Water could have frozen on the smile she sent him. “I was born to it.”
That reminder of her hidden identity pricked at him. But there was no time for an argument now. “Tonight, you are Francesca Bianchi, Contessa di Capodimonte, an old friend of Ellsworth’s whose family holds lands near Florence. She’s in London for the season, ostensibly to become reacquainted with European society after the death of her husband last year.”
“And un-ostensibly?”
“Let’s just say that the real contessa is most likely spending her evening becoming reacquainted with Ellsworth.” His lips curled into a knowing half-smile. “Well reacquainted.”
“Which is why he has no problem staying out of sight tonight while you pretend to be him.”
“Dominick Mercer is one of the most-respected peers in the Lords, with an impeccable reputation above reproach. He is staid, conservative, and always restrained when he is in public. In private, he’s none of those things.”
“I see.”
Ross was certain she did. She was no stranger to living beneath a well-crafted façade.
“Then we have a small problem.” She gave a slight nod to the guests gathered just outside the massive front door as he led her inside the townhouse. “I cannot speak Italian.”
“Then you’re in luck, because you don’t have to.” He helped her remove her fox stole and handed it to the waiting footman, then froze for a beat at how lovely she looked, her bare shoulders as smooth and silky soft as the gold gown that shimmered exotically beneath the chandeliers. He couldn’t help but let his eyes travel appreciatively over her, and murmured honestly, “Your beauty speaks for you.”
Not breaking his gaze from hers, he took her hand and placed a lingering kiss in her palm. When she shivered, he felt that tremor travel up her arm, all the way to his lips.
She peered at him from behind the mask with dark desire, her lips parting delicately. Not even her satin gloves and his cotton ones could mute the fierce tattoo of her pulse when he caressed his fingertips over her wrist.
That she could want him so much that just his nearness made her tremble should have stroked his arrogant male pride. Instead, it irritated the hell out of him. How could she deny herself what they both yearned to have?
He forced his attention back to the task before them, placed her hand on his arm, and led her into the entrance hall. He handed his invitation to the Master of Ceremonies, who did not call out the guests’ names in order to heighten the drama of the midnight unmasking.
“We’re in this together now,” he whispered to her as the man bowed to him and handed back the invitation. Instead of tucking it inside his jacket, Ross continued to hold it in his hand while he led her forward. “If one of us gets caught, so does the other.”
“Then let’s not get caught.”
“I don’t intend to.”
Good God. How had his life come to this? Six months ago he never would have imagined that he’d now be wanted for treason and the murder of his mentor, that the country he loved would consider him a traitor. That he would be sneaking into a party under mask in order to prove his patriotism with a woman who refused to let him bed her.
Tonight, one way or another, the charge of treason would be decided.
His eyes slid sideways to Grace. Not so the other problem that plagued him.
“My apologies for our earlier argument,” he offered sincerely as he lowered his mouth close to her ear, although he wouldn’t have been overheard in the noisy crush around them if he’d shouted. “I’m certain you have good reasons for hiding your identity.” Whatever the hell they were. Although, to be honest, what frustrated him wasn’t that she was keeping her identity from him, but that she was keeping all of herself from him. Including her vulnerability and trust.
“I do.” Her eyes glistened behind her mask.
“And I apologize for going through your things this evening.” He gave her hand a repentant squeeze as it rested on his arm. “It was wrong of me.”
She accepted that with a piqued sniff. “Yes, it was.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. Her ice might have been melting beneath his contrition, but her claws were as sharp as ever.
“I understand why you would want to keep that ring.” Yet it still grated like hell. “A reminder of how much you and your husband loved each other.”
She stiffened. The tightening of her fingers on his arm stopped him. He looked down at her, but the mask prevented him from reading any emotions beyond what he could see in her eyes and lips.
“I didn’t keep it because of that.” The chocolate depths of her eyes grew dim. “I have it because it’s the last of the jewels I was able to take with me when I fled London. I’ll have to sell it in order to afford a solicitor to press for Ethan’s inheritance.” Then her voice grew impossibly softer, but every word pierced him. “It has nothing to do with love.”
A peculiar relief seeped through him. What kind of marriage she’d had shouldn’t have been any of his concern. Yet it mattered. A great deal.
“You won’t have to sell it,” he promised, leading her forward. “I’ll take care of everything.”
He didn’t dare glance her way to try to read the expression in her eyes, because he was afraid of what she’d be able to read in his.
As they moved into the two-story high stair hall, the townhouse unfolded around them, with the massive marble staircase marking the center of the building and a circuit of reception rooms on the ground and first floors encircling it. The house was built expressly for parties like this, with each room connecting so that guests could see and be seen walking through the house in two great circles. First on the ground floor, with its dining rooms and withdrawing rooms, then up the stairs to move through the long gallery, the music room, and the card room, before circling back down the stairs to join the dancing in the grand salon. The house could easily accommodate several hundred people, and it seemed that just that many—or more—were crowded into its rooms tonight. Most likely because the guests wanted to be titillated by stories of the Earl of Spalding’s treason.
