Everything that preceded this event served as mere stage-setting in her imagination.
None of the guests had been permitted outside to sneak a look. Still, it wasn’t a secret that an army of master gardeners and engineers had conspired for months to design a paradise of private arbors representing scenes from fictional works. The northwest parterre had been turned into an Italian courtyard to re-create Romeo and Juliet. The wedding scene from The Tempest was depicted inside a gazebo nearby. To the east the guests could enter Dante’s Gates of Hell, wafts of sulfur and an occasional burst of artificial thunder in the background enhancing the production. There was even said to be a glade landscaped from Gulliver’s Travels that featured the giantess Glumdalclitch.
But it was what waited at the garden’s end that Lily would barter her soul to reach. According to her cousin and chaperone, Chloe, Viscountess Stratfield, a fabulous grotto had been built to honor popular fiction’s latest darling, the author known only as Lord Anonymous. He had written several volumes of dark-hearted fairy tales and a half dozen or so novels about strapping warriors set in medieval Scotland.
Lily had devoured every word. She could recite certain pages by heart. But it wasn’t until he published the first book in the series entitled The Wickbury Tales that he was denounced as immoral and became an immediate bestseller.
His stories seethed with swashbuckling adventures that drew the breathless reader to the last page—once in a runaway carriage, another time to a cliff edge on a galloping steed. The series always followed the same basic plot—the hero, a Cavalier earl in exile, battled an evil wizard, who also happened to be the hero’s half brother. They fought not only for opposing politics, but for the same lady’s heart.
What intrigued Lily the most, though, was that after six books, the lady still couldn’t make up her mind whether to choose the noble Lord Wickbury or the thoroughly wicked Sir Renwick Hexworthy. Heated arguments broke out in circulating libraries to debate the issue upon publication of each new edition.
Gentlemen tended to favor the exiled earl because he fought fairly and represented the right order of things. Sir Renwick was a villain through and through, an unpredictable malefactor, in their view, who would stop at nothing to win his beloved lady. In Lily’s opinion, she was an unworthy, lukewarm wench who did not deserve either man.
Unfortunately, Lily wasn’t the only lady at the party enamored of Lord Anonymous. Footmen stood guard at the French doors to the garden to keep the curious from spoiling Lord Philbert’s surprise. Lily contemplated resorting to shameless flirtation to be one of the first to view the gardens. If there was any chance at all to meet the author . . . Oh, she was a goose.
She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know what he looked like. Or discover whether the author was a male at all. She would probably be disappointed if she met him. She’d be crushed to find he was a conceited popinjay.
Nothing could ruin tonight for her.
A respectable captain intended to marry her. She had never made an enemy or taken a misstep in her whole life. True, she was spoiled rotten, and sometimes she took advantage of her position. Not to do anything unlawful or spiteful. She simply liked to have her way. But what of it? It wasn’t her fault she had been born to privilege. Or that the worst decision she had ever made was to disguise herself as the Brothers Grimm’s Goose-Girl. It had seemed like a tantalizing idea three weeks ago when Chloe had thought of it.
Tonight Lily regretted the choice. How was anyone to know that she was wearing a shimmering gold silk gown underneath her unattractive plumage? She felt nothing like a fairy-tale character at all. In fact, it would take a genius to realize that she was meant to be a princess before she shed her disguise.
And that genius, unfortunately, was not her soon-to-be betrothed, Captain Jonathan Grace, polite escort that he had always been. He did not seem to appreciate her costume. She caught sight of him shouldering a path to reach the line into which she had drifted. She guessed that it led into one of the supper rooms. At the front of the queue she spotted her cousin Chloe, who motioned distractedly at her to come forward while she carried on an animated conversation with her friends.
Jonathan, tall and shaggy haired, battled for a place beside her. “Why are you standing here by yourself?”
“Because I’m unable to move. I’ve been bumped enough for one night. My feathers are bent and falling off like leaves. And I can’t keep up with Chloe. She disappears every time I turn around.”
“She’s a dreadful chaperone,” Jonathan said, planting his legs apart in such a way as to shield her.
Still, for all his bluff, he was mild by temperament and had never sought a single confrontation since Lily had known him. If anything, he allowed others to order him about. It upset Lily when he hesitated to stand his ground.
“Chloe has been charming to me,” she said.
“Charm runs in your family,” he added with a reluctant smile. “I’d prefer it, though, if you don’t take any lessons from your cousin. I have a hard enough time refusing you as it is.”
“That,” Lily said, “is because you are a gentleman. Even if some of your friends in town are not.”
“They’re not all that bad. Life is different in London.”
“I’ve noticed.” She brushed a crumb from his sleeve, tsking to herself. “What have you been eating?”
“One of the maids slipped me a bun. I’m fair starving. Should I ask her to pinch you a bite?”
“Certainly not.”
“Well, I think you should eat before you get weak.”
“I am not sneaking a bun in line. It would look uncouth.”
“Nothing you do could look uncouth,” he said.
