by Stella Riley
For the first hour of the ball, she enjoyed herself immensely. Had she not taken the precaution of saving two dances, her card would have been full. She danced with Lord Milton and Mr Cardew and trod a minuet with Harry Caversham. It needed only one thing to make the evening perfect; and surely Mr Penhaligon was bound to arrive eventually?
By the end of the second hour, when she was starting to regret those two saved dances, the carrying tones of Dolly Cavendish’s major-domo brought the entire room to a standstill.
‘Lord Nicholas Wynstanton,’ he intoned. ‘Mr Charles Fox; the Earl of Sarre; Mr Sebastian Audley.’
The buzz of conversation stopped as if cut with a knife. Even the orchestra faltered, then resumed, raggedly and pianissimo. For at least five seconds no one spoke while everyone craned their necks to see the newcomers; then voices began murmuring and swelled quickly to a crescendo.
Cassie caught a glimpse of an outrageous blue-powdered wig that could only belong to Mr Fox; and then a small hand closed firmly about her wrist and Nell said, ‘If Nicholas knew about this, the only thing that will save him from a horrible death is an immediate introduction. Come on.’
‘No.’ Cassie resisted the imperious tug. ‘I don’t care whether I meet Mr Audley or not. And you won’t get near him, anyway. Look.’
Nell looked.
Chattering excitedly, a swarm of the youngest debutantes were closing in on their prey.
‘God,’ her ladyship muttered. ‘Did we ever behave like that?’
‘No. And I don’t intend to start now. Also, it’s not as though he’s going to vanish in a puff of smoke, is it? Considering the company he’s just walked in with, we’re bound to meet him sooner or later.’
Fortunately, since Nell looked poised to argue, Lord March arrived to claim her hand for the minuet. Consulting her own card, Cassie saw that this was one of the dances she’d kept in reserve. Suddenly annoyed with herself, she thought, Saving dances for a man who may not come? What on earth was I thinking? As for the situation with Sir Alastair – I can’t go on hiding from him. It’s ludicrous.
Half-hidden by a potted fern, Sir Alastair was watching her with his usual expression of mild anxiety. Cassie drew a bracing breath and sent him a bright smile. His jaw dropped and he turned to see if there was someone behind him. Then, realising the smile really had been meant for him, he approached with caution and said, ‘If you are not f-fully engaged, may I b-beg the honour of a dance, Mistress Delahaye?’
‘Of course.’ She pretended to consult her card, ‘The supper dance, perhaps?’
For an instant, he looked so completely overwhelmed that she was afraid he might choke. But finally he managed to say, ‘Thank you. I – I would be d-delighted.’
She inclined her head, murmured a polite reply and moved away. Across the room, she saw that the crowd of young ladies surrounding Mr Audley remained unabated and that Nicholas and Mr Fox, together with Lords Sarre and March, were clearly deriving a good deal of amusement from it. Cassie might have been amused too, except that her mind was occupied with finding somewhere quiet where she could compose a kind but definite refusal for Sir Alastair. There would be no peace in the ladies’ retiring-room or in any of the various withdrawing rooms either. But the library … yes, that might do.
The room was deserted and lit only by the fire burning in the hearth and one branch of candles. Gratefully, Cassie closed the door, crossed the thick carpet towards the windows, on the far side of the room and was just trying to calculate how long she had before she’d need to return to the ballroom when she heard the sound of the door-handle turning. For a second, she froze. Being caught alone here was going to make her look either odd or, worse still, as though she had a clandestine assignation. So when the door opened a few inches, she shot into the shadowy corner behind a large wing chair and, heedless of her gown, dropped into a crouch behind it.
The intruder closed the door with a snap, took three impatient strides into the room and said in a furious undertone, ‘Hell’s teeth! If I’d known it would be this bad I’d have stayed in sodding Sussex – Blanche or no Blanche.’
Cassie sank still lower behind the chair, trying to breathe silently and thinking, Go. Please go. I can’t be found here.
