by Jenna Jaxon
CHAPTER 3
Matthew stared at the door, his mind reeling at Fanny’s capricious words. Seven long years he’d waited to make his proposal and she’d refused him in less than a minute. Why he didn’t say to hell with the woman and marry someone else he couldn’t fathom. Just that he couldn’t. The woman had enchanted him body and soul ten years ago when he’d vowed no one else would be his countess. He’d waited this long; might as well bide his time a bit longer.
Running his hand through his hair, he glanced around the room. What kind of library had no libation in it for a thirsty guest? The refreshment room would have to do, although little hope of anything stronger than lemonade there. With a shake of his head, Matthew quit the library and headed back into the main rooms where the masquerade became even more risqué. He witnessed a couple not quite in the shadows, the woman in a Cleopatra costume with her back against the wall while a Roman gladiator kissed the tops of her mostly visible breasts.
As he passed them the woman’s moans recalled Fanny to him. Damn. His member had stiffened as by magic and his thin costume wouldn’t disguise it for long. He hurried on, hoping for the refreshment room and something, anything to cool his ardor. Turning sideways to avoid a shrieking medieval princess and the Zeus who chased her, Matthew bumped into another couple, a courtier and some kind of goddess in flowy white robes, their mouths locked together. God, he would go mad if he couldn’t get away from all these rutting couples.
At last he rounded a corner into a room filled with long tables loaded with row upon row of delicacies. Sugary pastries, savory lobster patties, puddings and salads enough to make the mouth water. At the end of one he recognized his erstwhile accomplice.
“Abandoned your post a bit early, did you, Kinellan?” Matthew sidled up beside the tall man who could almost have been his twin in earnest.
Gareth, Eighth Marquess of Kinellan, shrugged and forked three patties and a cherry tart onto his already full plate. “Once Aphrodite fled the room, the guard dog ceased to be relevant. So I thought I’d pop along and have a feed.” He glanced up at Matthew, a smirk on his lips. “I assumed you’d be along eventually.”
“Indeed.” Matthew picked up a plate, although still unsettled enough that the food appealed to him not at all.
“I take it things did not go as planned.”
“Hardly. Had they done so Aphrodite would have left on my arm or at my side.”
Kinellan cocked his head. “You proposed?”
“I did.”
“And she refused you?”
“She did.” Matthew speared a patty with enough force to break it in two.
“Is the woman daft?” His friend frowned as he added a slice of cake to his plate and turned to survey the room. “There, that small table in the corner.”
Matthew threw several other savories onto his plate, not paying attention to which fork he grabbed, then followed him to a table scarcely large enough to hold their plates. After juggling the silverware a bit, he forked a lobster patty into his mouth. A heavenly rich sauce burst in his mouth. “Umm. Damned good, this.”
“Wait until you try the capon in pastry.” Kinellan popped one in his mouth and sighed. “Gods, I could live on these, I believe. Do you think I could steal Lady Beaumont’s cook?”
“Huh. You’d have a better chance of stealing Lady Beaumont herself.” Matthew crunched into one of the pastries. His friend was right. “Fanny’s a strong-willed woman, one of the things I most admire about her. Even when she was first out, she spoke her mind, at least more so than most of the young ladies. I found that refreshing and”—he chuckled at the memory of Fanny rapping his hand with her fan—“more than a little stimulating. I love a challenge. She’s never let me down where that’s concerned.”
“And you’ve been besotted with her ever since? When was she out?”
“Ten years ago.”
“Gods. When she turned you down then, why didn’t you offer for another lady? There must have been a few about.”
Glaring at his friend over the table, Matthew gulped his lemonade, cursing that it wasn’t something stronger. “Because I was in love with Fanny. When she married Lord Stephen I thought I’d go mad. But I lingered in London.” Oh yes, he’d dawdled in Town for three long years. “I knew Lord Stephen’s reputation. It was only a matter of time before he strayed.” He carefully put the empty glass on the table. “I wanted to be there if Fanny needed me.”
“And I assume she did.”
