by Stella Riley
Ignoring her maid’s shock and trying to sound blasé, Cassie said, ‘Oh dear. Medieval ladies can’t have worn corsets, can they?’
‘So it seems, Miss. But modern ladies do.’
‘Yes. And it’s completely ruining the effect.’ For a long moment, she stared at her reflection in the glass before coming to a decision. ‘So … let’s try it without, shall we?’
‘No, Miss Cassie – indeed we will not. The very idea!’
‘Quite. But we have to start somewhere – so unlace me, if you please.’
* * *
On the following evening Cassie once more stood before her mirror, viewing herself from every possible angle until she was satisfied that the red gown flowed faultlessly from shoulder to toe. Behind her, Susan continued her catalogue of scandalised objections, finishing with, ‘Her ladyship will dismiss me for letting you go out like that, Miss!’
‘Since we are agreed that one can’t tell by looking,’ returned Cassie, disguising her own inner qualms, ‘Mama won’t know what I’m not wearing unless you tell her. And you aren’t going to, are you?’
Silence. That was an improvement.
She turned sideways and peered over her shoulder to where the gown dipped to a deep V between her shoulder-blades and was fastened by cross-lacing to well-below her hips. Personally, Cassie thought it looked wonderful; sleek, just a tiny bit seductive and, best of all, totally unlike her usual self. She put on the small gold mask and picked up the tall, conical head-dress with its floating gold veil. ‘I can’t wear this in the carriage so I’ll need to take some hair pins.’ And catching her maid’s expression in the mirror, ‘Stop sulking, Susan – and don’t worry. Everything will be fine.’
Downstairs, Good Queen Bess and Francis Drake awaited her. Having approved the gown in theory but only previously having seen it laid out on Cassie’s bed, Lady Delahaye gave her daughter a long, thoughtful look and then said, ‘You will need to avoid dark corners and lonely antechambers, my dear. What do you think, Charles?’
‘That it’s a good thing I shall be with you this evening.’
Relieved, Cassie said, ‘I told Rockliffe that you beat my admirers off with a stick.’
‘And tonight I’m wearing a sword. You might remind them of that.’
* * *
Bedford House was full of noise and light and colour. In the first ten minutes, Cassie counted three Henry the Eighths, four pirates and five Cleopatras. She danced with a gypsy and then one of the pirates. The Romany gazed at her with blatant admiration and flirted outrageously; the lopsided cloth parrot attached to the pirate’s shoulder which kept threatening to drop its beak down her neckline had her in fits of laughter. At the end of the dance, she found herself unexpectedly beset by some half-dozen gentlemen, all vying for her hand until they were ousted by a dashing Cavalier, complete with blond love-locks and she looked up into Harry Caversham’s astounded gaze.
‘Cassie?’ he said weakly. ‘God. I didn’t realise.’
‘That it was me?’ she asked, delighted. ‘Really?’
‘Really. You look … different.’
‘Everyone looks different. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But that’s not what I meant.’ He placed her fingers on his arm and led her into the allemande. ‘Just be careful, will you? Some of the fellows here tonight aren’t quite … well, respectable.’
‘I’m not worried,’ she replied blithely. ‘Papa is armed.’
It was during the course of the allemande that Cassie caught sight of a dazzling fair-haired Greek goddess with sapphires on her wrist and at her throat. She wore a white pleated sheath which left one shoulder bare and was fastened on the other with a gold brooch. Gold ribbons drew the gown in below her breasts, emphasising their perfection … and when she moved, a slit in the skirt revealed a calf, bare except for the lacing of her gold sandals. The silver-gilt hair and the provocative ensemble left Cassie in little doubt as to the lady’s identity and put the words, I’ll bet she’s not wearing a corset either, into her head.
Banishing them, she smiled at Lord Harry and asked where Nell was.
‘No idea,’ came the wholly unconcerned reply. ‘The last time I saw her, she was dancing with March – so I daresay we’ll trip over her sooner or later.’
It was a further hour before Mr Audley strolled in and caused a mild furore.
