But returning home meant she must have a Season, since she’d been too young to come out before they embarked on their travels. She was now getting well past the age most girls married, and her parents made it clear they considered this ball her presentation to the ton. The very best of English society had been invited, the most powerful, the most influential, the most fashionable. It was, without a doubt, one of the most coveted invitations in town…and Mariah was bored almost to tears.
Her mother had assured her the gentlemen in London would be eager to meet her, and Mariah had to admit that she was curious to meet them. A mild flirtation with an Italian count could not lead to anything; a flirtation with an English earl might. Unfortunately, the Englishmen were terribly disappointing. Every man she’d met tonight had fallen over himself to flatter and charm her. She had expected that, for her mother had warned her against it. Unfortunately, she had also expected that at least some of them would intrigue her, and so far not a one had even come close.
“Well, dear, are you having a good time?” her mother smiled fondly, catching her in a rare moment of quiet.
Mariah sighed. “I suppose.”
Her mother’s smile faded in surprise. “What is the matter? Have you a headache?”
“No, Mama.” Mariah shook her head, tapping her fan on her wrist in frustration. “But all the gentlemen are so…so…dull!” She whispered the last, almost embarrassed. She could see other young ladies smiling and chatting with the same gentlemen she found unbearably boring, and wondered again what she was missing about them.
The countess laughed and laid her hand on Mariah’s arm. “We’ve spoiled you, I fear. One cannot always have the excitement of foreign capitals and political intrigue.”
“I know, Mama. But plenty of gentlemen here are interested in political intrigue. Most especially they are interested in the Aldhampton borough, and whom Papa might have in mind for it.”
Her mother gave her a sideways, thoughtful look. “You cannot expect the gentlemen to see you independently of your family, Mariah. You might find it objectionable, but there are practical concerns to finding a wife, just as there are practical concerns to finding a husband.”
“Well, I’m not ready to be found, then, not that way and not by them.” She looked into her mother’s sympathetic face and smiled contritely. “I’m sorry, Mama. I just wasn’t prepared to be appraised so bluntly. I can almost hear them totting up my value as if I were a horse or a sheep at market.”
Her mother smiled gently. “I know. It is hard. I, too, had a prominent father. But remember, you don’t have to marry until you are ready.”
“Thank you, Mama.” Mariah sighed.
“There. Perhaps you need a breath of fresh air. I’ll explain to the next young man on your dance card.”
Mariah consulted her card. “Sir Charles Fitzroy.” Even the man’s name sounded dull. Why had she let him sign her dance card in the first place? And how horrible was she, for wanting to avoid him just because of his name?
Her mother squeezed her hand and released her. “I shall see you in a few minutes.”
“Yes, Mama.”
The countess left in a whisper of silk, and Mariah slipped through the guests and onto a small balcony off the ballroom. The breeze was cool but refreshing, as was the quiet. She pulled the drape, not wanting anyone to find her, and took a deep breath, glad to have a moment’s peace at last.
Perhaps the problem really was with her, not with the gentlemen. Mama said she didn’t have to choose quickly, but Mariah was old enough that people would think there was something wrong with her if she took too long. It was a little disconcerting; somehow, she’d thought the answer to the question about when and whom to wed would be obvious. She would meet someone, he would be as drawn to her as she was to him, they would fall in love, he would ask for her hand, and she would accept. Now that she had met dozens of the most eligible men in London, she realized how much her assumptions depended on chance. What if the man for her hadn’t been able to attend tonight? What if she never managed to meet him? What if there were no such man? What if she had to choose between being a spinster and marrying one of the prosy fellows who’d swooned over her tonight?
“Blast it all,” she said out loud, cross at herself for discovering she was a silly romantic—something she hadn’t considered herself before—and at the gentlemen of London for being so inconsiderately dull. “A pox on men.”
“Come now,” spoke a voice from the darkness. “On all of us?”
Chapter 2
Mariah leaped back into the stone wall behind her. “Who is there?” she squeaked, hands flying to her throat.
“A poxy man, it seems.”
She strained her eyes in the direction of the voice. It was very dark out here, away from the blaze of the chandeliers in the ballroom, but she could just barely make out a shadow. A very large shadow; why, he must be a giant, or a—
The shadow moved, and there was a quiet thud. He’d been sitting on the balcony railing and then jumped down. “Quite a sweeping condemnation, don’t you think?” he asked.
“What are you doing out here?” she demanded, recovering her tongue.
“Enjoying the night air.” He sounded rather amused. She scowled, annoyed at him for overhearing what she would never have said in front of anyone. “What are you doing out here?”
Her lips parted in astonishment. “How dare you! Why, I—I—”
“Are annoyed with all men, yes; I overheard.”
“You should have announced your presence!”
“You gave me no opportunity, bursting out all in a passion. Perhaps you ought to have announced your presence. Heaven only knows what you might have interrupted out here.”
Mariah gaped in his direction. She was an earl’s daughter, and not used to being spoken to with such impertinence. And yet, she had an absurd urge to laugh. Now that she’d gotten over the surprise, she realized it must have been just as shocking for him as for her. She had burst onto the balcony in a fine fury. “Then we are even, sir,” she said primly, not sure if she wanted him to apologize and leave, or stay and make her laugh in truth.
