by Колин Глисон
At last, Voss’s face darkened and his eyes burned with a dangerous red glow. “What happened in Vienna with Lerina was an accident, Dimitri, and well you know it.”
“That may be the case,” he replied, “but it’s clear that even tragedy hasn’t caused you to change your manipulative ways in the century since.”
Without deigning to wait for the other man’s response, Dimitri turned and stalked off. Angelica Woodmore had been taken away by her capable sister and Voss wouldn’t dare make another attempt to accost her. At least, not tonight.
Once the Woodmore sisters were safely home, Dimitri could return to his solace and uninterrupted studies for the last time in the foreseeable future.
Although…perhaps on the way home, he might walk through some dark, infamous street in St. Giles or along the river, just so he could be accosted by a gang of thieves or other blackhearts. He was in the mood for a good brawl.
Might as well enjoy as much of the night as he could, for tomorrow, his home would be invaded.
2
Of Egyptian Queens
“We’re nearly there now.” Maia smiled at Corvindale’s sister, who sat across from her and Angelica in the closed carriage. She glanced at their other companion and chaper one, Aunt Iliana, and included her in the smile. “The Mid summer Night’s Masquerade Ball is one of the most exciting events of the Season.”
Mirabella looked as if she were about to explode with anticipation for her first Society event, and Maia couldn’t blame her a bit. The poor thing had been left in the country for the past seven years with hardly a visit or communiqué from her elder brother. At seventeen, she’d never been presented at court, and her wardrobe was horribly outdated.
It was really quite irresponsible of the earl—not to mention inconsiderate. How was the girl ever to make a match?
She couldn’t move about in Society until she was introduced at court, and until that happened, she couldn’t even think of meeting a potential husband.
Maia was still seething over the way Corvindale had fairly yanked the proverbial rug out from under her and Angelica’s feet to get them moved to his London residence, with nary a thought to their preference or opinions. It had happened two days ago, so quickly and efficiently that she would have been in awe if she hadn’t been so infuriated.
Certainly Maia was used to being the one in charge. And there had been times when she’d wished for a reprieve. But not this way, and not because of an ill-tempered earl.
The morning after the Lundhames’ ball, as promised, Corvindale’s note had arrived. It simply stated that they would remove to Blackmont Hall after receiving their normal afternoon callers, and they would stay under the earl’s guardianship until Chas returned. Before Maia could fly to her study and snatch up stationery to respond in the negative, the earl’s staff had arrived to pack their things, and the next thing she knew, the earl was there, as well.
Just as immovable and emotionless as a brick wall, he was, and nothing she said had any effect on him except to prompt that arrogant lifting of the eyebrow.
He’d arrived just in time to catch Viscount Dewhurst—who’d surprised them all by calling that afternoon—as he attempted to woo Angelica in a private corner of their library. Maia had to admit gratitude toward Corvindale for interfering in that matter, for Angelica had seemed more than a little starry-eyed when the viscount had arrived. And the more she saw of Dewhurst, the more certain Maia was that the man was of no good character—a rake and a rogue and the last sort of man with whom her beautiful sister should become enamoured. Someone like Lord Harrington would be a much better choice for Angelica.
Not only had Corvindale sent Dewhurst on his way, but Maia had also heard him say that the viscount had to leave immediately for Romania.
As for tonight, since Corvindale had considerately supplied them with a chaperone in the form of Aunt Iliana—who turned out to be a delightful matron, although no one was certain whose aunt she was—Maia really only needed to be concerned with herself. Aunt Iliana seemed like just the sort to watch them all like a hawk, but to have an enjoyable time herself.
Maia fully intended to do so, as well. The urge to relax a bit, to be anonymous and be not quite so on her guard for propriety’s sake, stirred inside her. When was the last time she’d actually allowed herself to have fun?
Nevertheless… “Do try to behave with some decorum tonight, Angelica,” she lectured her sister as they prepared to disembark from the long line of carriages. They’d arrived at the Sterlinghouse residence. “Put on a good example for Mirabella.”