“Less quickly than I would have imagined. But then they followed the drum for the first year, his cavalry regiment drilling at Windsor or patrolling the countryside. I saw her whenever he was on leave in London and she seemed happy enough.” He’d known—or God help him, had he hoped?—it wouldn’t last. “Then in ’08 he got a long leave in London. I saw Fanny more at balls and parties, but less and less often with her husband. Each time I saw her she looked sadder and angrier.”
“And you became her friend.”
“I did.” Matthew looked away. “I comforted her as best I could.” She’d cried brokenheartedly in his arms after she’d found out about her husband’s worst infidelity. “Then I tried to persuade her to run away with me.”
Kinellan’s eyebrows jumped an inch. “Gods, you’re a crack shot.”
Shrugging, Matthew crossed his arms over his chest. “I took a chance and lost. She refused me. Again. Much as she despised Stephen by this point, she wouldn’t break her vows. She went back to him and I returned to Hunter’s Cross, in self-imposed exile for the past seven years.”
“You’ve more tenacity than I ever have, I must say.” Kinellan tugged at his mask. “Can we take these infernal things off, at least to eat? Damned nuisance.”
“It’s not midnight yet, but I don’t particularly care if you do. I know you’re the Marquess of Kinellan if no one else does.” Matthew laughed and allowed his boyhood friend to change the subject as he ripped the glittery mask from his face and sent it sailing across the room. “I suppose there’s something to be said for being recognized. You’ll have the ladies flocking to you now.”
“If they wouldn’t have me when they didn’t know me, I’ll not have them when they do.” Kinellan puckered his lips before biting into a cherry tart. He wolfed it down in two bites, then licked the crumbs from his fingers.
“Have you no one to feed you at Castle Kinellan?” Matthew forked up another lobster patty. Lady Beaumont did have a treasure in her current cook.
“Mrs. McGraw is tolerable, but it’s very plain cooking.” Seizing another capon pastry, Kinellan bit into it slowly, a look of ecstasy on his face. “I’m lucky if I get a decent pudding out of her.” He swallowed the second bite and sipped his lemonade. “So now, after all this time, you intend to go after Lady Stephen?”
“Of course I do.” The food must have rattled his friend’s brain. “I’m going to dance with her before the night is through, and marry her before the year is out.”
“Six months to convince her to marry you? Giving yourself a bit of a leeway, aren’t you? You thought she’d agree to marry you tonight.” Kinellan lined up a row of ratafia cakes across his plate. “Sounds like you have doubts she’ll take you.”
“Where Fanny is concerned, I wouldn’t wager on anything.” An unfortunate truth he hated to admit. But he had hopes. Her response to his kisses tonight had been sweeter than he’d imagined. Than he’d remembered. He’d woo her back into his life—and into his bed—before the summer was done. “But I’ve planned an assault in the event she didn’t succumb to my roguish charm.”
“Assault is it? Are we to launch a Widow’s Campaign?” Mischief showed in his friend’s dark blue eyes.
“Indeed, we are. First sally staunchly rebuffed. Second one to be more carefully planned.” Matthew glanced at the lean-faced man across from him. “You’d planned to accompany me to Brighton, hadn’t you?”
“Nothing much else to do until the shooting begins in August. Brighton could be a lark. Do you plan to
take up sea bathing?” Kinellan leaned back in his chair, cake in hand.
“I do.” Matthew smirked. “I understand it can be very stimulating.”
“Gods, with the weather as cold as it is, I should say so. Even in June.”
“You have no idea.” Matthew laid his fork on his plate. “Now, I need a new disguise.”
* * *
Taking hands again with a short, stout Cupid, Fanny tried in vain to keep her mind on the dance as they cast off then performed a two-hand turn. Matthew had no right to appear out of thin air and force his way back into her life. Neither was it fair of him to propose before she’d even taken it in that he’d returned.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, my dear.” Cupid had trod squarely on her foot.
