A Convenient Engagement

by Kimberly Bell

  He held his mask up to his face. It bore twin countenances of the sun and moon.

  “Only you would think one celestial body wasn’t enough,” she said with a smile.

  “Says the woman dressed as the entire cosmos. I am but two meager specs in your awesome majesty.” He reached for her hand and placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist. “And happily so.”

  She rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t stop the pleased blush that crept onto her cheeks as they climbed into the carriages.

  * * *

  Gavan was on high alert as they made their way into the crush of masked nobility. Through private inquiries over the past few days, he had confirmed his suspicion that crime was not common in the neighborhood of the tea garden, and Hannah’s attack was the first ever instance of such a thing inside the gardens themselves. He was not at all convinced that Hannah was a random target, but without more information, he was loath to add to the fear she so bravely fought down. At the moment, he had no new facts. Instead, he resolved to stick close by her side, conventions be damned.

  He thought Hannah would notice and chastise him for it, but she seemed to be lost in the enjoyment of the masquerade. She and the Bailey women had enlisted Ewan, with his superior height, to identify the most interesting creations for them to marvel over. They occupied themselves with easy conversation until the first sounds of the musicians stirring announced that dancing was about to begin.

  “Shall we set the heavens in motion?” he asked Hannah.

  Her smile blazed in response, and they stepped out to take their place for the Allemande.

  “You look like you’ve got a secret,” he said with a sideways look as they held the opening pose.

  “Perhaps I have,” she said impishly.

  “You should tell me what it is.”

  “It wouldn’t be a secret, then.” The music started, and she dipped and twirled around him with that mischievous grin.

  “It would still be secret from everyone else,” he argued when they came back together.

  She considered that for a few beats.

  “Betsy gave me a knife. It’s tied around my thigh,” she whispered as she twirled in the frame of his arms. “I feel like a pirate!”

  Gavan did his best not to focus on the memory of the pale, silky smooth flesh of Hannah’s thigh. He also discarded a rather delicious image of her dressed up like a brazen wench with her hair flying in an ocean breeze. Instead he focused on his firsthand knowledge of Hannah’s temper and tried to drum up a feeling of responsibility toward his fellow man.

  “Did Betsy teach you to use it, before she armed you and set you loose on the general public?”

  “Well, I do have a working knowledge of anatomy, and I know which edges are the sharp ones. I suspect I can figure it out without much trouble.”

  Yes, he suspected she could. Gavan was not at all certain that Hannah’s assailant would have survived the first assault on her person if she had been forewarned and forearmed. He felt some of the tension he’d been carrying ease slightly. At the very worst, she would wind up stabbing someone by accident. They could weather that storm if it came.

  “We are all in grave danger.”

  She slapped at his arm, faltering their step in the dance.

  “You see that. It’s brought out your bloodthirsty nature already.” He swept her in a powerful turn, barely letting her feet touch the ground, to get them back on track.

  “My bloodthirsty pirate nature?” she asked, breathless from the maneuver. “I would make an excellent pirate.”

  If she wanted to be a pirate, so be it. They could live a life of crime and adventure on the high seas. The dance steps grew more complicated, and for a few moments their matching grins were the only conversation.

  “Gavan. Do you remember the two boons you promised me?”

  “I do.” Gavan hadn’t yet come to a decision regarding Lady Hawthorne’s suggestion that he withhold his physical attentions from Hannah. If she intended to claim a boon this evening, especially in light of her enjoyment of this pirate persona, he wasn’t sure he possessed the resolve to deny her.

  “I need to claim one.”

  His pulse raced in anticipation. “And the nature of this boon?”

  “I need you to meet with Lord Courseclay and hear him out.”

  They faltered once again, and the man in the couple closest to them let out an irritated cough. Gavan quickly resumed the steps and his composure.

  “Gavan . . .” Hannah’s voice was cautious with concern.

  “Are you sure this is what you want to spend your boon on?”

