A Kiss of Fate

by Mary Jo Putney

Their boat finally pulled up to the landing. The boatman and Norcott, a Tuckwell footman, jumped out to steady the craft. Sir George climbed ashore, then assisted his wife up before extending his hand to Gwynne. �I'll be much envied for escorting such beauty,� he said jovially. �Three lovely ladies! What gentleman could wish for more?�

  Gwynne laughed as she stepped from the rocking boat to solid land. �That would be more true if we weren't heavily disguised.�

  �Ah, but disguise stimulates the imagination,� Anne Tuckwell said. �Any woman in a domino becomes a mysterious, alluring beauty, and every man can be a handsome prince in disguise.�

  Gwynne smiled at Anne's imagination, but privately admitted that there was truth to her words. Not fond of fancy dress, Sir George wore his usual evening attire with only a mask, but Anne and Gwynne wore dominoes that completely covered their evening gowns with hooded cloaks of flowing silk. Anne was graceful in green, while Gwynne wore the shimmering scarlet domino that belonged to Sally.

  When Gwynne had first donned the domino, she had thought it garishly bright. Yet in the festival night, she found that the sumptuous color made her feel like a sophisticated, worldly woman. Not like a book mouse at all.

  After Sir George had paid their admissions, they walked through the arched passage that led into the gardens and stepped onto the tree-lined Grand Walk. Gwynne stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening at the sight of thousands of lamps that brightened the night. Revelers in costume and dominoes filled the long promenade that disappeared into the distance. The sounds of music and gaiety were all around her, and she felt as if she had stepped from the normal world into fairyland.

  Laughing, Sally caught her arm to get her moving again. �It's far too soon to be wonderstruck. The park is filled with delights�cunning statues and bridges, cascades and temples, paintings and music. One could wander for days and not see everything!�

  Gwynne resumed walking, the silken folds of the domino rustling luxuriantly. With the deep hood concealing her telltale hair and a closely fitted black half mask, she realized that tonight she had the freedom of anonymity. Her spirits bubbled up as she surveyed the laughing crowd, and for the first time since her mother died, she felt young. She could be as playful and giddy as Sally if she wished. Flirting with mysterious strangers would help her forget that wretched Scot.

  Sally said with a touch of anxiety, �With so many people here, perhaps William won't be able to find me.�

  �Your father won't be hard to identify,� Gwynne said practically. �William will recognize him, and be at your side a moment later.�

  Sure enough, as their party prepared to take seats in the supper box Sir George had hired, a dashing, masked cavalier joined them. He bowed, the plumes of his hat brushing the ground as he swept his arm grandly. �What a perfect picture of rural innocence you are, my little shepherdess,� he said in William's voice. �Perhaps I shall steal you away.�

  As Sally giggled, Anne said, �Very well, but see that you bring her back before midnight, noble sir. Or you'll have to face a mother's wrath.�

  He grinned and kissed her hand, then offered his arm to Sally. As the young couple vanished from view, Sir George said, �Gwynne, would you mind if I took my lady wife for a short stroll?�

  The gleam in Anne's eyes demonstrated that it wasn't only the young who found the racy atmosphere exciting, but she hesitated when she glanced at Gwynne. �We shouldn't leave our guest alone.�

  �Nonsense,� Gwynne said. �With Norcott to look after me, I'll be safe enough in the supper box until you return. I shall listen to the music and watch the passing crowd and enjoy myself thoroughly.�

  �If you're sure . . .� Anne said, willing to be persuaded.

  Gwynne made a shooing motion with her hand. �Be off with you, and there's no need to rush back. I'll do very well.�

  The Tuckwells went off arm in arm. Gwynne expected that when they returned, there would be grass stains on Anne's domino. Perhaps that was why the older woman wore green? Smiling to herself, Gwynne turned to the supper box, then hesitated. The box would be safe, but she had spent too much of her life as an observer. The pleasure garden called to her, encouraging her to move and explore and see life.

