“Well...be sure of it, then,” he said with a mock frown. Though his insecurities about someone accidentally discovering Lusinda ran deeper than he pretended. Even the most innocent contact held danger and the possibility of an intimacy that he wasn’t inclined to share.
Of more immediate concern, however, was Lusinda’s sister, Portia, who seemed particularly obsessed with confronting Ramsden. Such a situation would destroy their entire illusion, alert the ambassador as to an attack on his safe, and endanger Lusinda. He frowned, far too much responsibility for a besotted debutante.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the entire female Havershaw household arrived at Kensington House. Lusinda thought it would be easier if the ladies could dress for the ball together so as to ensure their similar appearance, but they certainly set the quiet nature of the household to shambles.
“Why did you choose this color? It looks horrid on me.” Portia pouted the instant she spotted her sister.
Aunt Eugenia patted her hand. “Now dear, it does not look horrid. Besides I’ve explained—”
“Yes, I understand the reason I’m going to the ball, or should I say the garden. Lusinda won’t allow me to get close to the dancing. It’s not fair.”
“But it is necessary,” Lusinda interceded. “There will be many, many balls in your future, Portia. This one, however, I need for you to sacrifice for me.”
“For the whole family,” Eugenia added. “We’re safe only if Lusinda’s talents are undetected.”
“Lusinda, Lusinda...” Portia chanted in singsong. “It’s always about Lusinda. It seems to me that it’s only her safety that is at risk. Why would the rest of us suffer if her talents are discovered? Mr. Locke knows what she can do and we haven’t suffered. In fact, we’ve prospered.”
Lusinda was about to protest that she had suffered, she had suffered separation from her family, but in hindsight, perhaps she had not suffered all that much. Locke had certainly provided experiences she’d never thought she’d have. It still stung, though, to have her absence regarded as prosperity.
“That’s due to Mr. Locke’s kind character,” Eugenia said. “If he were another sort of man, that wouldn’t be the case. Besides, young lady, your time will come. One day you will wish for the support of the whole family in keeping your secret.”
“My secret? I don’t have a secret.”
Lusinda exchanged a glance with Eugenia. “Perhaps we should take advantage of the light repast in the dining room. It’ll be some time before we can sample the dainties at the ball.”
“You’ll be sampling the dainties,” Portia groused. “I’ll be hoping the flowers are edible.”
“Before we do that, dear, I wonder if that manservant of Mr. Locke’s could assist in moving the parcels remaining in the carriage up to our rooms?”
“I’ll have Fenwick see to it.” Locke frowned. “I’m not certain about Pickering’s whereabouts.” He raised a questioning brow to Lusinda, but she knew even less about Pickering’s location than he did. Since the night of the Farthington affair, he seemed to avoid her presence, a circumstance she rather appreciated.
After they ate, they retired upstairs to rest a bit before beginning the final preparations for the ball. Poor Aunt Eugenia had to do double duty attending to their needs and fixing the girls’ hair so they would look identical. To soften the differences in their hair colors they both wore similar fashionable hair accessories made from the lace and trim of the dress. Lusinda was ready first. She pulled on her long white gloves and headed for the stairs.
Her foot had barely touched the trend of the top step when Locke appeared at the bottom of the staircase. Her breath caught in her throat, he was so incredibly handsome in black tails and intricately tied white silk cravat.
“Damnation, Lusinda. I thought I was to create the diversion. You’re so beautiful, every head will turn your way the moment you enter the manor.”
Her cheeks warmed and she continued down the staircase. She accepted Locke’s offered hand at the bottom of the steps. He frowned.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, trying to see the sides of her skirt. “Is something unhooked?”
“I think you’ve left half of your gown upstairs.” He pointed at the puffy gathering of her overskirt that accentuated her backside. “Isn’t some of that material meant to cover your shoulders and...other parts?”
“It’s the latest style, silly.” She smiled, enjoying his discomfort. “The low neckline is the height of fashion.”