But he didn’t go. Instead, he must have noticed the decanter on the table because she heard the chink of glass followed by the sound of liquid sloshing into a tumbler. Then, presumably before he’d got the drink to his lips, came the chatter of feminine voices and one, more strident than the rest, saying, ‘In here. It’s the only place left.’
Cassie shuddered. She knew that voice only too well. Then, to her horror, the door opened again.
Even more horrified than Cassie, Sebastian halted with the glass half-way to his lips.
Four of them, for God’s sake. Three simpering little misses and a slightly older ferret-faced female in pink. If there’s a worse nightmare than this, I can’t imagine it.
‘Naughty man!’ said Miss Ferret archly. ‘Stealing away from the ball-room instead of dancing? But we have found you out!’
‘Yes, yes. We have,’ giggled the Greek Chorus. ‘Indeed we have.’
Sebastian set down the glass. He didn’t attempt to smile. It was as much as he could manage just to be civil. He said, ‘So I see. Why?’
There was a short baffled silence.
Ha! thought Cassie appreciatively. Get out of that one, Cecy.
‘Well, we … we wished to welcome you back to London. Not, as you’ll be aware, having had the opportunity earlier.’
Oh. Cassie’s nerves twitched. It’s Cousin Sebastian. Of course it is. Who else would be attracting silly girls like flies?
‘Which is rather the point, is it not?’ It struck Sebastian that this was the perfect moment to start playing the Soul of Propriety. ‘I appreciate your good wishes, ladies. But since we have not been introduced --’
‘Oh – a fig for that,’ interrupted Miss Ferret forcefully. ‘We can introduce ourselves well enough. I’m Cec --’
‘Please stop.’ He held up a restraining hand. ‘Although I will be happy to meet all of you under the proper circumstances, you ought not to be here now and should return to the ballroom forthwith.’
The Chorus made little bleating sounds. The Ferret narrowed her undistinguished eyes and said, ‘Well – I never thought you’d be so stuffy. Not with your reputation.’
Cassie clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle a gasp. No matter what one knew or thought, a lady never ever referred to a gentleman’s reputation to his face.
Sebastian folded his arms and said nothing. He didn’t need to because the sudden icy silence spoke volumes.
One of the acolytes said nervously, ‘P-Perhaps we should go, Cecy? If my Mama hears about this …’
‘Mine too,’ whispered the second, while the third merely nodded.
All three dropped awkward curtsies and started backing away. The Ferret, on the other hand, stood her ground and said rudely, ‘I don’t see why you’re being so pompous --’
‘I think,’ cut in Sebastian, walking to the door and opening it, ‘that you have said quite enough and should leave before you make a worse impression than you already have – though I must say that is scarcely possible. Well?’
The Chorus crept out. The Ferret flounced after them with an audible sniff.
Sebastian shut the door with a snap, turned the key in the lock and leant his forehead against the oak panels. Then, on a long extremely irritable breath, he muttered, ‘This is unendurable.’
Having heard the click of the lock, Cassie realised that she now had no choice but to reveal her involuntary and hitherto unsuspected presence. She just prayed that Mr Audley would find the situation as awkward and embarrassing as she did and therefore not ask too many questions. Struggling to her feet, she attempted to shake out her skirts and was just opening her mouth on an apology, when Sebastian swung round to trap her in a furious gaze.
‘Christ!’ he said. ‘Not another one!’
‘No. I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone else would --’
‘How many more of you are there?’
‘More what?’
‘Don’t be obtuse. It’s not what – it’s who. More of you.’
Cassie lost some of her inclination to be conciliatory.
‘That’s a big and quite mistaken assumption,’ she began. Then, when he stormed over to the windows and started dragging back the curtains, ‘What are you doing?’
‘What does it look like? I’m checking there aren’t any other over-excited schoolgirls lying in wait.’
The injustice of this took her breath away.
‘I am not a schoolgirl – excited or otherwise. Neither, since I can’t read minds, was I lying in wait.’
