This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Copyright © 2013 by Nicole Zoltack
Masked Love by Nicole Zoltack
All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Month9Boooks, LLC.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Edited by Georgia McBride
Published by Swoon Romance
Cover designed by Su Kopil
Cover art license by Shutterstock.com
To everyone who loves romance and the Christmas season, may you always enjoy love and hope each Christmas.
Isabelle’s arms were getting tired as she, once again, let her lady’s hair loose. Lady Theodosia Haywood could not make up her mind as to how to wear it, nor her clothes. And if Isabelle did not hurry and help, Lady Theodosia would be very, very late for the masquerade ball that night.
“I’m sorry,” the lady whispered. She rubbed her arms, her flesh bumped and raised.
“Do not fret.” Isabelle patted her shoulder. She, too, would feel all out of sorts if she were to meet the man she was pledged to marry for the first time tomorrow, on Christmas Eve morning.
Isabelle expertly twisted Lady Theodosia’s hair into a bun on the top of her head. Her fingers teased out wisps of blond hair and curly ringlets around her dainty face. “There, is that better?”
She had styled it in a bun earlier, but her lady had deemed it too low. Still, this style was one Lady Theodosia usually liked; although, mayhap it was too familiar for the ball.
Isabelle went to release the bun, when Lady Theodosia touched her arm.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
She nodded. “Now, which dress shall you wear?”
Lady Theodosia stared at herself in the oval mirror. Without a smile, her face looked longer than normal, and her blue eyes had lost their usual luster. Typically, Lady Theodosia enjoyed balls and parties, especially just before Christmas. Now she had lost not just her Christmas spirit, but also her will.
“What if he’s ugly? Or is boring?”
Isabelle held her tongue. Although Lady Theodosia was the nicest charge she had ever served under, she had only been her maid for two years. Despite their being close, Isabelle felt certain she could not speak her mind on this matter. Helping pick out outfits, yes. Suggesting countless hairstyles, of course. Talking about the husband her parents had chosen for her, definitely not.
“What if he doesn’t like me and ignores me and would rather enjoy the company of another woman?”
Ah, now that Lady Theodosia voiced her real fears, Isabelle was too moved to keep silent on the matter. “Then, we shall just have to make certain that you look your best tomorrow and make him forget that all other ladies even exist. He shall have eyes for no other but you.”
Lady Theodosia’s bright blue eyes lit up. “Thank you, Isabelle.” She stood and glided over to her bed. Her fingers traced along the curves of the golden mask she had already decided upon.
“I am sure he will love you, and you him.”
The lady’s pink lips turned downward. “How can you be so certain?”
“What of Lady Helen? Her parents matched her last month, and she is happy.”
“True. They are friends at the very least, and she thinks she might one day grow to love him. So perhaps not all hope is lost.”
Isabelle reached into the lady’s expansive closet. “Would you like this?” She held up a lovely lilac lightweight dress.
“No. Too subdued.” Lady Theodosia tapped her chin with her thin finger. “You know … Charlotte is going tonight, but we are going to see if we can find each other or not, without revealing ourselves. I can’t wear something she’ll instantly recognize. Then again … ” She sighed before brightening almost immediately. “You should accompany me! That way, I’ll have someone to talk to, and it will be your job to make sure I have a good time.”
“Me?” Isabelle took a step backward as if to hide in the mountain of clothing. “No, no I couldn’t. I have nothing to wear and no mask and—”
“I have more than one mask, and more than enough clothes. Hurry now, we do not have a lot of time.”
Lady Theodosia clapped her hands, her cheeks flushed with excitement and happiness for the first time since learning about her upcoming meeting with her intended. She had been so upset earlier she had fled the parlor before her parents could even tell her his name. Isabelle hadn’t the heart to refuse her, although she couldn’t help thinking Lady Theodosia was being a trifle bit absurd. She knew since a young age her parents had already chosen a future husband for her. It was not new news. Besides, Lady Theodosia’s parents loved her and would not choose a horrible man for their only daughter.
So, she dressed them both and soon found herself looking nothing like herself in a pale rose-colored gown and black mask with silver markings that accented the darkness of her eyes and hair. Her stomach twisted into knots as she strolled around the ballroom floor, and she held up a gloved hand to refuse the tray of foods a servant proffered her. She tried to catch the servant’s eye, to acknowledge him, but he kept his gaze on the floor and rushed to another partygoer.
The music was lovely, the most striking she had ever heard, and she inched toward the musicians. Lady Theodosia had left her side shortly after they had ducked inside behind a large group of nobles. So much for coming together. Much to Isabelle’s relief, no one looked her way or seemed to realize she had no business being here. Still, her nerves got the best of her, and she tugged on her gloves, her palms inside becoming dewy.
The song ended, and Isabelle clapped eagerly.
Darkness befell her left side, and she glanced over to see a tall man, his hands clasped behind his back. A lock of hair had fallen onto his forehead, the rest brushed up for added height. His large nose twitched, and his stare fell upon her. “Are you having a good time?” he asked.
