Reckless_Mills & Boon Historical

by Anne Stuart

  Charlotte sat alone at a table in the grass, toying with her glass of lemonade. The though! of wine made her ill as well, but then, she'd never been overly fond of it. Lina had gone off with Sir Percy for a stately minuet, as befitted Sir Percy's age and Lina's attire, and Charlotte glanced around her.

  It should have been an interesting sensation, being invisible among all these people, but then, she didn't need a mast, domino and powdered hair for that experience. In truth, she'd always been invisible to most of them.

  A lively country dance had started up, and Charlotte began tapping her foot beneath her heavy skirts. Her ankle was almost as good as new, and if she were alone somewhere, out in the countryside, she would have danced.

  Sir Percy returned to the table, his florid face flushed with delight. "Lady Whitmore's dancing with young Marchmont, and she sent me to collect you and to take no excuses.”

  “Oh, I don't dance," she said firmly.

  ''She told me you'd say that, and not to pay any attention.”

  She tried her best smile. "Truly, I can't. I hurt my ankle a few weeks back."

  "She told me you'd say that as well. You haven't been favoring it. Be a good girl, now. I'm an old man and most young women won't dance with me. I tend to forget some of the figures, and people get impatient. And I do so love to dance."

  He was doing his best to look pitiful, and there was nothing Charlotte could do. She could give any importunate young man a thorough set-down, but Sir Percy was the sweetest man in the world, and had always been a good friend to her.

  She rose reluctantly, taking his proffered arm. "Wouldn't you rather go for a walk?" she asked somewhat desperately.

  "Miss Spenser!" he said in shocked tones. "Are you suggesting we set up a flirtation? I'm deeply flattered, but I'm afraid I'm past such things."

  She was about to explain herself, when she stopped. He was looking so pleased with himself at the thought of a flirtation that she didn't have the heart to disillusion him. “I'll dance."

  She followed him into the pavilion. No one would ever recognize her, she reminded herself. Her distinctive red hair was now a lavender-white, the half mask covered enough of her face and the domino look care of the rest. She could trip anyone, send them sprawling, and no one would ever be able to attribute it to her.

  Indeed, she could use it as an excuse to kick several people she'd long considered deserving of a swift kick.

  The melody was an old favorite, "Tom Scarlett," and Sir Percy drew her into it before she could hesitate, and for a moment she froze as the other dancers made their prescribed moves around her.

  And then the music caught her again. One foot started tapping, then she moved the other foot forward, and suddenly the dance took over, and she was moving, dancing, her body alive with delight, her feet sure as she followed the intricate figures.

  She would have left the floor once it was done, but the next was a slower, statelier dance, and she couldn't resist, twirling around Sir Percy, around her contrary, around her neighbor, never missing a step. The music sped up, growing livelier, and she moved faster, throwing back her head and laughing with the joy of it. As they performed a figure of eight she passed by Lina, and she didn't need to see her face behind the full mask to know she was mouthing "I told you so" as they went.

  She was breathless, laughing when the song finished, and clearly Sir Percy, who was sadly stout, had grown winded, but young Marchmont, a stripling no more than seventeen, all arms and legs and wild enthusiasm, grabbed her, and she was dancing again, a more complicated set, and one she followed with amazing aplomb. It was the first time she'd been able to smile in three weeks—her body felt strong, glorious, as she swirled through the wonderful music.

  Lina's new partner was an elderly military gentleman, and they'd joined a different set. Charlotte glanced toward her as she stepped into a poussette, changing partners as she moved toward the outward wall. Lina's face was still covered, but she was gesturing strangely, her hands moving in a panicked figure that had nothing to do with the dance. Charlotte mouthed "what" back at her, but the dance made another turn, and she switched partners to dance with a spotty young man in his twenties, who was almost as clumsy as she once had been.