His costume was that of a Russian nobleman of the previous century. The extremely full sleeves of his black silk shirt were gathered into deep, braided cuffs and, over it, a high-collared tunic, heavily embroidered with bronze and green thread reached almost to his knees where loose-fitting breeches disappeared into soft leather boots. Slung about his hips was a broad, enamelled belt, through which was thrust a long, jewelled-handled knife; and beneath a fur-edged hat, the famous Audley hair flowed untrammelled about his shoulders. He looked handsome, a little wild and very, very dangerous. Of the three ladies who glimpsed him first, two forgot to close their mouths and the third found she needed to sit down.
‘You are being very naughty, Mr Audley,’ said a voice near his elbow. ‘One is supposed to be masked.’
He smiled lazily down at Elinor Caversham.
‘There seemed little point. Since I find both wigs and hair powder equally abhorrent, no one is likely to be in any doubt of my identity, are they?’
‘I suppose not.’ She eyed him appreciatively. ‘That is a very striking costume. Russian fashions?’
‘Yes – though not for some decades.’
‘I never did get the chance to ask you about your travels, did I?’
‘No. You were too busy embarrassing your brother and Mademoiselle Delacroix.’
The dark eyes widened. ‘I wasn’t doing any such thing!’
‘Perhaps not. But it’s what would have happened if Mistress Delahaye hadn’t taken a hand.’
Nell opened her mouth, closed it again and then said, ‘Mr Audley … are you scolding me?’
‘Should I not?’
‘No. Harry and Cassie have already done it.’ She paused again and added unexpectedly, ‘You like Cassie, don’t you?’
Sebastian knew better than to answer questions like that.
‘Doesn’t everyone? Or at least, that’s what Lord Sarre says.’
‘And he’s right – though that doesn’t answer my question.’ She sent a searching glance around as much of the room as was possible. ‘I haven’t found her yet – though I know she’s here somewhere because I saw her father a little earlier.’
‘Do you know how she’ll be dressed?’
‘Yes, but I promised not to tell.’ Her smile brimmed with mischief. ‘So – having taken me to task – are you going to make up for it by asking me to dance?’
‘Would it make up for it?’
‘It might. And it would also enable you to escape the ladies hovering a little way to your left, waiting to pounce … assuming, that is, you want to escape them.’
Sebastian risked a brief glance in the direction she’d mentioned, then immediately turned back and bowed low over her hand.
‘Dare I hope your ladyship will honour me?’ he begged.
And, ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ laughed Nell.
As their dance drew to a close, Charles Fox materialised beside them. Tonight, his elaborate wig was powdered in lilac and since, as ever, his entire ensemble was utterly outré, he had eschewed costume in favour of a mask edged with brilliants, a heliotrope domino and a painted fan.
Smiling languidly at Sebastian, he said, ‘Forgive me, sir … but I can’t help but observe that you really do look quite alarmingly barbarous. Is the knife … real?’
‘Real and exceedingly sharp.’
Mr Fox gave a gently theatrical shudder. ‘Then I shall remove myself from its orbit. Lady Elinor … this must be my dance, surely?’
Nell grinned over her shoulder at Mr Audley and let herself be led away.
As he watched them go, Sebastian caught a glimpse of Mirand
a Silvarez – some distance away and dancing with the youthful Earl of Mar. Pivoting on his heel, Sebastian crossed to the far side of the ballroom and offered his hand to Anne Boleyn.
It was during the ensuing gavotte that he first caught sight of a filmy gold veil drifting from a tall, pointed head-dress. The lady wearing it had her back to him so the next thing he became aware of was a torrent of glossy curls, tumbling past white skin made visible by the plunging line of her dress and the provocative cross-lacing which drew the eye inexorably down towards her buttocks. And along the way, he could not help but notice the sinuous line of back, waist and hips … smooth, undulating and wickedly enticing.