He laughed, a low dark rumble. “Not quite, but it will serve for now.”
Her eyes opened wide. “What do you mean by that?”
“It means I accept your apology.”
“Apology?” She was speechless again. “I, apologize?”
“And I accept.”
“That wasn’t—I didn’t—”
He laughed again. There was something dangerous in the sound, as if he were deliberately luring her into impropriety. “And I apologize in turn for interrupting your tirade against the male sex. Fair enough?”
Mariah hesitated. “I suppose,” she said at last.
“Excellent.”
Silence descended. Mariah strained her eyes to see him better, but it was too dark to make out his features. There was no moon, and the drape blocked all light from the ballroom. The only thing she knew for certain was that he was tall; his voice came from above. It was a very nice voice, rich and even but with an enigmatic edge. She was sure she hadn’t met him tonight, for she would have remembered that voice. She wished he would say something else, then realized she was standing in the dark with a strange man. A strange man who was, nevertheless, the most intriguing man she’d met all night. “Shall we introduce ourselves, now that the insults and forgiveness have been dispensed with?” she suggested, feeling a prickle of interest.
“Of course not,” he said. “Situations like these were made for anonymity.” She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it, nonplussed. “What made you call down a plague on mankind?”
The frustration bubbled up inside her chest again at once, and recklessly she gave in to the urge to vent it. He didn’t know who she was, after all. Perhaps it would make her feel better to tell someone.
“Because they are boring.” Goodness, it did feel good to say that aloud. “Or stupid, or greedy, or vain. I’ve not met one
wholly decent gentleman tonight.”
“Hmm, that is a risk one takes at parties like these,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “Still, there are a great many men who could not attend tonight; perhaps one among them would satisfy your requirements.”
Mariah sighed. “Of course there are more gentlemen in London society than those here tonight. But my mother—” She caught herself. “My mother assured me the gentlemen here are the finest in English society.”
“Ah, there’s the rub: if the finest are insufferable, how much worse must be the rest?”
Mariah nodded. That was exactly what she feared, even though she’d not put it into words.
“Perhaps it is your fault. Perhaps you have such an effect that sane, sensible men turn into stammering idiots in your presence,” her companion went on.
She almost snorted. Without being vain—well, not too vain—Mariah knew her own advantages. She was pretty, even in her own eyes. She was reasonably accomplished in the usual repertoire of maidenly skills, playing the pianoforte, dancing, embroidery. She rode well, spoke French and a modest bit of German, and wrote a very lovely hand.
But she wasn’t slow-witted, and she knew very well the gentlemen in the ballroom hadn’t been drawn to her embroidery talents. What drew them to her was nothing to do with her at all, and that was what she hated most of all.
“Then they are even bigger fools than I take them for.” Mariah folded her arms and raised her chin. “What sort of man would be reduced to a babbling fool by any young lady, particularly a young lady they’ve never met before?”
“More than you might expect,” he murmured.
“Then they have injured only themselves. They look at me as some thing, a prize to win. I am more than just my father’s daughter, and yet I could clearly see each one of them thinking, as he looked at me, ‘What an advantageous match she would be,’” she finished in a mocking lowered voice. It was a great deal of confidence she’d bestowed on a complete stranger. Her mother would be appalled if she knew. But Mariah didn’t care, even though she had probably said enough to give away her identity.
“What a terrible cross it must be, to be the daughter of wealth and privilege. Terribly sought after, and never certain of the reason why.” The man in the shadows nodded sagely—or so she imagined. She didn’t know whether to be glad or upset that he understood. But perhaps it was something all young ladies of high birth suffered. Perhaps this man had a sister who was one. She glanced sideways toward him under her lashes. Perhaps he had even married such a lady.
“There is only one thing to do, in cases such as these,” he continued.
“Really?” she asked, surprised and a bit hopeful. “What is it?”
“Take off your shoes.”
Her mouth fell open. “How will that help?”
“First, you’ll feel better; a cool breeze on the feet is terribly refreshing. Second, I’ve already gone and taken mine off, which is unpardonably rude, and if I can persuade you to do the same, I shan’t feel so guilty.”
She looked down even though she couldn’t see his feet any better than his face. “Why did you take off your shoes?”
He heaved a sigh. “They pinched. Dreadfully. And I feel much better without them—why do you think I hid out on the balcony? Here—” And before she could protest, he put his hands at her waist and swung her into the air.
Mariah let out a small squeak as she landed on the balustrade. “Oh, no! I’ll fall!”
“You won’t. It’s quite wide.” She could hear the amusement in his voice as she snatched her hands from his shoulders. She hadn’t even been aware she’d grabbed onto him. But as she sat up, she felt the truth of his statement: the carved stone balustrade was very wide, and she was in no danger of falling.
“Now the shoes, miss.” Before she could react, he had taken her ankle in his hands—good heavens!—and flipped off her slipper.
“Oh, stop!” she gasped. “You mustn’t!”