  “If I don’t spend it, will you agree to meet with him?” she asked hopefully.

  “No.”

  She sighed. “Then yes. This is what I want to use the first one on.”

  This certainly hadn’t been what he’d had in mind when he granted them, but he should have expected Hannah would find an unusual use. Gavan supposed it wouldn’t be a complete loss. He intended to get to the bottom of the man’s suspicious inability to find Hannah’s attacker. “When is this assignation supposed to take place?”

  “At the end of the dance.”

  He nodded, and they finished out the few remaining steps in silence. When it was over, he returned her to Ewan and the Bailey women.

  “Where will I find him?” he asked Hannah.

  “In the hall by the retiring room. He’s wearing a green mask.” All of her earlier mirth and confidence had evaporated. Courseclay would answer for that as well.

  “Apparently, I have an appointment with Lord Courseclay,” he said to his cousin. “Do not leave her side until I return.”

  Gavan left the ballroom in the direction Hannah had indicated, eager to get the unpleasantness over with and get back to Hannah. Lord Courseclay was there, as promised, and they stepped into an unused study for privacy.

  Rhone leaned against a high-backed chair and opened the dialogue. “I see you’ve resorted to manipulating kindhearted women to get what you want. Like father, like son.”

  Courseclay chose not take the bait. “Miss Howard offered to help.”

  “Are you pretending you didn’t seek her out?”

  “I did, but I didn’t pressure her if that’s what you’re implying.” The other man’s calm was irritating.

  “Let’s get this over with, shall we? What do you want?”

  Courseclay appeared to be searching for words but did not find any.

  Gavan didn’t have all night to fulfill his obligation to Hannah. “I am required to hear you out, Courseclay. To accomplish that, you have to speak.”

  “Why must it be like this between us?” he asked, finally showing frustration. “Always adversarial?”

  “As if I were the one who started it. Have you forgotten?” Gavan certainly hadn’t. There was an element of permanence when the face of your tormentor was identical to your own.

  “We were children then, and I was wrong. We’re adults now. Can’t we put the past behind us?”

  “And simply wipe away the evidence of your ignoble nature? What of my crimes? What do I have to gain by forgiving and forgetting?” Gavan couldn’t stop the rising tide of feeling; memories welling up into bitterness. “Oh, that’s right. I was innocent of blame. Yes, I can see where you’d want to sweep that under the rug.”

  “Rhone, I am sorry.”

  “Good for you,” he responded coldly.

  Courseclay pleaded with him. “Our parents are dead and buried. There’s no reason to keep this enmity alive.”

  Gavan sneered. “You betray your mother so easily. What was it she always called me? That Red Slut’s Abomination?” He began pacing the carpet in an attempt to defuse his agitation.

  “She was wrong to blame ye. My father, our father, wronged us all.” Courseclay stepped closer, stopping just short of
danger. “Don’t ye see? There is no one better to understand what we’ve been though than each other.”

  “Do not, for even one second, think your experience and mine were similar,” Gavan spit out.

  Courseclay was quiet a moment, staring at his hands, before he said softly, “I envied ye. Did ye ken?”

  “Then you were a fool.” No one in their right mind wanted Gavan’s life. Not back then.

  “My mother shrank from the shame,” Courseclay continued. “She withered away, hid from society, became a creature of spite and nothing else. But yers—”

  Gavan’s fist clenched involuntarily. “You will not speak of my mother.”

  “Miss Howard reminds me of her. She has that fire.”

  Gavan had warned him. The old anger was too strong to hold back, especially when Hannah’s name crossed Courseclay’s lips. Gavan’s body reacted, stepping forward, his fist striking out like a lightning bolt. The other man dropped like a heap onto the carpet.

  When a groan sounded, indicating John was still conscious, Gavan said, “You will not speak of my mother. You not speak of or to Miss Howard. We’re finished here.”