‘No? How else would you explain it?’
‘I don’t have to explain anything to you. You’re being ridiculous.’
‘I’m being ridiculous?’ Having reached the last window, Sebastian spun to face her. ‘Weren’t you listening just now?’
‘I could hardly help it, could I?’
‘So you’ll admit that I have some excuse for finding somewhere to hide.’ He regarded her over sardonically folded arms. ‘Do you?’
She blinked. ‘Do I what?’
‘Have a good excuse for lurking behind a chair, eavesdropping.’
If he’d been within reach, Cassie thought she might actually have hit him.
‘I wasn’t eavesdropping! I --’
‘What else would you call it?’
‘I came in here for a few moments of privacy. I didn’t --’
‘Privacy? If you wanted that, why come to a ball?’
‘Will you please stop interrupting!’ she snapped coldly. ‘I needed a few moments to myself. I did not, of course, expect to be joined by you and your – your entourage of female admirers. As for why I was hiding behind the chair … if you will stop and think for a moment, you might be able to work out why I didn’t want to be seen.’
‘You didn’t want to be seen but you’d risk being caught sitting on the floor?’ he asked mockingly. ‘Really?’
‘I thought,’ said Cassie with the strained patience of one addressing an imbecile, ‘that you would go. I did not expect Cecily Garfield and her friends to follow you and I did not expect you to lock the door. I did not want to be found here by anyone at all because lurking in empty rooms at a ball leaves one open to misinterpretation. Is that plain enough for you – or are you determined to continue enjoying your tantrum?’
Sebastian’s spurt of temper began to lose ground to his sense of humour.
‘I suppose,’ he conceded slowly, ‘that you may have a point.’
‘You suppose?’
‘Well, be fair. After being pursued here by a quartet of peahens – not to mention the avalanche of feathers and fans I was subjected to in the ballroom – I merely made a natural assumption. However, I’m willing to admit that I may have been mistaken about you.’
‘How magnanimous of you,’ said Cassie witheringly.
Quite unexpectedly, he laughed, the sound of it genuine and annoyingly infectious.
‘That’s me. Magnanimity personified.’
Cassie refused to be charmed by the warmth in his voice. Mr Audley, she told herself, was arrogant and conceited. So she absolutely did not wish that there was just a little more light in the room so she could see the precise shade of the hair that had made such an impression on Caroline – but which, in the shadowy gloom, merely looked dark.
She suddenly realised that Mr Audley was conducting an appraisal of his own; a lazy, very thorough and blatantly masculine appraisal, a faint smile touching his mouth. Cassie felt her colour rise and sought for some suitably quelling remark so that she’d stop wondering what he was thinking.
In fact, Sebastian was unashamedly regretting the poor light – less because it prevented him seeing her face as clearly as he might have wished than because, in it, the silvery stuff overlaying her gown shimmered with a strange, almost otherworldly effect. Had he been of a superstitious turn of mind, he reflected whimsically, he might have taken her for a ghost.
However, realising that he’d been staring, he said, ‘It seems I owe you an apology.’
‘You owe me at least three,’ retorted Cassie without stopping to think.
His brows rose but this time he managed not to laugh, appreciating the fact that she had no missish qualms about hitting back.
‘Well, that was straight from the shoulder, wasn’t it? But I daresay I deserved it.’ He appeared to consider the matter. ‘Yes. I recall using some rather strong language earlier when I thought I was alone. And I clearly did you an injustice in likening you to those other ladies.’ He strolled towards her. ‘I suppose you know who I am?’
‘Mr Audley … there is no one in this house and, by now, probably half of London who doesn’t know who you are.’
‘I hope you’re mistaken about that.’
‘I’m not.’ Cassie made another attempt to make her gown look less creased, prior to returning to the ballroom. ‘My younger sister and her school friends have been following your exploits for --’
She stopped abruptly as the handle of the door rattled and her appalled gaze flew to meet Sebastian’s. He muttered, ‘Hell. Not again, surely!’