  �Norcott, I believe that I shall take a walk myself. Will you follow far enough behind that no one will realize that you are watching over me?�

  The footman, a solid middle-aged man, looked uncomfortable. �For a female to walk alone here suggests that she is . . . is seeking a companion.�

  �I'll come to no harm as long as I stay on the lighted walkways. And if someone attempts to force unwanted attentions on me, you'll be there.�

  He inclined his head but wasn't quite able to keep a note of disapproval from his voice. �Very well, my lady.�

  Even knowing that Norcott was behind her didn't interfere with Gwynne's glorious sense of freedom as she set out along the graveled walk. Had she ever been alone in a crowded public place like this? Not that she could remember. Glad that she had worn a comfortable round gown that was easy to walk in, she set off at a brisk pace, as if she had a destination. That way she wouldn't be confused with the languid ladies of the night who were trolling for customers.

  Her strategy seemed to work. Though the scarlet domino drew speculative glances, no one accosted her. Safe behind her mask, she studied the gardens and her fellow merrymakers. As Sally had said, there were many sights to see, and she enjoyed every one of them. The Grecian temple that housed the orchestra was particularly splendid, with globe lanterns outlining the building's arches and columns.

  Watching people was even more amusing. Most were obviously decent citizens out for an evening of pleasure. A toga couldn't conceal a solid merchant, nor did a domino turn a farmer into a prince. But there were a few male figures that stirred her imagination. Like the two lean, scarred men whose army uniforms were clearly earned, not costumes. Or the bored aristocrat whose lazy gaze surveyed the courtesans, as if looking for one worthy of his attentions.

  Soon the orchestra that played in the Grove near the entrance could no longer be heard and the crowd was thinning out. She must be nearing the end of the gardens.

  She was about to turn back when she reached an open area where a group of musicians on a canopied dais were playing. Below them, men and women were performing a country dance, the men lined up opposite the women. There was much laughter as they joined hands, spun apart, then came together again.

  As the last couple clasped hands and skipped up to the head of the set, she halted, foot tapping in time to the music. Wistfully she wished that she was one of those merry dancers.

  Against so much movement, her attention was caught by a solitary gentleman in a black domino who stood near the dancers with a stillness so intense it drew the eye. As she watched, she realized that his masked gaze was very slowly scanning the crowd, like a predator seeking his prey.

  Abruptly he pivoted on his heel and walked away from the dancers, his movements smooth as a cat. Tall and powerful and clothed in night, he was a man to stir dreams. Maybe he was the prince Anne had suggested, or a rake in search of less innocent pleasures.

  Perhaps she should find out. On impulse, she moved on a path that would intersect his. Though she had no skill at flirting, where better to practice than here, where no one knew who she was?

  And perhaps he would dance.

  FIVE

  D uncan strode through the entrance to New Spring Gardens, then paused, disoriented. Years had passed since his last visit, and he had forgotten how busy it was on a fair summer night. The masquerade had drawn crowds of disguised revelers, and the grounds covered sixteen acres of woods and walks. Where the devil should he start?

  If you can't discover her, you're a failure as both lover and Guardian. Smiling wryly, he stepped into a niche that held a large wooden lion and closed his eyes. Was Gwynne near? Yes.

  How near? He visualized the layout of the gardens, w
ith its groves and crisscrossing walkways. When his mind was calmed, he felt her as a moving pulse of light toward the far end of the gardens.

  Hoping he would have need of it later, he reserved a supper box, then headed to the far end of the gardens, all his senses extended. Convenient that the domino and mask he'd borrowed from Simon were black. In this colorful crowd, he drew no attention.

  He used both eyes and intuition to scrutinize the merrymakers he passed. Since Gwynne had come with friends, she would probably be in a group. Was she wearing a costume? Consulting his inner senses again, he decided not. But she was at least masked, and probably wearing a domino as well.

  As he neared the end of the gardens, he found a dance area beside the intersection of the Grand Walk and one of the smaller crosswalks. She was very near, he was sure of it. Eyes narrowed, he studied the dancers and onlookers. Could she be the graceful woman in a blue domino who danced with a short, broad satyr? No. Or perhaps the masked woman sitting on a bench with a group of friends? She looked to be about the right height and build. He was ready to walk toward her when she made a gesture that immediately proved her a stranger.

