the first cotillion struck up, but in a room full of eager females, Simon could not locate the one lady he sought.

  Miss Masters appeared to have vanished.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Audra never had any intention of trying to hide when she first entered the ballroom. Having survived the ordeal of seeing Raeburn again, she had meant to blend in with the elegant frieze adorning the walls.

  She felt that she could in good conscience do so, having done her duty by Cecily, seeing the girl suitably partnered. Unlike many of the other more coy maidens waiting to see whom the duke would choose, Cecily had been glad to award the first dance to the poetic Mr. Gilmore.

  "Though I know he can be a bit silly," she had confessed to Audra. "I would far rather stand up with him even if the duke should ask me. I fear I would find dancing with His Grace most terrifying."

  Audra could not blame her sister after the way Raeburn had overwhelmed Cecily with his fierce scowl when she had made him her curtsy. Yet Audra had to admit the man could be unexpectedly charming after his own gruff fashion. She could not help recalling that brief moment he had looked straight into her eyes, remarking that he was "deuced glad she'd come."

  The memory had a strange effect on her, bringing a rush of warmth to her cheeks that she fought to quell. She still concurred with Cecily's view that it would be remarkably uncomfortable to have to dance with Raeburn. Any lady foolish enough to do so tonight would be a marked woman, the focus of much critical staring and speculation. Cecily had been quite wise to prefer the bland, but less notorious attentions of a Mr. Gilmore.

  As for Audra, she had no intention of dancing with anyone, despite how her Uncle Matthew scolded. When Cecily moved off to take her position in the first quadrille, Audra took up hers beneath the shadow of one of the room's towering pillars.

  Uncle Matthew followed, frowning. "It is not necessary for you to linger there, m'dear. Those pillars have been holding up the roof for a long time without any assistance from you."

  "You are quite right, Uncle. As soon as the dancing begins, I mean to find a chair."

  "What! Be seated among the quizzes and dowagers. I won't hear of it, Audra—"

  "Now, Uncle, I warned you before we came that I meant to do no dancing, not even with you. So I suggest you seek out some other lady to bedevil. There will be many needing your gallant consolation once the duke makes his selection."

  Although the old rector pursed his lips with disappointment, he did as she asked. She could hear him grumbling as he moved away and kept a wary eye upon him. She was still not certain the old man would not return with some sprig in tow, attempting to partner her off. But as she watched her uncle's retreat, Audra realized she stood in far more immediate danger.

  Pressing past a plump turbaned dowager, Audra saw Sir Ralph Entwhistle heading in her direction, his bright red hair a beacon even in the crowded ballroom. The vacuous smile on his face and the determined set to his chin left Audra in no doubt of his intentions.

  The fool thought he was coming to claim his dance. Audra tensed. Was there any way of discouraging a man so completely dense? Audra could think of but one. Unfortunately, drawing Sir Ralph's cork would just attract the sort of attention she most deplored.

  Only one other alternative remained to her, and that was flight. Frantically she glanced around for a suitable retreat. Spotting what she thought was a curtained alcove, Audra headed for it.

  Behind her, she heard Sir Ralph's baffled cry. "Miss Masters." As persistent as one of his own hounds, he kept coming. Audra quickened her steps. Darting beneath the curtain, she discovered that the arch led not to an alcove but a long corridor.

  She'd never make it to the other end before Sir Ralph spotted her. Instead she raced to the first door she saw, opened it, and hurled herself inside. Leaning up against the oak portal, she attempted to still her breath, putting her ear against the wood to listen.

  Presently she heard the tread of heavy footsteps and Sir Ralph calling, "Halloa! Miss Masters?" He sounded so very like a mournful dog, baying because he had lost the scent, Audra had to stifle a gasp of laughter.

  She waited, not daring to breathe until she heard his footsteps recede. Flooded with relief, she still did not stir, determined not to make her way back to the ballroom until she was certain Sir Ralph would have had enough time to inflict himself upon some other unfortunate female.

  Shifting slightly, she glanced about her, for the first time taking stock of the place in which she had sought refuge. Light from the fire left blazing upon the hearth cast flickering shadows up the walls lined from floor to ceiling with shelves of books.

  Audra stood transfixed, pressing her hands to her heart. She had heard tales of the magnificent library to be found at Castle Raeburn, but never in her wildest imaginings had she ever fancied a treasure trove such as this.