“Too late. I’ve already done it.” He released her foot, his fingers sliding over her stocking. With the same deliberate care, he took her other foot, removed her other slipper, and let it fall to the floor of the balcony. Mariah didn’t say anything. It felt shockingly personal, but it was only her shoes, after all. And then he released her foot and that was it. There was a rustle and a quiet thump as he climbed back onto the balustrade, and his voice came from her left. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel better already.”
She wiggled her toes. She could still feel the stroke of his fingers on her ankle. “Perhaps.”
He gave a low sigh of pleasure. “I feel immensely better.”
Mariah squirmed a bit, settling more comfortably on the balustrade. “It does feel lovely,” she admitted. A breeze ruffled her skirts, and she pulled them up just a little, letting the cool air swirl around her ankles. She tipped back her head, surprised to find that she did feel better, either from the fresh air or from expressing her frustration. “I don’t think it will make the gentlemen more interesting, though.”
It was quiet for a minute. Then he spoke. “Do you see the bright star there, near the horizon, to our left?”
Mariah looked. “Yes.”
“That is Venus. The goddess of love and beauty. And yet, we can only see her because the moon is hidden.” She caught the dim shape of his arm, sweeping across the heavens. “All these stars, many larger and brighter than our sun, are hidden when the moon comes out. And yet, the moon gives no light of its own; it’s all reflected from the sun. Odd, isn’t it, how that reflected light can drown out natural brilliance?”
Mariah smiled wryly, touched by his analogy. “So I’m destined never to be seen, in the reflected glow of my father’s glory.”
“And yet more men are intrigued by the mysteries of the stars and Venus than by the common moon. No doubt many are gazing at her this very night.” She shot a sharp glance in his direction, but he didn’t say anything else.
“Thank you,” she said. “It was very kind of you to say that. I had been feeling very outshone tonight, or at least drowned in someone else’s brilliance. Most people would have thought I reveled in the attention.”
“No, I…” He paused. She heard the soft thud as he landed on his feet again. “Someone is calling you,” he said, all trace of levity gone from his voice.
“Oh? Oh—really?” Mariah tried to listen over the sudden pounding of her blood. He had put his hands on her waist. Other gentlemen tonight had put their hands on her waist as they danced, but not like this. Not when they were alone in the dark.
“Yes. Here, let me help you down.” She put her hands gingerly on his shoulders again, and he lifted her off the balustrade. This time he let her go at once, melting back into the darkness. Mariah felt around with her foot for her slippers and stepped back into them as she heard her mother calling her name, her voice growing nearer and more concerned.
“It’s my mother,” she whispered. The realization jolted her back to sense. “Just a moment.” She brushed the back of her skirt and hurried to the drape, slipping through and holding it closed behind her. “Yes, Mama?”
Her mother turned, her frown clearing. “Heavens, Mariah, where did you go? Your partner for the supper dance is waiting.”
“I’m sorry, I needed some air. I felt a slight headache coming on.”
Mama cupped her chin, examining her face. “You do look flushed. Are you recovered?”
“Nearly, Mama,” she said with a determined smile. “I shall be in directly.”
Her mother’s eyebrow arched. “Now, Mariah.”
“A moment, Mama,” said Mariah just as firmly. “Please.”
Her mother’s other eyebrow went up. “Is there someone on the balcony with you?”
Mariah wet her lips. “Why would you think that?” Should she lie to her mother—something she rarely did—or tell the truth, and find herself in trouble? “Of course not.”
Her mother trusted her. “All right. Compose yourself, but you must return so
on. Your father will not put up with the young man forever.”
“I will, Mama. Thank you.”
The countess smiled and was gone. With a sigh of relief, Mariah ducked back behind the drape and turned toward the end of the balcony. It seemed even blacker now after a few moments back in the light. She felt utterly blind. “It’s the supper dance,” she said, feeling suddenly awkward. Would they walk back into the ballroom together, after he declared the night made for anonymity and she told him how silly she found most of her parents’ guests? But she didn’t want not to see him again. “You must put on your shoes again.” There was no reply. She edged toward where her mysterious companion had been. She didn’t even know how to hail him. “Sir?”
“Good-bye,” came his quiet voice, but now from below, far below. Her eyes widened, and she hurried to the balustrade and peered over into the darkness.
“How did you get down there?” she exclaimed.
“I thought it would be best if your mother didn’t discover you alone on the balcony with a stranger.”
“But—” What could she say to that? “You never told me your name,” she said, suddenly wishing she had not agreed to anonymity. And he knew her name; he had known Mama was calling her.
“No, I never did,” he said absently. She could hear rustlings in the garden below, but it was even darker down there than on the balcony. “Damn,” she thought he muttered. “Where is it?”
Where is what? she wondered, and then it dawned on her. She felt around the floor of the balcony and found a gentleman’s shoe, rather old-fashioned, with a raised heel and square toe. No wonder it pinched. She set it on the balustrade and leaned over, smiling broadly now. “Do you mean this shoe?”
“Yes!” He sounded relieved. “Would you be so kind as to toss it down?”
“I don’t believe I shall. Not until you tell me your name.”
There was a long silence. “Not even if I ask very politely?”
“No.”
“If I were to beg?”
A View to a Kiss Page 3