Whoever was outside tried the handle a second time and then, realising that the door was locked, knocked upon it. Drawing a breath of sheer frustration, Sebastian bore down on Cassie and said rapidly, ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s back behind the chair for you.’
‘No! I can’t!’ she protested, resisting the pressure of his hands and thinking crossly, Sweetheart? Not yours, certainly. ‘I promised the next dance to --’
‘That’s immaterial right now. You can’t want us to be found together any more than I do – and the person outside that door knows there’s someone in here. So the choice is simple. Either you hide or I will.’
Recognising the threat, Cassie mumbled something incomprehensible and subsided on to the carpet. Sebastian tucked a fold of her skirt out of sight and murmured, ‘Don’t worry. I won’t let them find you.’
Then he strolled over to unlock the door … and, in the sudden flood of light from the corridor, found himself looking into the face of a stunningly lovely woman. Eyes blue as a summer sky, a gleaming mass of white-blond hair and the kind of body designed to inspire male fantasies … all of them belonging to Miranda Silvarez, the woman he’d said goodbye to fifteen months ago in Lisbon.
Shock paralysed his lungs and turned his mind dark and there was an unpleasant lurching sensation in his chest. He tried to speak but no words came out. He didn’t even manage to resist when she pushed him backwards so that she could step into the room.
‘I’d ask why you’re skulking here in the dark behind a locked the door,’ she said, her voice husky with amusement, ‘except that the answer is clear enough. The young girls are already besotted … and hunting in packs, it would appear.’
Sebastian shook his head, trying to clear it. ‘Miranda.’
‘Well – obviously. Why so shocked, my darling?’ She smiled, slid her hands around his neck and pulled his face down to hers. ‘Didn’t you know I was in London?’
‘I – no.’ Swallowing, he said, ‘Forgive me. I believe I am … more than a little shocked.’
‘So it would seem. But you’re happy to see me, aren’t you?’
He wanted to say he wasn’t. He wanted to say he’d hoped never to see her again. He wanted to end this before it started. But because, thanks to him, a girl was trapped on the other side of the room, he realised that being honest right now wasn’t an option. He was going to have to lie and pretend … and deal with the unpleasant consequences of that later.
‘How could I not be?’ He managed to free himself from her embrace and forced his brain to work. ‘I can’t believe that you’re here – and as lovely as ever. It’s an occasion for champagne, don’t you think? So let’s go and find some.’
‘Not just yet. Not until you’ve kissed me. I’ve missed you, Sebastian – very, very much. And I’ve something vastly important to tell you.’
‘You have?’ God, she’s like a limpet, he thought with revulsion. Or do I mean an octopus? Either way, her hands are everywhere. How the hell can I get her out of here?
‘Yes.’ Her palms were sliding up his chest beneath his coat. ‘James is dead.’
For a moment, the sense of it didn’t reach him. When it did, he felt sick.
Miranda waited and when he didn’t speak, she gave him a slight shake.
‘Don’t you understand, my love? My husband is dead – and has been for nearly a year. I’m a widow. I’m free.’
He’d thought earlier that he was living through his worst nightmare but he’d been spectacularly wrong. He was caught in it here and now. Also, unless he was very much mistaken, Miranda didn’t just want his body in her bed; she wanted the same thing she’d wanted in Lisbon. His name. And now, with her husband’s death and her undeniable beauty, she believed she would have it. Unfortunately, because it was clear she wouldn’t take dismissal lightly … because there was no knowing what she might say … but mostly because of the girl hiding in the shadows … he couldn’t blurt out that it would be a cold day in hell before he resumed any kind of relationship with her; that in fact he’d traversed virtually the whole of eastern Europe to escape her.
He said, ‘Then we should talk about that – but not here and not right now. Now, I have an overwhelming urge to make all the men out there envy me for having the most beautiful woman in London on my arm. Shall we?’