The Trouble With Moonlight

by Donna MacMeans

  “Obligations?” Ramsden’s interest was clearly piqued.

  “More of an arranged meeting,” Locke replied, a half smile tilting his lips. “May I anticipate the honor of claiming a dance upon my return?”

  “I would be delighted,” she replied with a curtsy. Locke nodded, then crossed the ballroom to the terrace.

  “Who the devil is he meeting out there?” Ramsden asked as he watched Locke’s path.

  “I didn’t inquire.” Lusinda batted her eyes and feigned naïveté. “It sounds as if a new set is about to begin. Shall we?”

  As they assumed their positions on the floor, she noticed Marcus signal to a man, then nod toward the terrace doors. He’s sending someone to follow Locke’s movements! If ever she had doubts about what she saw that last night at the Farthingtons’, this negated them.

  “I’m surprised Locke allowed me to whisk you away so easily, a beautiful woman such as yourself. All the men in attendance are jealous. Look. All eyes are on us.”

  On you, she silently modified. She’d noticed the women’s admiring glances, partially hidden by elaborate fans. For a traitorous snake, Marcus did cut an admirable figure on the dance floor. She forced a smile on her face to hide the distaste roiling in her stomach.

  “Locke trusts you,” she said. “Implicitly.”

  She watched his face for any trace of guilt and saw none. The man was as accomplished at hiding his emotions as he was at waltzing her about the dance floor.

  “Locke and I have a long history together. You should trust me as well.”

  He smiled as he guided her through a weak patch of moonlight filtering in through the terrace windows. It did little more than raise the fine hairs on the back of her head. A spark of disappointment flashed behind his practiced smile. She swallowed her laughter. It would take much more than a long history or even Locke’s naïve endorsement to make her trust him.

  His lips tightened. He squeezed her gloved hand. “I know what you are. Let me assist you.”

  “Assist me?” She lifted her brows, doubting that he was referring to their plan to rob the ambassador’s safe. “In what way do you suppose I require assistance?”

  “I can keep you safe. I have connections. Your sister told me of your travels over the years. I know that you feigned a headache when I came to dinner because I was too close to the truth. Does Locke know of your abilities?”

  She stopped dancing and scowled at him. “I assure you that my ailment at dinner was real, as is the headache I am currently suffering in your presence. I fear this dance has come to an end. Thank you, sir.” She curtsied and turned to move past him, but he held on to her gloved hand. The other dancers steered around them, casting inquiring looks their way.

  “I’m not going to let you disappear so easily.”

  “Disappear, Mr. Ramsden?” She attempted a laugh, hoping it sounded convincing. “A woman attends a ball to be seen, not to disappear.” She tried to pull her hand free again, but he held tight. Dear heaven, where was Locke? Surely he had managed to sneak Portia onto the grounds by now. She narrowed her eyes and ground out each word with all the authority she could muster. “Let me go!”

  A young man, more in line with Portia’s years, approached them. “Is this man troubling you, miss?”

  Lusinda feared Ramsden would prove the superior in terms of physical size and abilities should a test of skills be required, but she doubted even he would let it come to that. Trusting that Ramsden hoped to avoid a larger disturbance than they had already created, she scowled up at him. “Yes, he is.”

  Ramsden released her hand and bowed slightly. “My apologies, Miss Havershaw, I had only your best interests at heart.” He nodded to the brave newcomer. “Keep an eye on her, Mr. Burnes. See that she stays out of mischief.”

  Her heart sank. Could the newcomer be one of Ramsden’s associates? Had she won release from one villain only to be plagued with another? Where the devil was Locke!

  Ramsden stalked off to a group of men, while Mr. Burnes fidgeted in front of her.

  “I know we’ve not been properly introduced,” the young man said, “but if you would you care to finish the dance—”

  “No.” She watched Ramsden disappear into a gathering of men, before turning back to her young savior. “No thank you. I appreciate your assistance in allowing me to disengage from that vile man, however.”

  “Mr. Ramsden?” The young Burnes’s eyes widened. “I’ve always heard—”

  “Yes, I’m sure you have.” She placed her hand to her forehead. “I wonder if you could escort me off the dance floor. After that trying experience I believe I need to sit down.”