  Gavan exited the room and headed in the opposite direction of the ballroom. He would need to calm down before attempting to explain the situation to Hannah.

  * * *

  Ewan took Gavan’s directive seriously and Hannah found herself once again under the protective awning of his scowl. The ferocity of it had a dreadful effect on Jane, and it wasn’t long before Mathilda took her off to the retiring room to recuperate.

  “Must you do that? You’re making people uncomfortable.” She returned his glare in kind.

  The Scotsman was completely unfazed. “Aye? Good. This lot is too loose with their behavior.”

  As if summoned to serve as an example, a young man approached.

  “Never have I seen a more stunning lady of the night,” he said by way of introduction.

  Mr. Dalreoch grabbed his shirtfront. “Ye’ll apologize to the lady, and then ye’ll kindly bugger off.”

  “What on earth? Of all the—” The grip on his shirt tightened, cutting off his outrage.

  “I said apologize and piss off,” the Scot growled with blatant menace.

  The man choked out a quick amends and stumbled off in the opposite direction.

  “Honestly, Mr. Dalreoch.” Hannah sighed. “Was that necessary?”

  “Does ‘lady o’ the night’ mean something different in England?”

  A footman passed with a tray, and Hannah took a glass of champagne, resigning herself to solitude until Rhone returned. The silence was broken by the arrival of another unwitting victim.

  “My lady, it would be my pleasure to accompany you in a dance, if you are not—”

  “She’s nae interested.”

  “Perhaps she could say so herself?” the young man said, with understandable affront.

  Hannah sighed. “I’m very sorry. If I say yes, he’s just going to assault you. I am unfortunately not interested.”

  The parts of Mr. Dalreoch’s face that were visible below the half mask gave the impression of smug satisfaction.

  “Pleased with yourself, are you?”

  “A bit, aye.” He gave her a wide smile, full of teeth.

  Hannah pursed her lips in irritated response. “Do you have some sort of crusade against dancing?”

  “Nae really, no. Would ye like to dance?”

  Hannah blinked at him. “Are you asking me?”

  “Aye, if ye like. It’s nae the dancing I’m against. Just ye running about with strangers when The Dalreoch asked me to look after ye.”

  “The next dance is a gigue,” she said doubtfully. It was quite lively and the steps more complex than most.

  He grinned again. “I can keep up, lass.”

  Hannah hadn’t yet had the chance to dance a gigue, and the opportunity to do so lightened her mood considerably. When the current set ended, they stepped out and took their place on the dance floor. The gigue lacked the elegant partnering of the Allemande. Instead, the music began and they were immediately launched into a dizzying whirlwind of hops and steps. It was everything Hannah could do to keep up with the Scotsman’s rapid pace, and by the end of it she was gasping for breath and laughing out loud.

  It wasn’t until the music stopped that they realized something was wrong. People were congregating at one end of the ballroom, and conversation was rippling through the room. Mr. Dalreoch caught the predominant whispers at the same time she did.

  Fighting. Rhone. Courseclay.

  The proper order of the words was indeterminate from the chatter, but no possible arrangement of them spelled good news.

  “We must get to them. Can you make a path through the crowd?”

  “Aye.” The Scot waded into the sea of bodies clustered at the exit nearest the retiring rooms. They were making good progress, but soon Hannah found herself dislodged from his wake. Bodies filled the space between them, trying to edge closer to the scandal. She lacked the physical presence of Gavan’s cousin and soon found her forward progress deadlocked. Looking around for alternative routes, she saw the doors to the terrace. Perhaps there was another way around that didn’t involve crossing the ballroom.

  With all the traffic flowing forward, Hannah was able to cut sideways with relative ease. She found herself in the crisp night air in no time. Some quick deductions regarding the architectural layout of the house had her heading left out the doors and into the night. Unfortunately, her assumption that there would be a door similar to the one at the Conduitts’ residence was incorrect, and she was forced to follow the exterior wall much farther than she expected.