The pain registered, but only as a bare nuisance. “Not at all, sir. It was likely my mistake in the step. Do we circle right, now?” She should never have agreed to dance again tonight. Not while her mind was so disengaged. Grasping her partner’s hands, Fanny managed to follow around the circle until they returned to place, which thankfully left them out for several measures.
“Are you enjoying yourself tonight, Aphrodite?” Her Cupid seemed to feel conversation necessary. Pity.
“As much as a goddess can when surrounded by mere mortals. Don’t you find that tedious as well? Wouldn’t you rather confer only with your fellow gods and goddesses?” She’d been keeping a keen eye out for Matthew. Had this not been her first ball in over a year, she’d have left as soon as she fled the library. But she’d be dashed if she’d let his lordship ruin her first night of freedom.
“I would indeed, if they were all as ravishing and regal as you.” The little man’s eyes gleamed behind his rough, white half-mask.
Lord, not another one. Well, this was the freedom she had sought. “You are kind, Cupid. But we are back in the set.”
Thank goodness. They cast up and went down the set and Fanny took care to concentrate on the steps, as much to not miss them as to discourage more conversation. The set should almost be done. Another set-to with her partner, another circle right. When they reached their places, the music changed for a bow and Fanny allowed Cupid to lead her from the floor.
“My thanks, Cupid, for your nimble feet when mine seemed so clumsy.” Surreptitiously, Fanny glanced about for an acquaintance. “Allow me to visit Athena there, to borrow wisdom before I commit further folly on the dance floor.”
“Of course, my goddess.” He bowed, a good sport who knew her interest lay elsewhere.
She dipped a curtsy and hurried toward a woman dressed in classic robes, a warlike helmet, and an owl perched on her shoulder. The woman had enough height she might be Lady Sophia Mallory, a friend of her come-out Season, now Lady Fauquier. Fanny hurried toward her.
“Aphrodite. A goddess I have long adored.”
Stopping so swiftly her slippers slid on the polished floor, Fanny wavered precariously before a strong hand grabbed her arm. She spun around, lips pursed to show her displeasure if that grasp belonged to Pollux.
A breathy little squeak escaped instead when she beheld a tall man in a red domino, his face covered in a black oval mask that hid his features completely.
“Unhand me, sir. I will not be accosted by an enigma.” The featureless robe hid any distinguishing characteristics, save his height. Taller than Matthew, to be sure. She relaxed a trifle. Perhaps this mysterious gentleman would take her mind off Lord Lathbury’s proposal.
“Then allow me to partner you in the next set. By the end, I’m certain I’ll be no more a mystery to you than your own true love.”
Fanny started at his words, but the voice wasn’t Matthew’s. Deeper, more gravelly. More dangerous. The very adventure she’d been longing for. “You will need to be transparent indeed, Monsieur Domino, to accomplish that in the course of a single set.”
“I am yours to command.” He offered his arm, still clothed in the folds of the robe, and she lay her hand upon it, a thrill of excitement shooting through her. Sweeping her back onto the floor, he steered her toward the top of the line where a Longways set was forming.
“We are to be the top couple?” Fanny raised her brows, then realized he couldn’t see her arch movement. Masks did have their drawbacks. Settling for dropping her hand from his arm, she straightened her shoulders and glared at him, with what she hoped was a piercing stare.
He chuckled. “You should be placed at the head of everything you do, my goddess. Do you not agree?”
How was one supposed to answer that? The gentleman was too clever by half. “Then I should be ranked above you as well?”
“Of course. I am a mere nothing. If I had my way, you would be on a pedestal, above all the mere mortals and even the rulers of Olympus.” He shifted stiffly, an odd movement for one who had been so graceful moments ago. “Ah, we are ready.”
The orchestra raised their instruments and called for La Bagatelle.
Fanny and the Domino bowed to one another, then began to set to the second lady. A very active dance for the first couple, who set to and circled with the second couple, then she joined hands with her partner and moved quickly down the center and back. A spritely dance that, because they were a lead couple, kept them in almost constant motion. That would not do. She would discover who this mystery gentleman was. No one of his height came to mind, but nothing else gave him away either. Well, he could not avoid talking to her. She’d puzzle it out from that.