Ironically, Ross was glad for it. More people made hiding among the crush easier, where he would be nothing but another masked man.
He innocently dropped the invitation to the floor. It was immediately lost beneath the trample of feet and so unable to place any blame on Ellsworth if Ross were caught.
He led her toward a spot near the wall from where he could assess the entire room, including the wide marble stairs that wound their way to the first floor. The crowd pushed in around them, the noise of conversation and laughter nearly drowning out the quartet of musicians playing from the first floor balcony.
“I don’t want you taking any unnecessary risks tonight.” He snatched two flutes of champagne from a passing footman and handed her one. “Understand?”
Ignoring that, she took a sip of champagne and glanced around at the crowd. “So what’s next, now that we’re through the door?”
He carefully kept his eyes moving around the room, turning his body halfway toward her. “Do you see those three men standing on the first floor landing, guarding the second flight of stairs? The ones without masks.” None of the servants were wearing masks tonight, to distinguish them from the guests, including Wentworth’s assistant and guards. “Do you see the one dressed in all black?”
She took her time in letting her eyes sweep around the room and on past the man he described. “Yes.”
“He’s Sir Anthony Patton, Wentworth’s secretary, and the man in charge of making the party go smoothly. Including making certain no guests stray where they shouldn’t, especially up to the private rooms on the second floor.”
“Exactly where you’re headed.”
He nodded and took a swallow of champagne. “To his study. A man like Wentworth wouldn’t hide anything of value in his bedchamber. Too many women coming and going who might stumble across it and decide that he pays his blackmailers better than his courtesans. It will be
in his study.” Somewhere. He trailed his gloved fingers along her arm, the gesture familiar and just innocuous enough that he could get away with it as Ellsworth. “I need you to distract Patton so I can sneak upstairs.” With his fingers at her wrist, he gave her a hard look from behind his mask. “Then you are to leave the party immediately.”
She froze with the glass halfway to her mouth. “We’re supposed to depart together at midnight.”
“Change of plans. I’m not leaving until I have that diary.” He tossed back the rest of the champagne. “I want you to leave without me, and I’ll meet you back at the carriage house.”
“That’s not what we agreed to. Your brother’s expecting us back at the—”
“Christopher is waiting outside, to help us in case something goes wrong.” When her lips parted in surprise, he explained with a faint grimace, “I know my little brother. Kit would never let me go into a fight without him. He’ll be here to help if you need him.”
Saying nothing to that, she took a delicate sip of champagne, her eyes thoughtful. If he could have seen beneath the mask, he knew she’d be frowning with worry.
“But you won’t need him,” he assured her. “Because as soon as I’m up those stairs, I want you to leave. Have the footman at the door send for Ellsworth’s coach, and return to Chelsea. Understand?”
“No. I won’t leave you here.”
“You have to. I can’t search for the journal if I’m worried about you.”
She turned her face away, but not before he could see the emotion in her eyes. “I don’t like this.”
“It’s the only way.” He would not put her life in any more danger. In an attempt to ease the grim seriousness hanging over them, he added, “Besides, it’s nothing new for us. We seem to be making a habit of being separated at masquerades.”
Her slender shoulders sank, the small movement setting her gown to shimmering like gold foil beneath the chandeliers. “I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now.”
Lowering his lips to her ear, he placed his hand at the small of her back. Something Ellsworth would never have done in public, not even at a masquerade. But he didn’t care. He had to touch her. “Tell me. If you could do it all over, would you still let my waltz be stolen?”
She paused for a moment, one heartbeat in which the two of them were frozen in place while the rest of the world went on around them. Partygoers talked and moved past, and beyond the salon door only a few feet away the whirling rows of couples reached the end of their dance. The musicians played the final resounding notes. Applause sounded, so did laughter. Isolated bits of conversation hung in the air, made overly warm by the crush of bodies and the beeswax candles that lit up the rooms and turned the crowd into a sparkling sea of glittering jewels and shimmering silks. All hidden behind the safety of masks.
But Ross saw and heard none of it. His attention was riveted on Grace as he waited for her answer.
“Yes.” Her eyes glistened. “Because that night brought me David, and David gave me Ethan. I would never change a single event in the chain that brought him to me.”
His throat tightened. “Of course not.”
“But if not for Ethan,” she whispered her confession, resting her hand on his arm, “I would have danced with you all night, if you’d have let me.”
A knot coiled in his gut, a roiling mix of pleasure, arousal, and loss. I wasn’t meant for you…He prayed that she was meant for him now.
From the salon, the orchestra sent up the first flourishes of a waltz, and a palpable excitement pulsed through the party.
Not letting his eyes stray from hers, Ross bowed and held out his hand. “Then this waltz is mine.”
“After ten years.” Disbelief colored her voice. She was just as struck as he that fate had brought them back to this moment.
He smiled. “Better late than never.”
Her eyes shining, she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to lead her toward the ball.