Angelica blasted her with a dark look as she gathered up her flowing Greek-style black gown. She was dressed as one of the Fates, complete with shears and a skein of thread.
“I don’t believe you have cause for worry tonight,” Angelica whispered back with an arch look. “No one will recognize me until we remove our masks, and so until then, all of my behaviors will be anonymous.” She held up the black velvet mask trimmed with a gold and silver lace fall that would offer only teasing glimpses of her cheeks and mouth. “You shall have no scandal by association.”
Hmmph. Maia barely held back a roll of the eyes. At least she didn’t need to worry that Angelica would be coaxed into a dark corner by Dewhurst, as he was presumably long gone to Romania.
“Even you could do something scandalous, Cleopatra,” Angelica murmured, “and no one would know!”
Maia drew herself up and the royal staff nearly rolled off her lap. If Angelica only knew how difficult it was to act stiff and proper all of the time. And why she seemed so unfailingly prim. “I certainly would not,” she hissed back, her heart pounding. Having once nearly gone into the abyss of scandal, she would take care never to venture near its edge again. There was that lurking fear that if she relaxed even a trifle, she’d slide back into that black hole of impropriety…and this time, there would be no escape. “And how many times do I have to tell you, I’m Hatshepsut, not Cleopatra.”
“Who cares about Hatshep-whoever? No one could tell the difference anyway,” Angelica said dismissively.
“There’s no asp on my staff,” Maia pointed out.
“We’re to don our masks before entering?” asked Mirabella, finally able to get a word in.
“Yes. We’ll be announced as we arrive, but not with our real identities,” Maia explained before Aunt Iliana could speak. “Only by our character or costumes.”
She gestured with the gold mask in her hand and caught their chaperone’s indulgent eye. At least the elder lady didn’t seem to mind Maia’s managing ways—which was more than she could say for her own sister. “Everyone is to be unmasked at midnight. Although last year, the unmasking was much later,” she continued. “No one was ready until nearly one o’clock.”
“It’s our turn,” Angelica said as the voices of the driver and footman reached them. She was out of the carriage before Maia could respond, followed by Aunt Iliana and Mira bella.
Taking a bit longer, ensuring that her long, whisper-thin glittery-gold gown didn’t expose anything scandalous—like an ankle or a knee—Maia allowed the footman to help her alight.
When she stood still, the hem of her gown pooled on the ground in soft waves over her feet, which were encased in sandals with soles so thick that they made Maia as tall as her sister. Instead of hanging in one single-paneled skirt, the gown was actually six panels that overlapped, but that were only sewn together to just below the waist. This meant that there was ample opportunity for the long slits to show the sheer, lace shift she wore beneath it.
Not for the first time, Maia wondered if she’d made a mistake in selecting such a potentially scandalous costume. But she’d loved it the moment the dressmaker showed her the design, and that was the whole purpose of masquerade balls—anonymously walking the line of propriety. And, frankly, she’d hoped that Alexander would be back from Europe to accompany her to this ball so that it wouldn’t have mattered whether it was on the line of scandalous or not.
Deep inside, worry gnawed at her. Would he ever return? Had he changed his mind? She pushed the unpleasant thoughts away. Despite his occasional letter, the doubts had been coming more often than not lately. For all of her exterior confidence, Maia felt the fear of rejection, of scandal, of humiliation looming in her future.
And unlike most other problems in her life, this was one she couldn’t manage or control. She simply had to wait.
But here she was, without an escort, dressed in a column of cloudlike gold, with an underskirt as sheer and silver as a moonbeam…and completely anonymous. Between the several inches of added height, and the mask, along with the fact that dark horsehair curls had been interwoven with her chestnut hair, it was impossible that she would be recognized; especially since no one would expect prim Maia Woodmore to wear such a thing.
So she allowed herself to relax a bit more than she normally would.