  “Of course.” He guided her to an empty chair set against the wall. “Allow me to bring you some refreshment.”

  “That would be much appreciated.” She smiled, watching till her young champion had crossed the room to the crowd surrounding the punch bowl. Then she stood and left the ballroom through a hidden doorway she had recalled from her study of the house plans. The door led to a servant’s hallway that connected to the kitchen. From the kitchen she could slip into the herb garden and find her way to the gardener’s shed.

  The servants glanced at her but did not interfere as she followed the maze of unmarked doors, carefully finding her way outside. She looked back over her shoulder, but no one followed her.

  The moon was hidden behind a cloud when she escaped the house, but as she picked her way down the curved path lined with fragrant herbs, it broke free, bathing her in moonlight. The fine hairs on her neck bristled, signaling the presence of the beams. She hurried down the path, wishing the moon had waited till she had safely reached her destination before illuminating her flight. A ghostly figure in a blue ball gown would certainly confirm Mr. Ramsden’s suspicions. No time to worry about that now. She spotted the shed and pushed through the unlocked door.

  The earthly scent of rich loam and peat welcomed her into the dark shed. She stumbled about a bit, feeling her way around the clay pots and seedling tables toward a bank of windows that angled out into the night, much like Locke’s conservatory. She planned to absorb the filtered moonlight until she was barely visible before moving into direct moonlight. The waxing moon held more potency than the waning moon, so it shouldn’t take as long tonight to become invisible as it had before. She stood at the window and looked out at the grassy slope beyond. The guests amused themselves among the more formal gardens to the right. With luck, she could stay well hidden until the phasing process allowed her more freedom.

  Meanwhile, she needed to free herself from the bulk of her dress if only to negotiate the confined area of the gardening shed. Careful to stay in the weak moonlight, she began to undo the fastenings of her overskirt.

  By the time she had managed the removal of both the overskirt and the underskirt, dull tingling pricked at her toes and fingers. She hung the garments on the tines of some well-placed garden rakes to keep the silk out of her way, then began to work on the small buttons of her bodice.

  The door to the gardening shed creaked open. Lusinda ducked down, hugging her knees through the petticoat. Had she been so intent on unfastening her skirts that she had missed the approach of a curious guest? Had Ramsden tracked her down? Had Locke?

  The rattle of clay pots and the shudder of a bumped wood bench signaled the advance of the intruder. She held her breath. Whoever it was, they would be upon her in a minute, and in the small confines of the shed, there was no place to hide.

  “Lusinda?” A hissing voice whispered. “Are you in here?”

  Portia! Lusinda relaxed and stood. “Over here.”

  “I came to help get you get undressed.” She wound her way back toward Lusinda.

  “Were you careful? Were you followed? Is Locke safe?” Lusinda asked, pleased for the assistance and the company.

  “I didn’t see anyone following.” Portia stopped short of Lusinda. Her face twisted. “Shouldn’t you be glowing by now? Your skin just looks . . . wet.”

 
; Lusinda looked at her arm, which had a light, reflective sheen. “It’s not a full moon, and I’m inside.” She turned her back toward her sister. “Help me with these buttons. Then you can be my lookout when I go outside for direct moonlight. ” Portia moved behind her. “Did you and Locke have any difficulty?”

  “I didn’t actually see Mr. Locke. I waited and waited. I thought I heard a man come collect another, so when all was quiet, I poked my head over the gate. No one was there so I just came through.”

  “The gate was unlocked?”

  Portia unfastened the last of the buttons and hung the garment beside the skirts. “I jingled it a bit and slipped a hairpin inside the lock. It popped right open.”

  Lusinda turned, a wide smile on her face, then hugged her sister. “You are truly a Havershaw. But what of Locke?”

  Portia shrugged. “I haven’t seen him.” She adopted a wicked smile. “Do you think he’s inside dancing with some of the ladies?”

  Lusinda frowned. “Be serious, Portia.” She loosened the tie about her petticoats, then stepped out of them, trying not to think about all the ways their plan could go astray. “I hope nothing has happened to him.”

  “You can’t go outside like that!” Portia said, sounding remarkably like Aunt Eugenia.