“I’m not sure ‘height’ is the proper word to describe that dress,” he mumbled, with a quick look askance. “If you do find yourself beginning to phase, at least you won’t have to remove much clothing.”
She playfully tapped his arm with her fan. “Actually, I’m a bit concerned as to what to do with this gown if I begin to phase. It’s not the sort of garment one leaves discarded beneath a tree.”
“Let’s review the manor plans one more time,” he said, leading the way to the study. “I’m sure we can find something.”
They both bent over the prints to study the squares and rectangles that delineated the shapes of the various buildings. The tips of her breasts threatened to spill out of the confines of her dress, as she bent lower over the desk. As long as Locke was the only witness, she wouldn’t mind, she thought with a wicked exhilaration. She imagined his hand reaching down inside the bodice to cup her breast and lift it out for his pleasure—and hers. Already a heat generated by the anticipation spread across her chest.
He stood slightly behind her, his familiar scent teasing her senses. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingled with the possibility that his focus was directed there and not at the paper before them.
“There’s a gardener’s shed here,” he said, tapping his finger on the paper. “As long as the gardener is absent, it may prove useful.”
She couldn’t answer. His hand rested idly on her back, his fingers stroking her bare flesh right above the top of her dress. His warm breath swirled around her, setting her nerve endings on edge. She stood to face him.
“D...Do you suppose we might manage a dance?” She tried to sound casual, though she yearned for a positive reply. “It would look suspicious if we didn’t share at least one dance, would it not?”
“Indeed.” His eyes crinkled. “Very suspicious.”
If she wasn’t mistaken, she heard a bit of longing in his voice as well. Her heart expanded, full of the love she felt for him. His head started to descend toward hers for a kiss, but she placed a finger on his lips to stop him.
“James...I think I should tell you something.” She couldn’t keep her feelings for him secret any longer. He should know that someone loved him. Even if he couldn’t return the affection, he should know.
“Hmm...?” he replied, his eyes warming with interest beneath half-shuttered lids.
Her knees turned to jelly, though she wasn’t sure whether it resulted from James’s seductive smile, or the words she wanted to share. “I wanted you to know that I...I love—”
“I’m ready!” Portia announced from the hallway. They both turned to see her beaming face, though Lusinda took a deep breath of relief laced with remorse. She’d been spared an anticipated chilly reaction, but the need to tell him still burned inside. Still, it would have to wait for a better time, perhaps after the mission.
“Wait till Marcus sees me.” Portia twirled in the hallway. “He won’t think I’m so young anymore.”
Indeed he wouldn’t! Lusinda had to admit Portia looked more mature than her seventeen years. She doubted even Ramsden could tell them apart from a distance.
Eugenia appeared behind Portia. “Shouldn’t you be leaving? You don’t want to be late with so many important things to accomplish. Did you check the sky?”
With all the preparations, Lusinda had forgotten to spare a glance toward the window.
“It’s cleared considerably,” James answered for her. Surprised, Lusinda turned his way. He had seemed so nonchalant
this afternoon. “There’re quite a few drifting clouds, but rather lengthy stretches of clear sky in between.”
She caught his gaze for an extended moment, noting a mild irritation that teased the corners of his eyes. Jealousy! The realization sent an unexpected jolt through her. In spite of his earlier carefree attitude, he accepted that she’d be naked during those lengthy stretches of clear moonlight but was jealous of people she might possibly encounter in her altered state. It was a novel concept that sent a pleasant tingle through her rib cage. However, lengthy stretches of moonlight would provide a better chance of success. James would have to adjust.
Lusinda strode forward and took Eugenia’s hands in hers. “Thank you for helping Portia and me to get ready. Should we drop you back at the townhouse on our way?”
“Yes, that might be best, though I had hoped to share a word or two with your man, sir.” She turned to Locke. “Pickering?” His eyes widened.
“He’d be the one. Don’t worry, sir. I’ll be easy on him.”