The butler announced, “Her Majesty, Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile.” Maia tried to correct him, but there was an angel and a Queen Elizabeth behind her, and the latter’s farthingale skirts bumped Maia out of the way as she moved forward, so she gave up. She’d practiced walking in them, but there was no sense in getting herself unbalanced while on these high shoes.
Maia caught a glimpse of Angelica as she disappeared into the crowd. Aunt Iliana was on her heels, with Mirabella clinging to her arm, and Maia, for once, found herself not needing to be vigilant.
She’d hardly taken two more steps when she came face-to-face with a knight. She couldn’t see his face, of course, but behind the mask, his eyes seemed familiar.
“Your majesty,” he said with a little bow. “I see that you’ve been neglected by your swains. Would you care for a glass of sparkling champagne punch—or perhaps the effervescent lemonade?”
“A glass of the punch would be divine,” Maia replied. She loved champagne, but very rarely had the opportunity to taste it.
“And when I return, perhaps you would care for a dance?” he added with another bow.
“But of course.”
And thus the evening began, and soon slipped into a whirlwind of dancing and revelry. Once, as she spun carefully through the steps of a reel, Maia caught sight of a tall figure in a dark mask with a red and black waistcoat making its way quickly through the crowd. He seemed to move with great speed, despite the crush, and for some reason it put her in mind of Corvindale.
That had the effect of souring the evening, and Maia shouted to her current partner—a lanky court jester—a request for a cup of punch. The jester agreed, and led her away from the fracas that was the dance floor.
But her mood had been spoiled, for the very thought of the earl reminded her of their exchange in his study yesterday afternoon. It was the first chance she’d had to actually speak to him when he wasn’t ordering her and Angelica about, and he’d been abominably rude, ensconced in his gloomy office with fascinating-looking books stacked hither and yon. He’d practically shouted at her when she tried to open the curtains to give him some light.
Even now, she flushed at the memory of his clipped voice as he looked up from his desk, clearly loath to be interrupted. “What. Do. You. Want. Miss Woodmore.” The periods between each word were clearly enunciated, along with the telling absence of a question mark.
She’d had to swallow a retort at his overt rudeness, and instead marshaled her manners. One really couldn’t shout at an earl, especially when one was a guest in his home. She’d said placating things like, “My sister and I are very appreciative that you’ve agreed to our brother’s request to take on our guardianship.” And she’d actually managed to sound sincere, and to subdue the urge to lecture him on working in such dim light. “As I mentioned in my letter, I didn’t realize he’d made such arrangements with you until he went missing. We’ve always had Mrs. Fernfeather and her husband when Chas has been gone. Regardless…I do not wish to impose upon you—your household any longer than is strictly necessary.”
“That is one thing on which we are in agreement, Miss Woodmore.”
By that point, her fingers had clutched her gown so tightly it would be horribly crumpled by the time she loosened it. “And so I wanted to make you aware of our plans to repair to Shropshire as soon as arrangements can be made for the house there to be opened. My fiancé will be arriving from the Continent in short order and once we’re wed, you’ll no longer be responsible for me, of course. My sisters, including the youngest, will come to live with me and—”
“An odd time to be planning a wedding, with your brother missing, Miss Woodmore. Or are you in such a hurry to marry that you intend to get the deed done before you even learn what has happened to him?”
The memory of those words even now sent anger flashing hotly through her. She’d been trying very hard not to worry constantly about Chas’s mysterious absence—not to mention Alexander’s continued nonappearance (for her claim that he was arriving shortly had been a bald-faced lie)—and the earl’s implication that not only did she not care about her brother’s disappearance, but that there might be a reason for rushed nuptials, infuriated her. Pie-faced worm.
Maia realized she was worrying and fuming again, and she happened to look up as the court jester handed her a cup of sparkling wine punch. It was remarkably cold and quite delicious, with its effervescent bubbles, and she drank it rather more quickly than she should have.
“Perhaps I should procure you another one, my lovely Cleopatra?” asked the jester. “Or would you prefer to get some air?”