  Shivering with delight, she stepped away from the door. Locating a branch of candles, she lit the wicks, then like a pilgrim approaching a shrine, she paced reverently along the stacks, breathing in the heady scent of leather, caressing the embossed lettering on the spines.

  Any number of intriguing titles leaped out at her, causing her head to spin. Chaucer and Milton nestled side by side with Fielding and Shakespeare. Among some of the newer-looking books she found Byron, Scott and Austen.

  With a tiny sigh, she pulled a volume of Ivanhoe from the shelf. With the hubbub over this blasted ball, she still had been unable to finish the book. Wistfully, she thumbed to the page where she had been obliged to leave off on far too many occasions. As she fingered the book, she noticed an armchair stood just at her elbow, its overstuffed cushions looking far too inviting.

  She started to sink into it and stopped, appalled at herself. No, truly, she couldn't. She could hear distant strains of music coming from the ballroom, reminding her where she ought to be.

  But by now Cecily must be moving through the steps of the quadrille with Mr. Gilmore. Likely Uncle Matthew was also agreeably engaged. Who would miss Audra if she were to take a few minutes, just long enough to finish the end of one chapter?

  Perching gingerly on the edge of the chair, Audra was tempted to ease off her shoes for a moment. The slippers had begun to pinch abominably, but she feared that once removed, she might never get the wretched things back on. As she perused a few lines of the book, she soon forgot her aching feet. Becoming ever more absorbed, she settled deeper against the cushions. After a time the muted sounds of music and laughter coming from the ballroom faded. She ignored the mantel clock chiming out the passing of the hour.

  Torquilstone Castle was in flames. The villain, Bois-Guilbert, managed to seize Rebecca as he made his escape and Audra rode with them, flinching at every arrow that whizzed past her.

  Caught up in the tale, Audra did not notice the library door swinging open until it was too late. It slammed shut, alarming her so that she nearly jumped from her chair.

  For one dreadful moment, she feared it might be Sir Ralph come looking for her or, at the least, some lofty butler who would demand to know what she was doing in here. As she peered round from her chair, she wished she could shrink to the size of ink print and vanish into the book.

  Worse than any supercilious servant, it was Raeburn.

  Oblivious to her presence, he strode in, looking like a harried fox gone to ground. With grim purpose, he moved to a cabinet against the opposite wall and drew forth a brandy decanter. As he sloshed some of the liquid into a glass, Audra froze, unable to move a muscle, which was quite absurd. As soon as Raeburn whipped about, he was bound to see her, no matter how still she sat.

  She was correct for as he shifted, preparing to toss down the brandy, he paused with the glass halfway to his lips, staring at her. His brows rose in astonishment.

  "Miss Masters," he said. He set the glass down with a sharp click. "I wondered where the deuce you were hiding."

  "I wasn't hiding." Audra flushed, ann
oyed with herself for stammering and even more so for the guilty impulse to whip the book behind her like a naughty child caught pilfering sweetmeats.

  But as Raeburn's gaze tracked from her discomfited face to the book she clutched, he looked more amused than vexed. "You do seem to have a habit of making yourself quite at home upon my estate, madam."

  Audra shot to her feet. "I beg your pardon. If I had any notion you would come in here—"

  "I know. You would have fled to the Antipodes. Oh, do sit down, Miss Masters. We called a truce, remember?"

  When she didn't comply, he barked, "Sit down."

  Though disgusted by her own meekness, Audra obeyed him. Not that she minded being bellowed at, but Raeburn seemed exactly the sort of man to back up his commands with force if necessary. Besides, she was not about to let His Grace think she could be so easily frightened away. She settled back in the chair, resting the book on her lap with forced casualness.

  "I didn't mean to intrude," she said. "It is only I have never seen anything like your library. And the fire had been left burning in here. It was all so inviting."

  "The fire is always left kindled for me. I spend a great deal of my time here, though I always doubted the place would hold much interest for my guests, especially the ladies."

  "Perhaps it wouldn't for most. I always seem to be different."

  "So you are, very different." Raeburn was not the only person to tell her so, but he was the first person to sound so approving. She felt more flustered than if he had paid her a lavish compliment.

  When he stalked toward her, her heart gave a disconcerting thud, although all he did was pluck the book from her hands, glance at the title, then return it to her.

  "Ivanhoe. I've had no opportunity to examine that one myself. Is there any merit to it?"