As they neared the salon, a movement on the stairs caught his attention. The two guards with Patton stepped away. One man made his way down to the ground floor and the other up the next flight of stairs, which were recessed back from the formal staircase with its wrought iron railing and marble steps that curved up to the first floor’s reception rooms like something from a palace. The second set of steps went straight up an enclosed stairwell that marked the boundary between public and private. The same route that Ross had to use to access the study.
He stopped her and with a glance drew her attention to Patton, who now stood alone. “Looks like we still won’t have that waltz.” He grimaced. “It’s time. Are you ready?”
With a nod, Grace’s presence changed as she slipped easily into the role of contessa. She flashed him a bewitching smile, then dribbled the rest of her champagne over her bodice. “Just watch me.”
Trailing her fingertips down his arm, she slipped away.
With the heat of Ross’s gaze warming her back, Grace weaved her way through the crowd toward the stairs.
She didn’t dare glance over her shoulder to look at him, but she could feel him, once again sensing that inexplicable connection to him. He trailed slowly after her, always several feet behind, as if he were just another man in the crush who happened to be moving in the same direction. But all pretense of being Ellsworth had now vanished, leaving only his true self—resolute and focused. Dangerous. Those same qualities she’d glimpsed in him from the beginning, once again heightened, just as they’d been the night of the storm when he’d come crashing back into her life. But the desperation of that night had been replaced by determination.
She wouldn’t let him down.
Her smile not fading, despite the frantic pounding of her pulse, she reached the stairs. She paused with feigned uncertainty as she took a glance around her, then another up the stairs at the floor above, as if she didn’t know where she was going. Then she glided up the stairs, her head held high. Every inch of her now proclaimed her as the regal Incomparable she’d once been so many years ago, but she now knew that so much more lurked unseen beneath her surface. She had the wits for deception, and the courage to carry it off.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she gave Patton a smile and slowly passed by on the landing, as if she was just another one of the guests who had moved upstairs to the circuit of reception rooms there. Then she stopped. With a touch of embarrassment, she turned and walked back toward the second set of stairs, her hips sashaying as she began to climb them.
“My lady.” A deep voice and a hand to her elbow stopped her mid-step.
With a painful rush of fear and triumph, she glanced over her shoulder—
Patton.
Remaining right where she was on the second step, she slowly turned to face him, giving him a cool and assessing look. He could have been considered handsome, she supposed, with black hair and brown eyes, patrician angles to the planes of his face, and full lips now curved up into arrogant smile at having caught her. She also supposed that his broad shoulders on an otherwise lean and muscular frame would have been appealing to some women.
But compared to Ross, he was greatly lacking.
“Can I help you?” The same conceit that colored his smile laced through his voice.
More than you realize. “Unless the retiring rooms in England are much different from the ones in Italia,” she commented in a thick Italian accent, standing her ground on the stairs, “I do not suppose that you could be of much help.”
His mouth twitched at that, as if he didn’t know for certain whether she was flirting with him or making fun. “The ladies retiring rooms are downstairs.”
A tingling at the backs of her knees alerted her to Ross’s presence as he walked up the marble stairs and onto the first floor landing, treating her as any other woman in the crowd. Which meant that he ignored her, except for a slight glance of bored interest as he approached, presumably on his way to the men’s smoking and game rooms.
She desce
nded to the landing to give him clear access to the next flight of stairs and brushed her hand at the drops of champagne on her bodice, drawing Patton’s gaze to her bosom. “I have had an accident and need to attend to my dress.” She reached out to brush her other hand against Patton’s jacket sleeve to keep his attention. But she needn’t have worried, because her hand at her neckline kept the man’s eyes glued to her. “Do you see what I’ve done? Such a mess all over my front, no?”
Ross’s step hitched. His back straightened for a beat before he sauntered on past her.
But Grace noticed his fleeting jealousy, and her heart soared.
“Would you be a gentleman and show me to the retiring room?” She linked her arm through Patton’s in invitation to be escorted away, and away from Ross to give him an opportunity to sneak up the stairs.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Ross stiffen when she touched Patton. His jaw tightened, and beneath the mask, she was certain his expression was murderous.
Patton let her lead him a few feet away toward the stairs, then stopped. He turned her toward the balustrade overlooking the stair hall below and pointed. “Down there, my lady.”
“Where?” She turned him sideways as she leaned over the balustrade, feigning ignorance.
He gestured toward the main doors leading into the grand salon. “The small door there.”
She leaned out further. Her hand fiercely gripped his as if afraid she might fall, yet really to keep his attention on her and away from Ross. “I do not see…where?”
“To the left of the salon. The footmen below will be able to direct you.” He leaned in uncomfortably close over her shoulder, and she suspected from the way his head tilted downward and his eyes latched onto the top swells of her breasts that he was hoping to see all the way to her navel. “While I would be very pleased to escort you downstairs, my lady, I cannot leave my post. But do come back later. I would be most amenable to taking a stroll around the party with you.”
He shifted back to take her hand and lift it to his lips to kiss it, the same way Ross had done earlier. But it was all she could do not to snatch her hand away with a shudder.
How the Earl Entices Page 19