  “I haven’t much choice. I won’t reach full-phase in here.” She reached around her back to find the catch that would loosen her corset, but Portia offered to do it for her instead. If Portia hadn’t seen Locke, would he still be able to work the diversions that had been planned to detract the guards?

  “I think Locke was being followed,” she said, giving voice to her nervousness. “Ramsden sent someone out to watch him.”

  Portia’s hands stilled. “You saw Mr. Ramsden here?”

  “Portia, please hurry. We’re at risk of discovery, even inside this shed.”

  Portia’s fingers fumbled at her back. “But you saw him. Was he alone?”

  “He asked me to dance, so I suppose that meant he was alone, but Portia . . .” She turned and took her sister’s hands in hers. “He said he knows about me. He said things that . . . I don’t think you should trust him. Don’t trust him with your heart.”

  Portia pulled her hands away, her lower lip extended in a pout. “You don’t know him like I do.”

  “Perhaps I don’t, but I don’t wish to see you hurt,” Lusinda said, unrolling her stockings. “Or anyone else in the family.” She removed her loosened corset, then placed it with her stockings on a shelf with seed packets.

  “I’ll check outside,” Portia said before hurrying back to the squeaky shed door.

  Lusinda waited until she heard their secret knock on the door, then tentatively went outside in her low-cut chemise and pantalettes. Almost immediately, the tingling in her skin intensified. Without the safety and security of her lunarium, she was at her most vulnerable stage: too visible to escape detection and too translucent to be normal. She glanced about for Portia, but the girl was gone. She probably went back to the garden to play the role of decoy, she thought. That, after all, was the plan, to let people see Lusinda’s gown in the moonlight on a full-flesh woman. Although she wished Portia had said good-bye, it was probably just as well. Even Portia wouldn’t be safe if caught with a ghostlike sister.

  The tingling intensified, then began to fade, a sign that she was moving into full-phase. She’d only need a moment or two longer.

  Suddenly, footsteps pounded on a nearby path and someone issued a muffled oath. A man yelped, then swore before she plainly heard Portia yell, “Run, Sinda!”

  Lusinda pulled her chemise over her head a moment before two men rounded the corner, holding a struggling Portia in their grasp.

  “Look over there! Catch it!” yelled one of Portia’s captors, and the other sprang to action.

  Lusinda ran barefoot down the grassy slope loosening her pantalettes from about her waist. The man followed close behind. It was a bit of a risk, but she paused briefly to let the traitorous cloth fall to the ground. Once she was naked and thus invisible, she changed her course to double back toward her sister. Her pursuer, however, changed course with her almost as if he could see her.

  “Hair!” Portia yelled, an instant before the man who held her clamped a hand over her mouth.

  Lusinda reached up and pulled out the bits of blue flowers and lace that Aunt Eugenia had so artfully applied. The ornaments fell harmless to the grass. She changed her course once again and watched her pursuer run past her to join his companion.

  “Did you see that?” the runner said winded. “Whatever it was just disappeared into the night like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  “If this one hadn’t yelled a warning, you might have caught it, whatever it was.” The thug tightened his grip on Portia. “It sure looked like a fancy woman’s smalls, didn’t it? All lacylike?”

  “What’d we do with this one?” the runner asked.

  “Tie her up so she don’t bite no more. The bitch drew blood, she did.” He nodded to the shed. “Should be some rags and rope in there.”

  Lusinda stood helplessly by, watching her innocent sister thrashing against the man who restrained her. Her sister was a fighter, no doubt about it. Lusinda’s heart squeezed tight, wishing she could offer some sort of encouragement to Portia, but that would give away her location.

  “Mr. Ramsden said not to hurt her,” the runner said.

  Portia stilled, her eyes wide.

  “Looky there. She stopped struggling. Must be one of Mr. Ramsden’s beauties, though this one’s young, even for him.”

  “Likes ’em when they’re tender, he must.” Portia’s captor cackled through missing teeth. “Let’s leave her in the shed and have a word with Mr. Ramsden about what to do with her.”

  “What about the other?” The runner dashed toward Lusinda, tossing her into a moment of panic. She stepped aside before the man collided with her. He stooped to the grass, then picked up her pantalettes, stretching them out for the other to see.