“How does one address a cipher, pray tell?” she asked as they turned right, his bright robes billowing out behind him.
“However Aphrodite wishes. I am humbly at your service in all things,” came the glib reply.
“I declare you will annoy me if you do not give me some hint of who you are, sir. I fear I do not know you at all.” Perhaps she could shame him into giving her a clue.
They cast around the second couple and formed another set.
“Very well. I will tell you that I am of your acquaintance.”
“Long acquaintance?”
“Not nearly long enough for my taste.”
“Indeed.” They turned to the right, Fanny thinking furiously. “Did you know my late husband, perhaps? He was in the Royal Horse Guards.”
“I knew him, although we were never more than acquaintances. We were introduced more than ten years ago.” His hand tightened on hers as they turned again. “Do you not know me still, Fanny?”
Wobbling with the shock, Fanny careened into Matthew’s shoulder.
He grabbed her arm and they progressed down the set and were thankfully out for the next measure.
“What are you doing?” Fanny whispered, outraged that he had fooled her once more.
“Dancing with you. It has been too long since we stood up together.”
She couldn’t see it, but the wretch was undoubtedly smiling beneath that mask. “I thought I was to meet you at Brighton. You were to give me the opportunity to spread my wings before we spoke again.”
“I don’t believe that was the exact agreement, my dear; however, you did agree that I could woo you properly.” He grasped her hands again as they now joined the set as the second couple. “What is more proper than having you as my dancing partner?”
Unable to speak due to the steps that took her away from him, Fanny couldn’t help but smile beneath her mask. Matthew was correct about one thing. He was not Stephen Tarkington. She’d pursued Stephen perhaps even more than he’d chased her those long years ago. Now she had the opportunity to be the object of a man’s hunt. Lord Lathbury’s Corinthian nature would insist he did everything within his power to make sure his prey did not escape. There was something very appealing in that.
They met again, set to the first couple, and eventually turned together, giving Fanny the chance to ask something that had puzzled her greatly. “How on earth did you manage to increase your height, Matthew? I can swear you are two inches taller than when you were in the library.”
His chuckle sounded loudly in her ears as the
y turned the opposite way. “Boots, my dear. Kinellan had a spare pair in his carriage. Fortunately our feet are not too much different in size, although these do pinch now and then. The heels gave me a bit more height than my dancing shoes.”
“And the domino and mask?” He’d obviously taken some trouble to be able to dance with her without her knowing him.
“Borrowed from Lord Beaumont. I remembered it from Lady Beaumont’s last masquerade I attended. Luckily he had not disposed of it after all these years.”
“You seem to have luck with you this evening.” Fanny couldn’t help a rueful smile. Matthew had always had a bit of luck about him.
“If I truly had, you’d be betrothed to me this minute.” He bowed as the dance ended, his eyebrows rising as he offered her his arm.
“Not that lucky, then, perhaps.” She shook her head and looked away. He wouldn’t break her resolve so easily, although the man’s determination was almost palpable. The warmth and vigor of him, lying right beneath her hand, sent pulses of desire through her, despite her decision to wait on his proposal. Might that be a mistake?
Fanny tossed her head and with it the momentary doubt fled. She must take care to become reacquainted with Lord Lathbury, to know him and his nature better than she had Stephen Tarkington’s before she married him. She could not afford to make such a grievous mistake again.
CHAPTER 4
Late next morning, after a successful gathering with her friends at Lady Cavendish’s town house, Fanny climbed into the carriage, very satisfied with the meeting of what her hostess insisted on calling “The Widows’ Club.” Not an odd name exactly, for everyone in their little group was widowed. Charlotte’s idea that their circle resembled the gentlemen’s clubs, however, seemed rather fanciful. Still, it had given her the idea to host a house party in August. Nothing hinted at the desire for dalliance more than a house party. And she’d told Charlotte to invite Lathbury as her special gentleman. Of course, by August, she and Matthew should be quite an item among the ton.