Maia declined to correct him about her costume and at the same time, decided she wasn’t about to fall into his little trap and go out into the dark garden. She’d noticed the way the jester had been eyeing her jouncing bosom as they moved through the enthusiastic steps of the reel. He was just the sort to pretend to bump against her and slide his hand around to cup a breast. At least she wasn’t wearing a gown with a lowcut bodice, but instead, a heavy Egyptian collar covered her shoulders and the front of her chest.
“Another cup of punch would be lovely,” she replied, adjusting her mask.
At least she knew she had no chance of meeting up with Corvindale tonight, for when she’d mentioned the masquerade ball, he’d snorted his contempt for the whole concept and dismissed her from his study.
And she’d been more than happy to leave his arrogant presence, too, Maia thought as she drank a second…or perhaps it was a third…cup of sparkling wine punch. To her mortification, she had to muffle a tiny little burp from the bubbles.
“Madame?”
The jester had moved in rather close to her person, and she realized he’d asked her a question.
“Another dance?” she repeated. That would be the second in a row, which wasn’t quite the thing if one wasn’t dancing with one’s fiancé, unless one wanted to be all over the Times’s on dits…but then, she was in a mask. And no one would need to know it was the proper Miss Maia Woodmore dancing two sets in a row—
And then she realized it was a waltz.
A thrill of excitement slipped through her. What a dangerous thought. To perform the waltz, the scandalous dance from Vienna that had caused the matrons at Almack’s to lift their noses and tighten their jowls at the very thought of the debutantes participating…!
Chas hadn’t even officially allowed Maia to waltz with Alexander…although she had managed to do so one time, briefly, in a secluded corridor, without her brother’s knowledge until it was too late. And she’d loved it.
Loved being spun through the space in his strong arms, their bodies close together, their thighs brushing, the scent of his clothes and hair pomade close and fresh—
Maia realized the jester was waiting for a response, and also, at the same time, that her face was quite a bit warmer beneath her mask. And she was feeling quite a bit more relaxed and happier than previously…
“I should love to waltz, sir jester,” she said boldly. And offered him her arm.
They’d taken two steps toward the floor when a
large figure garbed in black and ruby appeared, blocking their path.
“How kind of you to fetch my partner for me,” he said, speaking directly to the jester. “I was just about to collect her for our dance.”
Maia was so surprised that she couldn’t speak, and apparently the jester was similarly afflicted, for he merely stared at the man for a moment. She blinked hard, for it almost seemed as if the man’s eyes had glowed red for an instant…but then the impression was gone. Then, without another word, the jester bowed, turned and walked away—almost as if he’d been hypnotized.
“Your majesty,” said the new arrival, offering her an arm. “Shall we?”
She looked up at him, trying to see behind the mask and to read his eyes, to determine whether she recognized him. There was an aura of familiarity about the man, and for the flash of a moment when she took his arm and felt a little jolt of awareness, she wondered if it might be Alexander. It would be just like him to surprise her thus.
But she quickly revised that thought, tucking it away as wishful thinking. She’d forgotten for a moment her added height; this man was too tall to be her fiancé. His eyes were shadowed by the holes in his mask, which was unrelieved black and left only the very bottom of his face exposed. He wore a dark cloak, and beneath it a waistcoat of bloodred and black, with a brilliant red neckcloth that all but obscured his white shirt. A thumbnail-size ruby in the shape of a diamond studded the center of his neckcloth. She realized he was the tall figure who’d attracted her attention when she was dancing.
“Who are you?” she asked, looping up the extra length of the panels of her skirt into her hand.
He steadied her as they reached the floor and instead of turning her to face him, he shifted to come around to the front of her. “The Knave of Diamonds,” he said, lifting her right hand in his gloved one and settling his other one lightly on her waist.
Although the country dances often required a touch at the hip or waist, and arms linking with arms, the position of the waltz was so different, so intimate, because it wasn’t a passing position. And as she rested her gloved fingers on his shoulder, felt his fingers close around hers, and the burning weight of his hand at her waist, Maia felt warm, and a little dizzy.