  Her heart melted for the poor boy, who seemed so earnest, and she whispered instructions in his ear every time they did a pass, and eventually he gave her a broad smile as he caught on to the complicated figure.

  And then another poussette, and she took the hand of her new partner as she twirled around him. It was God's mercy that the touch called for in the dance was only momentary, because she'd crossed to the other side, curtsying, before she realized she was facing Adrian Rohan.

  She almost stumbled in shock, but something kept her moving. She saw Lina in the background, having taken off her mask, and her beautiful face was creased in dismay. Clearly she'd been trying to warn her.

  Bloody hell, Charlotte thought a little wildly. He couldn't recognize her, and she was having a wonderful time. She wasn't going to let his unexpected appearance stop her. There were only three more figures with her current partner, and then they'd move on to the next one, and the moment the dance was ended, Lina was waiting to whisk her away. But oh, merciful heavens, it was a Mad Robin, which called for the current partners to maintain eye contact while they slid in front and behind their neighbors.

  Her glasses had never reappeared, and in the best of worlds it would leave her unable to see him very well. But in truth, she had only needed them to read, and she could see into his gorgeous blue eyes quite clearly. They were watching her, no discernible expression in them, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She was just a stranger on a dance floor, someone to pass by as the figures called for it. Even if she was taller than most women she was hardly singular. He wouldn't notice. He had no particular interest in her, and he most certainly didn't recognize her.

  She moved back into place, dropping her eyes. One more step, and it was the Gypsy. The two of them would meet in the center, circling each other, it put her uncomfortably in mind of predator and prey.

  He didn’t know her, she reminded herself, moving carefully as he seemed to stalk her. He danced beautifully, she remembered now, which was probably the reason she'd made such a botch of it the one other time she'd danced with him. She'd already been enamored of him and feeling undignified and silly about it, and his grace on the dance floor had paralyzed her.

  This time she was prepared. She knew he was irresistible, moving with catlike grace on the dance floor and off. She glanced at his mouth, unable to stop herself, remembering the feel of it against hers, remembering the feel of his entire body pressed up against hers, skin to skin, warm and moist, muscles taut and straining, hearts pounding...

  Her face was flushed, her breath coming fast, and she knew it wasn't because of the dance. She held out her hands, crossed, for the final hand-off, and even through two pairs of gloves she could feel his skin, his strength—feel him—and suddenly she wanted to cry.

  And then he was gone, and she was going through the same movements with a plump, middle-aged gentleman, and she-d survived. She hadn’t tripped, hadn't betrayed herself in any way, and Adrian Rohan hadn't even looked back.

  She was almost back with Marchmont, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Once she regained her original partner the dance would be over, and she could escape. She wanted to laugh out loud in triumph, she wanted to burst into tears. Her emotions were way too close to the surface, not like her at all. There was one more right to left, as they circled the dance floor, exchanging hands. It would bring her back to Rohan one more time, but he was looking bored, and his partner, a sweet young beauty, was going to lose him once the dance was over, and she told herself she shouldn't be glad of it.

  She slid, turned and began the right to left, acutely aware of his approach. His gloved hand touched hers for a brief moment, strong hands, warm hands, and then he moved on, never even looking at her, and Marchmont was back, smiling.

  Before he
could draw her into another dance, Lina bad caught up with her. She'd put her mask back on, but her distress was more than clear. "I'm so sorry, dearest," she said in a muffled voice. "Of all the miserable chances! I couldn't believe it when I saw him here. And to end up in your set! Do you think he recognized you?"

  "Absolutely not," she said in a calm, sure voice. "But just in case, don't you think we should leave now?”

  "I do indeed. We'll have to find out where Sir Percy went. He's probably in one of the card rooms. He loves to dance, but there's only so long he can keep it up."

  Charlotte pulled her hand free. She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, but there was no sign of the viscount. His erstwhile partner was now flirting with someone new, surviving his abandonment better than she herself had, Charlotte thought. "Lina, I think it best if I go ahead. It's a short walk to the edge of the park, and there are plenty of chairs and hackneys to convey me back to Grosvenor Square. You find Sir Percy and I'll meet you at home."