  He searched for Gwynne again, but she was too close, he couldn't get any clearer sense than the powerful knowledge that she was near. But where?

  Frustrated, he stalked across the open area toward the crosswalk�and suddenly there she was. Even though the woman was masked and cloaked in scarlet silk, he knew instantly it was Gwynne. And she stood alone, her tall figure outlined by lantern light.

  Now that he had found her, he mustn't drive her away again. He forcibly masked the power and passion she aroused until it was an ember instead of a bonfire.

  Then he created a light spell of attraction�not strong enough to affect Gwynne's will, just enough that she would find him intriguing. With luck it would allow him enough time to capture her interest. Then he might attain his true goal�rousing her deeply hidden passions toward romance, not the anger that he had sparked in her before.

  He must disguise his physical characteristics since Gwynne had seen him twice in the last two days. A French accent would conceal his faint Scottish inflections. He would also walk with his weight shifted forward to the balls of his feet, just enough to make his movements subtly different.

  Hoping that her power wasn't strong enough to recognize him despite his precautions, he went in pursuit of his lady.

  �

  Gwynne gasped as the dark man turned toward her. Even though he was masked, she had the sense that his gaze had struck to her soul. She'd had a similar experience when she met Ballister. Was it possible . . . ?

  Even before the thought had formed, she rejected it. As the man walked toward her with a warrior's balanced tread, she decided that he was even taller and broader than Ballister. Her judgment was confirmed when he extended one hand and spoke in a deep voice enriched by a husky, sensual French accent. �Will you dance, milady?�

  �Oui, milord.� She couldn't have refused if she tried.

  He bowed with a courtier's grace, then clasped her hand and led her to a dance set. Heat burned through her kidskin glove under the pressure of his fingers.

  Most dancers laughed and chatted with their partners. The dark man said nothing, but his gaze never wavered from hers as they performed the simple figures of the country dance. Perhaps that silence was why she was so intensely aware of him. She sensed the shape of his limbs under the domino, the controlled movements of long, honed muscles. And though she could not see his eyes, his gaze burned wherever it touched her body.

  As they moved together and apart, turning and double-stepping through the dance, she felt almost painfully alive, like a tender bud threatened by a late frost. She tried to convince herself that she was only excited by the naughtiness of dancing with a stranger, but without success. There was some force in this man that compelled all her attention.

  As she circled her partner, she caught a glimpse of Norcott. The footman had seen her accept the dark man willingly, for he sat on a bench with his casual gaze following her. It was good to know she was protected, though she felt no threat from the dark man. At least, no threat that she didn't welcome.

  The music ended and the group leader announced that the musicians were taking a short break. Mutely the dark man crooked his arm toward Gwynne. She slipped her hand into his elbow, wondering where he would lead her. Charmed she might be, but she was not ready to head into the shrubbery with a stranger.

  His hand rested over hers, warm in the cooling air. �Will you join me for refreshments, my fair lady?�

  �It will be my pleasure.� She studied his lips and chin, the only area of his face visible below the mask. It was a strong jaw. Familiar? She couldn't decide. She thought again of Ballister. But being with him made her wary, while this stranger attracted her like a needle to a lodestone.

  �Are you here alone, milady?� he asked as they began walking back toward the central area of the gardens. Despite the crowds, she felt as if they moved in their own private bubble of mutual awareness.

  Even if she were alone, she wouldn't be so besotted as to admit that. �I'm with a party of friends, and even now a guardian watches over me.�

  A smile sounded in his dark velvet voice. �Milady, angels will always protect you wherever you may go.�

  Why was a French accent so utterly erotic? She felt almost dizzy with attraction. She wanted to run her hands over him, feel the muscles and sinew that lay beneath his domino. Touch those lips, which held such promise. She drew a slow breath to steady her unruly mind. �Are you an angel or a devil, milord?�

  �I am but a man. One who is entranced by beauty.�

  She had to laugh. �You go too far, flatterer. I could be the ugliest woman in Christendom and you wouldn't be able to tell, the way I'm disguised.�

  �One can sense beauty even when it is disguised. There was beauty in your standing proud and alone in the night.� His fingertips skimmed lightly along the inside of her gloved wrist. �There is beauty in your posture and the free way that you walk and in the curve of your arm. Beauty in your soft voice, which soothes as it excites.� He touched her throat delicately with his knuckles, and shivers ran through her. �You are a symphony of grace. Seeing your face and form could only enhance that by revealing the countenance created by life and laughter.�

  His compliments left her breathless. She had wanted to learn to flirt, but she was out of her class. The dark man was the world champion of flirtation. �You could lure an angel down from heaven to listen to your sugared words, milord. I do not know how to reply. I don't even have a fan to rap your knuckles for being outrageous.�

  His laugh was soft and rich. �I am grateful you lack such a formidable weapon. Better that we simply enjoy each other's company, and the magic of the night.�

  She wondered if he hoped to seduce her. The bushes were alive with misbehaving couples, but it was presumptuous even for a silver-tongued Frenchman to think he might be able to coax a woman he'd just met into the shrubbery. Unless her scarlet domino had misled him? But he was making no improper overtures. His behavior was tenderly solicitous, as a true gentleman should be.

  He guided her from the main walk into a grotto that contained a fountain. Colored lamps illuminated a naked female with a writhing serpent strategically draped over her and water spurting from the serpent's mouth. �The decorations can be considered tawdry by the jaded, or delightful by the enthusiastic.� He scooped a handful of water from the basin and let it trickle away between his fingers, the droplets sparkling with light. �Which are you, milady?�

  �I've never been to New Spring Gardens before, so I choose to find everything delightful. How can so many people enjoying themselves fail to be charming? This statue might be vulgar by daylight, but by night it invites the imagination to soar.�

  �I have just discovered new beauties in you,� he said softly. �Those of the mind and the spirit.�

 
�It is fortunate that we are masked, milord, or you would know that I am quite ordinary. Reality can never match illusions.�

  �There I must disagree, my scarlet lady.� He took her arm and guided her back to the Grand Walk. �Illusions are as gossamer as clouds and hold no more satisfaction. Reality can be a flame that consumes.� Wry amusement crept into his voice. �Though I must be grateful that you hold illusions about me. I do not pretend to be ordinary. Perhaps it would be better if I were.�

  �No,� she said positively. �Do not wish yourself less than you are. Even masked, you are extraordinary. Compelling. Enigmatic. A master spinner of words. A conjuror of dreams.�

  �Then it is best we never unmask, milady, for I shall never be able to maintain such high regard from you.�

  His words reminded her how artificial this interlude was. She was entranced by a man who was more a creation of her imagination than real.

  A group of drunken young bucks stumbled past, taking more than their share of space. Smoothly the dark man changed positions so that he was between her and the rowdies, and she could see how narrowly he watched until they were safely beyond. He might be a stranger but he was real enough in his strength and courtliness.

  They reached the colonnade of supper booths. The Tuckwell booth was still empty. She was about to suggest that they could use it when the dark man led her to a different booth that he must have already reserved. Had he come to the gardens tonight with the plan of picking up whatever lone female was willing? Wryly she acknowledged that he had reason to be confident. �Your voice is French. Do you live in London now?�

  �No, milady.� He sat beside her, close enough to touch, but not touching. �I am merely visiting your great city.�

  She scolded herself for feeling instant regret. Womanlike, she had met an attractive man�one whose name and face she didn't even know!�and wanted to think about a future. The only reality between them was this swift, ephemeral flirtation. She must accept that limitation and enjoy a situation too exciting to be real. If they did really know each other, the excitement would be less.

  The dark man murmured an order to the serving man, and a selection of refreshments were delivered almost immediately. Gwynne examined the platter of shaved ham with interest. �These slices of ham are so thin they're almost transparent. What skill the carver must have!�

  �They say that one ham can be cut so thinly that the slices will cover the whole of New Spring Gardens.� The dark man lifted a fragile curl of ham and rolled it into a cylinder. �It's a marvel, but the portions are designed to tease rather than satisfy.