“I’d be pleased to oblige, madam, but I’d like to have a word or two with him myself. I haven’t seen the bloke all day.” He pulled at the sleeves of his jacket. “Most inconvenient time for an unexplained absence.”
Even without assistance, James looked breathtaking, Lusinda thought, commanding in appearance and demeanor. To think she would be the lucky woman on his arm at the ball. Yes, they must manage one dance. One dance would yield a lifetime of memories. Her heart twisted. It would have to.
Sixteen
THERE WAS LITTLE CONVERSATION in Locke’s brougham as all three of the participants silently contemplated their role in the mission ahead. Still, James and Lusinda managed to exchange several glances that spoke volumes regarding concern for the other’s safety.
Portia departed first with instructions to wait near the break in the hedge until Locke came to fetch her. She was none too pleased to be so far away from the dancing and the young men, but she agreed to wait for the sake of the family, and the rationalization that standing on the fringes of a ball was better than waiting at home. Locke was to make sure that any guards had been drawn away so she could enter unnoticed while Lusinda was off gathering moonlight.
The carriage joined a long line in front of the well-lit and festive destination. Locke hopped out, then offered a gloved hand to Lusinda to exit. Pausing to impress every detail on her memory, she was doubtful she’d ever experience anything so magnificent again. James looked so debonair with a silver-tipped walking stick tucked neatly under his arm. Music from an orchestra drifted out to the street, as well as snippets of conversation and jovial laughter. Women glided by in elaborate silks and satins, feathers and fans—and she was about to join them. It made her giddy with excitement.
If only she didn’t have to think about cracking open a safe under the very noses of all these men and women, well, then she could truly enjoy the evening. She stepped down from the carriage and accepted Locke’s escort to the crush of people at the front door waiting to be channeled through the receiving line.
As often as she had studied the plans for the Russian ambassador’s house, she was still surprised by the grandeur, yet reassured by the familiarity. She knew, for example, that the ballroom lay to the right behind a grand stairway that led to the private quarters of the house. As they entered the foyer, she noted two men in livery on the first turn landing of that very staircase, presumably stationed to discourage exploration above stairs.
Behind the receiving line, she could see lots of activity in and out of the rooms on the left side of the house. According to the architectural plans, those rooms would be the library and study. They had suspected the safe would be in one of those rooms, but she wondered if any important documents would be located in so public a venue.
As they approached the head of the line, she noticed a gruff-looking, slender man, seemingly uncomfortable in his ill-fitting formal attire, standing slightly behind the others in the official line. Locke handed his invitation to someone dressed in the crisp uniform of the foreign military. Within moments, she heard Locke’s name linked with her own announced to all and sundry.
The gruff man scowled, his gaze lingering on Locke. Then he stepped forward and whispered into the ear of the white-bearded, rotund ambassador. The ambassador nodded and quickly glanced their way, causing Lusinda to think their arrival had been anticipated, and not in an especially pleasant way. She glanced at Locke, whose careful facade failed to take note of the interest generated by their arrival. Yet he had noticed. He signified as much by a slight nod in her direction. They stepped forward. Her anxiety grew.
A stiff-backed assistant with a cordial smile on his face introduced them in heavily accented English. The sound so reminiscent of her childhood, she had to repress a smile. This was not the time to remind James of her ancestral roots.
“Your Excellency, may I present Mr. James Locke?”
The two men smiled and shook hands. Then Locke turned to her.
“Mr. Ambassador, I have the honor to present you to Miss Havershaw.”
Lusinda executed her practiced curtsy, but it went unnoticed. The gruff man had stepped forward again, murmuring into the ambassador’s ear. The ambassador’s eyes widened. He turned back to Lusinda with a broad smile and took her gloved hand in his.
“Miss Havershaw, I have heard so much about you,” he said in English laced with the low growl of a rich Russian accent. “I am delighted that you chose to join us this evening. I’m given to understand that it is a rare pleasure.”