  She was a long way from the warm glow of the ballroom when she heard the crunch of a boot on gravel close behind her. She didn’t have time to turn around. The impact of something solid against her temple turned her vision briefly to stars, and then oblivion.

  Chapter 15

  Ewan found him in the library. He still didn’t have a convincing explanation for Hannah, but it became irrelevant as he quickly realized she was not with his cousin.

  “Where is Hannah?”

  “I dinnae ken,” Ewan admitted with reluctance.

  “What do you mean you don’t know? I told you not to leave her side.”

  “And I dinnae, but at some point the lass must have left mine. One minute she was right behind me; the next she was nowhere.”

  The beginnings of panic bloomed in the pit of his stomach. “When?”

  “It doesnae mean anything has happened. She might just be—”

  “When?” Gavan repeated.

  “In the ballroom. We were trying to get to ye. Ye made a bit of a stir.” His cousin ran a hand through his hair.

  “We’ll wait for her, then. If you found me, so will she.” Gavan tried not to let the panic take over. Surely she was all right. There was no reason to think something had gone amiss.

  Ewan nodded. “What happened with Courseclay?”

  “He did not heed my advice.”

  Ewan raised an inquiring eyebrow, but Gavan didn’t choose to elaborate. Instead, he paced the parquet, glancing repeatedly at the door through which Hannah should be arriving.

  “I’m sure the lass is fine.”

  “And if she’s not?”

  His cousin didn’t have a response.

  “It’s been ten minutes. Go locate the Bailey women and have them help you find out if anyone saw her leave the ballroom. I will gather the staff and start searching.”

  “Ye dinnae think that’s a bit o’ overkill?”

  “I hope so. When we find Hannah safely trapped in conversation with some old relic, I am more than happy to look foolish.” Please, let the sinking feeling in his stomach be false.

  Gavan set off, commandeering servants, and began a search
of the house. They started with the likely places a woman might retreat to if she had torn a hem or needed a moment of air. No luck. Periodic updates from Ewan’s investigation in the ballroom did not yield any news, either, and the panic grew roots. When an half an hour went by with no sign of her, they extended the search to the grounds. Another half hour had passed when a kitchen boy came running up to Gavan during his search of the gardens.

  “M’lord, come quick.”

  “Have they found her?”

  “Dunno, m’lord, but they said to bring you quick like.”

  They rushed along, coming to a knot of servants and Ewan standing on a gravel pathway along the side of the house. His cousin held a gold and silver mask, made to look like a shooting star.

  “Send for Magnus.”

  * * *

  When Hannah regained consciousness, the pain in her head was excruciating. It was everything she could do to refrain from being sick, which would have posed an immediate problem, as she appeared to have been gagged. She tried to dislodge the mass of cloth without jostling her aching head too much, but it stayed firmly in place. She settled for taking deep, stabilizing breaths through her nostrils. Her hands were bound behind her back, and she appeared to be lying sideways on some sort of padded bench. A carriage? It seemed likely she was in a hired hack. It was too dark to tell, but from what she could make out with her other senses, it was the most logical assumption. It smelled like stale sweat and musty rot. The carriage was not moving.

  A sudden wave of fear crashed over her. She had been kidnapped. Her assailant could be in the coach with her, listening to her struggles. She tried to lay very still, but the only sound she could hear was her blood pumping loudly in her eardrums. She forced herself to calm down and return to her assessment of the situation. Panic was not going to get her out of this.

  Waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she confirmed that she was in a carriage and she was alone. Not knowing how long she would remain that way, the first thing she needed to do was get free of her bonds. She would be completely helpless if whoever had deposited her here returned and she was still trussed up like a hog. An endless series of miniscule maneuvers later, she had her skirt hiked high enough to expose the blade tied to her thigh. She grasped for it with her bound hands, but it was out of reach. A tear of frustration rolled down her cheek, soaking into the gag. She would not give up; she couldn’t.