  "I can't leave you alone in a place like this," Lina protested.

  "Of course you can. No one's going to mistake me for a trollop, and I can promise you, no one would dare accost me."

  "No one might dare accost Charlotte Spenser with her glower," Lina said, "but the mystery woman in the deep red domino who danced so happily is a different matter.

  "Don't worry—I can still glower with the best of them. Truly, Lina, the sooner I leave here the better, and you can't very well abandon Sir Percy, now, can you?"

  "I suppose not. If you wait a moment I could find Marchmont and have him escort you...."

  She glanced back at the dancers, but Marchmont was already in another set and she didn't dare hesitate. "I'll be fine. There are going to be any number of times when I won't have a gentleman to escort me places, and I refuse to allow that to keep me a prisoner. I'll see you back at the house," she said firmly.

  “At least humor me by heading toward the south entrance. That way if I can find Sir Percy in time we could meet up with you."

  One entrance was as good as another. "Of course," she said, having absolutely no intention of doing so. The west entrance was closer, albeit past the maze and a tangle of lovers' walks. Her earlier elation had vanished, and in its place was a desperate need to cry again. Tears were a weakness she despised, but the catch in her throat seemed to have a mind of its own. The least she could do was find the safety of a carriage and give way to tears there.

  She started toward the south entrance with her domino pulled tight about her, her long legs eating up the distance. The west entrance was just past a row of private dining rooms, and she knew a moment's nervousness when she veered to the right, into the dimly lit walkways. If worse came to worst, she could run faster than any of these mincing creatures in their jeweled heels. Not that Adrian had been wearing heels—he was tall enough as it was. Not that he'd be chasing after her.

  The catch in her throat had now spread to a burning in her eyes. She was too hot in the domino and mask, but she wasn't about to relinquish them until she was away from this suddenly awful place. No one would know, she reminded herself, pulling the cloak more tightly around her.

  The intricate paths looked deserted. Most people preferred to do their courting by the canal that ran through the east side of the park, and the rest were either dancing or eating dinner. There would be no one around to bother her. She headed down one dimly lit path, trying to hold in the tears until she could finally find some privacy.

  She'd forgotten the entrance to the maze was disguised. It was part of the game—people out for a casual walk would suddenly find themselves lost. Charlotte had heard about it, but she'd seldom ventured into the pleasure gardens, and she had no idea that she had walked where she shouldn't have until suddenly she was at a dead end, the thick branches blocking her.

  Simple enough. She turned around and headed back the way she came. She had an excellent memory, and she'd only made a couple of turns. One more, and she'd be back out on the pathway.

  One more, and she came to another dead end. She took a deep, steadying breath. She held still, trying to orient herself, when she heard the breathing.

  Someone was there. It shouldn't unnerve her— she was in a public place. Of course people would be around. Perhaps whoever it was could help her get out of the maze.

  “Hello?" she said in a hopeful voice.

  There was no answer. And yet she could still hear the breathing—whoever it was made no attempt at covering it up. There was a faint wheeze to the breathing, as if whoever was there had raced to catch up with her. Someone older, playing a game with her.

  "Sir Percy?" she called out, wondering if this was his mistaken notion of flirtation. There was still no answer, and she realized with sudden discomfort that someone was watching her. Presumably the same someone who was breathing so heavily. The interior of the maze was shadowed and dark, with only the light outside on the path to illuminate it. The walls of the maze weren't as thick as boxwood, and someone could doubtless see through them. She tried to peer through them herself, but there were four sides to try to look through, and she could see no one.

  She felt the skin prickle at the back of her neck. She had the sudden, eerie feeling that whoever, whatever, was watching her was malevolence personified.