The line into the brightly candlelit buffet crawled a few steps forward. Lily heard the couple behind them mention The Wickbury Tales, and her heart lost a beat. She knew she ought to mind her own business and pretend she wasn’t listening, but when the lady whispered, “And Philbert said Lord Anonymous might make an appearance to acknowledge the tribute to him tonight,” Lily could not restrain her curiosity.
She leaned around Jonathan, ignoring the tug he gave at her sleeve that the line was moving again. “Please excuse me for interrupting, but I can’t resist. Is Lord Anonymous really going to be here?”
The lady sighed. “He might have already come and gone.”
Come and gone? Lily’s heart sank.
Could she have missed him that easily?
Had she brushed against his arm without realizing it?
“Did anyone say what he looked like?”
“Nobody—”
“Perhaps he’s anonymous for a reason,” Jonathan said loudly, nudging Lily back in place. “Perhaps he’s hiding something.”
“Such as?” she asked.
He frowned. “I don’t know and I don’t care. But I have a confession to make before I go upstairs to play cards.”
“I’d know him if I met him,” she said absently. “Which is unlikely, standing in this awful line.”
“How the devil would you know him if no one else does?” he asked teasingly.
“I could tell by the way he spoke.” She gestured with her hand. “His words. He’d say something and I’d recognize him right away.”
“Silly Lily,” he said, making a face. “I’d be jealous if he were anything but a writer.” He bent his head to hers. “Don’t you want to hear my confession?”
He looked so earnest and endearing with his papier-mâché King Lear crown tucked under his arm that she felt wicked for wanting to laugh. As close as they had become over the years, she doubted whatever he wanted to confess would be as intriguing as meeting a mysterious celebrated author. Besides, she and Jonathan would have the rest of their lives for confessions.
“Come clean,” she whispered. “What have you done? Knocked over a vase?”
He hesitated. “I never finished reading King Lear. In fact, I couldn’t make it through the first act. People keep throwing quotes at me about ung
rateful children, and I’ve no clue what they mean. I had to take off my crown so that I wouldn’t be recognized.”
“Oh, Jonathan. What am I to do with you?”
He gave her a helpless grin. “Answer for me the next time anyone asks about the plot. I keep acting as if I can’t hear properly.”
She reminded herself of all his good qualities. He didn’t drink. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and at times she believed him. He always behaved like a gentleman in her presence, and, obviously, he needed her.
“You should have told me this before,” she whispered. “It’s too late to worry about it now. And it isn’t as if Shakespeare will appear to ask your opinion.”
He looked completely unconcerned. “I wouldn’t have even come here tonight if I didn’t know how much you loved your books. Have your evening, Lily. But know that I’m counting the hours until we share a bed. Give me a kiss for luck before I go.”
“Where are you going?” she asked in vexation.
“I just told you. Kirkham and I have been invited upstairs for cards.”
She lifted her face covertly, then pulled away, aware of an attractive gentleman lounging against the wall. He was dressed as a knight, and although he was too far away to hear what she and Jonathan were discussing, his insolent stare indicated that he found their encounter amusing.
How long had he been watching them?
A strange prickle of warmth stole down her neck into her white-plumed bodice. She forced her attention back to Jonathan’s reassuring face. “Don’t be late for the unmasking. Put the crown on before you come back.”
He nodded. “Stay where Chloe can keep an eye on you until then. I promise I won’t be long. And, Lily—don’t let any rakes steal you while I’m gone.”
Chapter 3
Lily smiled ruefully at Jonathan’s parting remark. He could be overly protective at times and utterly oblivious at others. As if she would let a rake ruin her evening. In the first place, the only gentlemen she had met at the party had expressed more interest in the fine arts than the amorous ones. Which was what one would expect at a literary affair.
Furthermore, it would take an unprincipled scoundrel to pursue a lady in such elite company. If the unthinkable happened and she found herself accosted by a rogue, her cousin would come to her rescue.
The viscountess had been Lily’s official chaperone in London over the past two months and had confided openly in Lily about her past experiences with the opposite sex. A dedicated wife and mother now, Chloe freely admitted that she had not only caused but courted a few scandals in her day. She seemed to regard it as her penance to guard a country relation like Lily from succumbing to the same temptations.
What those temptations had been Lily could only guess. She suspected the greatest of them had been Dominic Breckland, Chloe’s brooding viscount.
Lily spotted Chloe talking to yet another pair of gentlemen, neither of whom was her husband, who had refused to wear a costume. “Lily!” she called gaily. “Don’t stand there all alone like a little lost duckling! Come and meet two of my dearest friends.”
Lily shrugged helplessly. Guests hemmed her in at every angle. She straightened to squeeze toward an opening to escape, only to be bumped forward into the next person in line. Lily was not a petite person. She played a strong game of bowls and ate generous meals. She could have given the rude guest a return shove with her rear end that would have knocked him back a few yards. Instead, she craned her neck and attempted to catch Chloe’s attention to signal her inability to move.
“Would somebody be so kind as to—”
She broke off. No one was paying any notice except the insouciant scoundrel leaning against the wall, who appeared to be enjoying her dilemma. She glanced up at him amid the tricornered hats and frilly caps and bewigged heads that bobbed back and forth before her.