Sebastian felt a single sharp pulse of pure lust. Inevitably, though hopefully without Mistress Boleyn noticing it, he tried to keep that golden pennant in sight, only to lose it as the dance took him in the wrong direction; and when he was once more facing the right way, he couldn’t find it again. Impatience threatened to choke him until he spotted the lady – further away this time but no longer with her back to him. He had time to notice a small, gold mask and to absorb the fact that, unlike that tantalising back view, the front of her gown was quite modestly cut … and then she spun away again, the teasing veil floating playfully behind her.
Clever lady, he thought. Then, Who are you? And finally, against every possible ounce of sense, his mouth dry and something shifting oddly inside his chest, Why do I feel I should know?
Charming as his current partner was, the dance began to seem interminable. Finally, however, the music drew to a close and he was able to extricate himself with as much grace as haste would allow – only to find his path blocked by Aphrodite. At least, Sebastian supposed it was Aphrodite. A goddess sprung from Classical mythology … except that, as so often happened in those stories, this goddess was actually a harpy in disguise.
‘Well, Sebastian.’ The ripe mouth smiled but, through the mask, Miranda’s eyes were hard. ‘I think you at least owe me a dance, do you not?’
She could not know that she had chosen a bad time – or that, even if she hadn’t, his response wouldn’t have been much different. As it was, leaving aside his desire to find the lady in the red gown before she vanished, Sebastian wanted to stay as far from Miranda Silvarez as was humanly possible.
Touching the sapphire bracelet on her wrist with one light finger, he said, ‘Do I owe you anything, Miranda? I thought that this settled any account between us.’
‘Accounts? Dear me. You sound like a tradesman. And is one dance too much to ask?’
He wanted to say that it was. But in the hope of getting away from her without conjuring up a storm, he said, ‘Later perhaps. But tell me something. Why me? What is so special about me?’
‘Unless you have turned suddenly modest, that is a very stupid question.’
‘It might be – except that we both know I can’t offer what you want.’
‘And you know what that is, do you?’
‘Yes. And you could get it easily from the right man.’ He looked about them. ‘Take Lord Morpeth, for example. He’s wealthy and old enough not to bother you long – thus leaving you rich, free and with an English title. Worth some consideration, don’t you think? And now, I’m afraid you must excuse me.’
Miranda watched him go, struggling to control her temper. She decided that it would be useful to see to which lady Mr Audley paid particular attention in order to throw an obstacle in his path.
Sebastian scoured the ballroom until he finally spotted the golden veil at the centre of a trio of noisy fellows near the doors to the terrace. Then, even as he watched, the group surged outside, taking the red-clad lady with them. Frowning, Sebastian started pushing his way across the room. She might be happy, confident and perfectly capable of dealing with her enthusiastic admirers – in which case he’d simply watch for a time before asking her to dance with him. Equally, she might be tired of being jostled and prefer to be escorted back to the comparative safety of the ballroom. Either way, he intended to find out.
A brief glance along the lamp-lit terrace told him that other guests were also taking the air at the far end of it. Meanwhile, a few yards from the open doors, three young and not entirely sober fellows were arguing with each other; a highwayman, a wizard and a jester, complete with bells. Sebastian’s eyes moved past them to the lady in red and the mouth-watering sight of that beautiful, lissom back. Since, however, the wizard and the Fool appeared to be indulging in a tug-of-war with its owner, he didn’t stop to admire it. Striding forward, he said crisply, ‘That will do, gentlemen. Give the lady a little space – and a good deal more respect.’
Taken by surprise, the pair clinging possessively to her hands, promptly let go … enabling her to unpin the ridiculous head-dress which had been knocked askew in the struggle. Then she turned around … and the ground shifted beneath Sebastian’s feet when he found that the wide grey eyes behind the gold mask belonged to Cassandra Delahaye.
Cassandra? he thought, his mind unable to encompass the enormity of it. That siren’s body belongs to Cassandra? And I never noticed? It didn’t seem possible. Except that here she was, standing in front of him looking somewhat ruffled and rather relieved.
She said, ‘Oh - Mr Audley. I am so sorry. This is our dance, isn’t it?’
‘It is indeed,’ he replied, supporting the lie because it was sensible and what he wanted to do wasn’t. ‘I’m sure these … gentlemen … will excuse you.’