  "I'm not in the mood for games," she said bravely. "Either show yourself or go away."

  Her watcher did neither. He did something far, far worse. He laughed, a low, rasping, ugly laugh that caused her heart to shim into a full-blown panic.

  "Be damned to you, then," she cried, trying to sound fearless and failing. Whoever was in the maze with her was far from harmless. He was evil.

  Wasn't there a trick about mazes, that if you kept a hand on one wall the entire time you'd soon find your way out? Whoever was watching her was somewhere near the center of the maze, and if she kept going that way, she'd run into him. The very last thing she wanted to do. She had two choices, either the right way or the wrong way. She could only pray that she chose the right way.

  Putting her hand out, she started moving, quickly, her feet stumbling a little bit over the ground as she moved.

  And then she heard him behind her, the noise growing louder as he moved with her. Which meant she was heading in the right direction, she thought, almost sobbing with relief. If she'd been heading toward him he simply would have waited for her, like a spider.

  She sped up, ignoring scratches from the greenery, ignoring the lingering pain in her ankle from her recent fall.

  Faster, faster, her own breath catching in her throat, the stays digging into her, the branches catching on her flying domino. She was going to be murdered, someone would toss her body in the Thames—no one would ever find her, if she didn't move faster—

  The entrance to the maze appeared before she realized where she was. She stumbled out onto the pathway, her breath sobbing in her throat, straight into the arms of a well-dressed gentleman, almost knocking him over.

  He put out strong, gloved hands to right her. The night had grown darker, and thank God she still wore her mask.

  Because the man who held her arms was none other than Adrian, Viscount Rohan.

  16

  "Dear lady," Rohan said in that well-remembered voice, "may I be of assistance?"

  She pulled herself away from him> stumbling a little on her weak ankle, as a wash of feelings tumbled over her. Relief. He couldn't have been the one chasing her through the maze. Someone else had been the threat, real or imagined.

  Relief that he didn't recognize her. She had only a moment to think—should she try a French accent, or the cockney one Meggie had been coaching her on? She could manage a Yorkshire accent from living up north with her family, but it all seemed a bit too complicated. Chances were he wouldn't recognize her voice, but a bit of hoarseness would ensure it.

  "Someone was in the maze, following me," she said in a breathless, throaty voice.

  He moved past her lo the entrance of the maze, pausing to lis
ten. The silence was deafening. He turned and smiled at her, that charming smile that seldom reached into his fine eyes. For some reason it seemed to on this occasion, his hard blue eyes bright. Doubtless a trick of the lamplight.

  "Whoever it was is gone now," he said. "But you should scarcely be out alone. Where is your escort?"

  "My friend has gone in search of him," she said with all honesty. The problem with keeping her voice soft and husky is that it gave an unwanted intimacy to the conversation. "I decided rather than wait I would hire a hackney or a sedan chair to convey me home."

  "Then allow me to accompany you until you procure one. It would be terribly remiss of me to allow a beautiful lady to wander alone on these dark paths.

  She had only a moment to consider the wonder of being called a "beautiful lady" before she shook her head. "I thank you, sir, but I am more than capable of seeing to my own welfare."

  "To wit, you wandered into a maze alone and were nearly assaulted. A gentleman couldn't possibly abandon a lady under such circumstances." His smile was so charming, so seemingly innocent, that she was both seduced and outraged. Outraged that his charm could be spread so easily to all and sundry, that he could fail to recognize her. Seduced because all the man had to do was look at her and her bones melted.

  Had she learned nothing from her sojourn in the country, in his bed? It didn't matter how delicious he could make her feel. She was nothing more than a vessel for his lust, interchangeable, and the glorious, transcendent response he was able to coax from her wasn't worth the shame of his contemptuous treatment and dismissal.

  And yet...

  "'No," she said firmly. "No, thank you, my lord. You're very kind, but I cannot be convinced that your company would be any safer than that of the man in the maze."