Little warning alarms sounded in her head, while gooseflesh lifted beneath her delicate puffed sleeves. Why had the Russian ambassador heard anything about her at all? What did he know? Was there significance to his emphasis on “rare pleasure”? She glanced to Locke, but he managed to keep his reaction well hidden.
“Thank you,” she said, finding her voice. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.” She attempted to retrieve her hand from his grasp, but he held tight. A knowing smile teased his lips. After a repeated tug she managed to extricate herself. An uncomfortable shiver slipped down her spine. Something was definitely not right about his reception.
Locke placed his hand on her back, right above the confluence of fabric above her bustle, and guided her toward the ballroom entrance. Had he placed his hand on her flesh, she was sure he would feel the tumultuous pounding of her heart. She had come here to assist Locke in his mission, yet she had the distinct feeling that she had stepped into her own private lion’s den. She peeked over her shoulder and noted that the ambassador continued to watch them, in spite of another couple taking their place before him for presentation.
“What did he mean?” she hissed to Locke. “How does he know of me?”
“Not here.” Locke smiled tightly and nodded to a man off to the side. “Too many ears.”
She surveyed the brightly lit ballroom. Massive mirrors enhanced all the bright colors and gaiety to mammoth proportions. Riotous colors swirled on the dance floor, fans fluttered along the group of women standing on the sides, laughter and music made conversation difficult. Lusinda soaked it all in.
A bank of doors off to one side of the room opened onto a terrace. From her study of the architectural plans, she knew the terrace stepped down into a garden, the same garden that wrapped around the house to the gardener’s shed. It was all too real, now that she could see the stone and mortar of it.
“Miss Havershaw, how lovely to see you again.”
She turned and stood face-to-face with Marcus Ramsden. Her chest constricted, leaving her heart to thud rapidly against her rib cage.
“And how wonderful you appear tonight,” he said. “May I assume that your illness has safely passed?”
She allowed a reserved smile. “You may indeed, Mr. Ramsden.”
“Then may I be so bold as to ask for this dance, Miss Havershaw?”
Locke stiffened beside her and was about to reply when she interrupted.
“I would love to dance with
you, Mr. Ramsden.” She cast a quick glance to Locke and saw his eyebrow starting to rise. “I believe Mr. Locke has other obligations, and I do not relish waiting with the wallflowers.” She nodded briefly to the side where a line of elegantly dressed young misses waited for a turn about the floor.
“Obligations?” Ramsden’s interest was clearly piqued.
“More of an arranged meeting,” Locke replied, a half smile tilting his lips. “May I anticipate the honor of claiming a dance upon my return?”
“I would be delighted,” she replied with a curtsy. Locke nodded, then crossed the ballroom to the terrace.
“Who the devil is he meeting out there?” Ramsden asked as he watched Locke’s path.
“I didn’t inquire.” Lusinda batted her eyes and feigned naiveté. “It sounds as if a new set is about to begin. Shall we?”
As they assumed their positions on the floor, she noticed Marcus signal to a man, then nod toward the terrace doors. He's sending someone to follow Locke's movements! If ever she had doubts about what she saw that last night at the Farthingtons’, this negated them.
“I’m surprised Locke allowed me to whisk you away so easily, a beautiful woman such as yourself. All the men in attendance are jealous. Look. All eyes are on us.”
On you, she silently modified. She’d noticed the women’s admiring glances, partially hidden by elaborate fans. For a traitorous snake, Marcus did cut an admirable figure on the dance floor. She forced a smile on her face to hide the distaste roiling in her stomach.
“Locke trusts you,” she said. “Implicitly.”
She watched his face for any trace of guilt and saw none. The man was as accomplished at hiding his emotions as he was at waltzing her about the dance floor.
“Locke and I have a long history together. You should trust me as well.”
He smiled as he guided her through a weak patch of moonlight filtering in through the terrace windows. It did little more than raise the fine hairs on the back of her head. A spark of disappointment flashed behind his practiced smile. She swallowed her laughter. It would take much more than a long history or even Locke’s naive endorsement to make her trust him.
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