‘Now wait a minute!’ Merlin protested. ‘Get to the back of the queue. We’re ahead of you in the lists.’
‘I doubt if the lady agrees with you – and I certainly do not.’ Shock was being replaced by temper but Sebastian kept his tone level. ‘There are plenty of other young ladies inside. Go and find them.’
‘Not like this one – and we found her first,’ said the Fool, his tone sullen and his voice mildly slurred. ‘So bugger off, why don’t you?’
Stalking forward, Sebastian snapped, ‘Watch your mouth.’
‘Why? No dashed business of yours, is it?’
‘If you’re wise, you’ll leave before it becomes so.’
‘Careful, Ben,’ cautioned the highwayman. ‘Fellow’s got a damned nasty-looking knife.’
In his present mood, Sebastian reflected that his knife was the least of their worries.
‘Hah!’ scoffed the Fool. And grabbed Cassie’s arm again.
She promptly abandoned ladylike behaviour and, unable to pull her left hand free, dropped her headgear in order to deal him a stinging slap with her right which set all the bells jingling. He let her go quickly enough then but was still stupid enough to round on her with a muffled curse instead of beating a retreat.
Having given them fair warning, Sebastian decided he’d had enough. Taking the Fool by the scruff of the neck, he hauled him away from Cassie, then released him in order to deliver a crashing blow to the jaw which sent him backwards over the low parapet to land in an ungainly and unconscious heap in the shrubbery four feet below.
In response to startled glances from further along the terrace, Sebastian made an easy gesture and called pleasantly, ‘Nothing to worry about. Just a degree of over-indulgence, I fear.’ Then, adjusting his sleeve and turning cold eyes on the pair left staring at him open-mouthed, ‘Anyone else? No? Good. Then I suggest you remove both your idiot friend and yourselves before you annoy me further.’
Finally, they heeded the warning and shuffled away. Sebastian looked at Cassie and said, ‘Well?’
‘Well what?’ she asked, still reeling from the visceral thrill of seeing a gentleman defend her with his fists. ‘I didn’t mean to come out here with them, if that’s what you mean.’
‘I believe I was aware of that.’ Arms folded, he regarded her out of hooded eyes. The hair which cascaded down her back was drawn severely away from her face, revealing temptingly shadowed hollows at the base of her throat and the pure lines of both cheek and jaw. As for the supple blood-red gown … it clung in all the right places, maki
ng him want to trace those lovely, slender curves with his fingers. Clearing his throat, he said abruptly, ‘You can’t be out here alone with me. We should go back to the ballroom.’
And without thinking, Cassie said, ‘But we’re not completely alone, are we? And would a few more minutes really matter?’
This was more temptation than he’d either expected or was ready for. Telling himself that, even though he wasn’t masked, she was, he gave way to it but retained enough sense to say, ‘A few minutes, then. But a little closer to the other guests, I think. And there is a bench, if you wish to sit.’
She nodded, turned … and recoiled slightly as she stepped on her hat. Automatically, Sebastian placed a steadying hand against her back – and immediately snatched it back as if scalded.
‘Jesus!’ he breathed.
Stooping to retrieve the hat, Cassie glanced round enquiringly.
‘I’m sorry. What did you say?’
‘Nothing.’ He dragged some air into his lungs, tried to summon some finesse … and failed. ‘Are you wearing anything at all under that torment of a dress?’
Her colour rose slowly while she struggled to think of what to say. In the end, she settled for, ‘That is – isn’t a question a gentleman should ask.’
‘I know that. Are you?’
‘Am I what?’
‘Completely naked under that bloody dress. Or no. Don’t tell me. I’m not sure I could stand the answer.’
‘In which case, why did you ask? And what exactly is wrong with my gown?’
‘Nothing – or everything, depending on your point of view.’ Tossing down the fur-edged hat, he dragged a hand through his hair and tried to get a grip on his unruly tongue. ‘Have you any idea of the risks you’ve been running this evening?’
‘What risks? Even just now, nothing would have happened.’ She stopped, then said resignedly, ‘All right. So I’m not wearing a corset. Though how on earth --’