Some sort of spear stood at his side. If he was supposed to be a knight, he struck Lily as more wicked than chivalrous. His lithe figure conveyed a leashed energy that she could feel across the room. He kept nodding at whatever was being said to him.
But his eyes glittered at Lily from the slits of his black silk mask. A lady’s hand reached through the crowd to caress his shoulder. To Lily’s amazement, he showed no reaction to this impropriety. It did not appear to provoke him in the least. Nor did he seem pleased by it. But then Lily had let Jonathan kiss her on the cheek, and she had pretended not to notice in the hope no one else would either.
Don’t let any rakes steal you while I’m gone.
Who would want to steal her?
She wasn’t the sort to excite that much passion, even in a rake.
Lily blinked. What had come over her? She would not drink another glass of champagne. At least not until after she ate. And she would not sneak another glance at the man whose stare had practically singed her skin.
She lifted her gaze. Her last look, she promised herself. It wouldn’t hurt. No one else would ever know. One. Final. Look.
Relieved and a little disappointed, she realized that he was no longer looking at her. She assured herself it was for the best. Heartbreak might as well have been emblazoned on his forehead. She wasn’t surprised that females made up the innermost group of guests that he’d attracted.
Still, how he managed to appear lost and affected with lethal boredom was a skill that Lily could only admire from a guarded distance. His negligent elegance announced to the room that he accepted his influence and felt no guilt in wielding this gift as he desired.
Lily might not have recognized such inborn arrogance if she had not possessed some weaponry of her own. Nothing of his magnitude. But she adored the thrill of secret flirtations. And—
She wasn’t merely looking at him now. She was studying him like a masterpiece in a museum. How on earth did he manage it? He gave the impression of a masked god who had dropped in on the party only to let the world of mortals worship in his shadow.
Was that air of dark indolence part of his disguise? Perhaps he was an actor and that was why he had an audience that basked in his presence. She liked that notion. The longer she appraised him, the more she wondered whether he was holding court as part of a well-rehearsed performance.
Demon, actor, or social darling, she found him captivating, too, judging by her furtive analysis of his person. And then it dawned on her that the weapon at his side was a rusty lance, and he wasn’t an ordinary knight-errant. He was Don Quixote de la Mancha, mad and self-appointed protector of the helpless.
“Lily!”
She turned reluctantly toward the sound of Chloe’s voice, her musings interrupted. Then it happened again. Unexpected, breath-catching. Like watching a star tumble from the midnight sky.
He lifted his head and stared at her, as if he’d been waiting to catch her off guard again. What impeccable timing. His lean form straightened. His hard-lipped mouth curled at one corner.
A farewell to their brief flirtation or an invitation to something far more dangerous? Lily couldn’t decide.
She started to look away. She knew better than to encourage this sort of nonsense. A man who stared at a lady like that and didn’t mind who noticed only offered trouble. But all of a sudden her own instinct for mischief took over. Lily could flirt, too, and the fact that she was wearing a costume gave her a false sense of anonymity.
Just for tonight she wasn’t the unsophisticated Miss Lily Boscastle of Tissington, who in a month would become a bride and settle down to a respectable life as Captain Grace’s wife.
She would never see this knight-errant again. The unabashed attention he paid her begged for an answer. But what kind? An alluring smile to admit that she was intrigued? A firm shake of her head that meant a definite no? Or perhaps a little shrug to indicate that while he flattered her, she wasn’t willing to reciprocate with anything riskier?
Would that be too wicked of her? It wasn’t as if he could leap into the air and snatch her up in full view of innumerable witnesses.
She smiled back at him, a playful coquette’s smile, over the shoulder, straight in the direction of his handsome face.
There.
Take that.
And he did, inclining his head in open approval, the devil acknowledging his due. What had she done? She took a breath, transfixed, as he raised his helmet in a tribute that tempted and immobilized her in the same delirious moment.
Several members of his group turned their heads to identify her. He hadn’t been subtle at all. She barely felt the person behind her give her another shove. This time she was too distracted to take offense.
In fact, she was so unbalanced that she allowed herself to be propelled directly into an opening in the line, into temptation’s path, and heaven only knew how far the shameless man would have carried this scandalous exchange had a firm hand not caught hers and an urgent voice not whispered in her ear, “Lily.”
She tumbled back to earth, recognizing the raven-haired enchantress who was rightfully attempting to restore her common sense. “What has come over you?” Chloe demanded under her breath. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not doing anything.” Not that she would readily admit.
“I am going to give you a belated warning,” Chloe went on in such a breathless voice that Lily was forced to listen. “I assumed that because you flirted so well, you fully understood what a dangerous game it can be.”
Lily bit her lip. From the corner of her eye she observed an older, distinguished-looking gentleman entering the room to a chorus of warm cheers. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she lied. “But perhaps you ought to lecture me later. Isn’t that our host, Lord Philbert, just making an appearance?”
Chloe was clearly not to be deterred. She pointedly stared at the gorgeous creature standing up against the wall. Lily wasn’t positive, but she thought Lord Philbert had broken through the ranks that surrounded the charismatic one, which indicated that while the other man might be a rake, he was, as she suspected, an important one.
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