  “He said the woman in the blue dress, nothing about dancing familiars. I don’t know what we saw, but that sure wasn’t no woman.” He peered at his companion. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I saw anything. Did you?”

  The runner smirked and shook his head, then stuffed her best pantalettes in his trousers. Lusinda cringed. The two of them dragged Portia into the shed.

  Lusinda waited until they exited and hurried away from the shed. One walked with a limp, bringing a smile to her face. There was comfort in knowing that Portia put up a fight. Once the two men had turned the corner toward the house, Lusinda slipped into the shed.

  She found her sister on the floor near the front of the shed. Apparently, they hadn’t wanted to take the time to thoroughly hide her, which was good. Had the men dragged her to the back, they might have discovered Lusinda’s discarded gown and reconsidered what they saw. Portia trembled on the ground with a rag tied tightly around her mouth and another securing her hands behind her back. A rope wrapped around her ankles kept her immobile in the cramped space.

  “Portia, it’s Lusinda. I’ll have you free in a minute.” She didn’t want to frighten Portia anymore than she already was by touching her without warning. She removed the none-too -clean rag from her mouth.

  “Sinda, I’m so sorry, so sorry. I should have listened to you.” Tears rolled down her face. “I can’t believe Ramsden did this to me. I thought he cared about me.”

  Lusinda tugged at the tightly knotted rags around Portia’s wrists. Just wait until she saw that Ramsden again. He’d believe he’d been cursed for all the mischief she planned in retaliation. “Now, now. It’s all over. Besides, Ramsden ordered the men to capture me. I’m sure he didn’t realize you’d be trussed up in the bargain.” Not that it would have made a difference, she thought. Still, Portia might fare better if she believed she hadn’t been betrayed.

  “I wanted to see if I could find Mr. Ramsden,” Portia said, contrition heavy in her voice. “Those two thugs found me bef
ore I even entered the house. Did you hear what they said?”

  “Yes, but it was me that they were after, not you. Remember that.” She worked the ropes to free Portia’s ankles. “Once I get these ropes off, I want you to go back to the gate you used to enter the gardens.”

  “I thought I was to stay with Locke out in the moonlight, so people wouldn’t suspect you were Nevidimi,” she sniffed.

  “You’ve done enough. We never intended for you to be treated roughly or be hurt in any way. There’s no more reason for you to stay,” Lusinda said.

  “But I want to help.”

  “You can help me the most by leaving before those men get back. I don’t want to worry about you, Portia. Promise me that you’ll go back to the gate and wait for either Locke or myself to bring the carriage around.”

  She nodded and held her arms out to hug Lusinda. Lusinda stepped into her embrace, but Portia recoiled immediately. “I forgot. You don’t have any clothes on. You’re—”

  “I know, Portia.” Lusinda sighed. Although her family understood the concept of phasing, they never did well with confrontation. “You go on now and be careful.”

  She waited, watching Portia leave, and then turned her attention to the house. A cloud moved over the moon, thus reducing the amount of time she had in her current invisible state. Whatever she was about to do had to be done quickly, and done now.

  Seventeen

  LUSINDA STOOD IN A HALLWAY JUST OUTSIDE OF the dining room, watching the guests crowd the path in front of her. She had never been in phase in such a crowded situation. Even at the Velvet Slipper, couples sorted neatly into rooms. They didn’t congregate in the hallway. How was she to manage without touching or being touched by anyone?

  One thing was certain, she would phase back to her naked self in view of all these members of high society if she didn’t attempt to cross now. She wished Locke were near so he could block a path through the crush, but wishes wouldn’t help her now. She ploughed forward and hadn’t ventured far when she bumped into one man’s back, pushing him into another. She heard harsh accusations toward the innocent behind her, but she continued on. She stepped on the train of one woman’s dress, causing her to stumble. Her companion caught her and appeared grateful for the opportunity. She upset a man’s drink as he hoisted the glass for a toast, but as the glass was clearly not the gentlemen’s first for the evening, his friends laughed knowingly at his clumsiness. No one appeared to connect the series of mishaps, and so she crossed to the staircase unnoticed.