She flushed and averted her gaze. As a maid, she wasn’t used to maintaining eye contact. “Y-yes,” she managed after a brief, uncomfortable pause. Before he could say more, she scurried away, feeling like a wounded dog with its tail between its legs.
The music wrapped around her like a welcoming cocoon, and Isabelle scanned the crowd for Lady Theodosia. At first, she saw her nowhere, but then, to her shock, she spied her lady talking to a man. They were tucked away in a dark corner, standing closer than was proper. Isabelle started toward them. Their hushed tones were inaudible, but she heard Lady Theodosia’s clear, giddy laugh easily enough. As long she was happy, Isabelle was happy.
And alone.
Always alone.
Tagging along had been a horrible idea. She wandered around, staring at people’s shoes, sidestepping bouncy dancers, wishing time would tick along faster than its wearisome pace.
“Now that is a lovely mask.”
Isabelle kept walking until she realized she heard no response to the statement. Only a man stood nearby, with no one else close. Her cheeks grew hot, and she pointed to herself.
He nodded, a wide grin stretching across his face.
“Thank you,” she murmured so quietly he held his hand behind his ear
. “Thank you,” she repeated, a smidgen louder.
His own was exquisite: black with a red rose on the side, stones sparkling on the petals. A compliment died on her lips. Too much time had elapsed for her to issue one now to destroy the silence, for fear of it sounding like a lie.
“Um … ”
She found herself staring at his high polished shoes and wondering how long it had taken his servant to get them to look so shiny. Lord Haywood’s shoes never looked so fine. Black pantaloons enveloped the man’s legs. A dark cutaway coat stretched across his broad shoulders.
“Do you like what you see?”
So flustered was she that Isabelle answered without thinking first. “How can I when I know not who I am looking at?”
He tilted his head back and laughed. A strong, hearty sound. She found herself giggling despite her incredulity. How could she have said something so bold?
The tall man reached toward his mask, and she caught a glimpse of his wispy sideburns.
“No!” She touched his arm—his clothes were so soft, his arm firm beneath it—and jerked back as if burned. Where had she left her head? Her indecorous manner could get her thrown out, her name as well as the Haywoods’ tarnished, her position taken away from her, leaving her homeless two nights before Christmas …
Acting as though she hadn’t touched him, he continued on and adjusted his mask. For a brief moment, she saw his Roman nose. It perfectly matched his angular jawline.
“So you don’t want to know who I am yet do not like conversing with me when you do not know who I am. A conundrum.” He stroked his chin. The stubble there—would it prickle her palm, or tickle? What a thought! “Then there is only one solution.”
Her head shook from side to side, and she even backed up a step. She glanced to either side for a possible escape and found no easy path. They were far too close to the dancers and a servant was approaching her other side. She was good and trapped.
“A dance. May I?”
Her hand went to her throat, and her heartbeat fluttered faster than a hummingbird’s wings flickering on a summer day. A dance could prove who she was—a hired servant, and beneath the likes of everyone else here.
Thankfully, the good Lord was smiling down upon her as the familiar strains of the only dance she knew, the cotillion, began. What harm could result from one dance? He knew not who she was, and she would never have to reveal her true identity. After tonight, they would never meet again.
And so she accepted his outstretched hand and they danced. Isabelle’s feet were rather rusty at first, as if she needed to warm up some. The first two times, she stumbled through the chorus, but once the music washed over her and melted away some of her apprehension, she eased up, and her body responded in kind. Their movements mirrored each other as though they had danced together for years, and Isabelle enjoyed herself far more than she had in a long, long time.
After the last note died away, Isabelle was rendered breathless. She excused herself with a gesture and glided over to a servant to fetch a glass of negus.
Instead an arm covered with a dark shirt snaked out and snatched two. Her dancing partner handed her one, and she accepted it gracefully with a smile, her gaze averted. By now, she had started to breathe normally again, but her heart was still beating faster than normal.
She sipped her drink. The nougat was particularly strong, the sugar and honey mixing well with the roasted nut taste. “I like your rose,” she said in a rush, wishing to be the first to speak this time.
He rewarded her words with another huge smile that revealed his straight teeth as his fingers touched the rose on his mask. “Thank you. You are a most unusual dancer.”
Oh no, had she done something wrong? She covered her mouth to hide its openness.
“I know some ladies wish to hide behind their masks all night, but you won’t even look upon me. I do not even know what color your eyes are.”
“Nor I yours.” Isabelle forced herself to gaze upon his face. Light green eyes stared at her. Flecks of gold lined them, and she could not look away. More beautiful eyes she had never seen.
“I’ve never seen more beautiful eyes,” he whispered.
Hearing her thought vocalized caused her to step back. He touched her arm, and someone walked behind her; he had prevented her from colliding with that person. His hand was still on her, and in order to free herself of his grasp without offending him, she brushed her long brown curls back. She hadn’t the time to fix her own hair into a fashionable style.
Unwilling to see his haunting eyes again, she glanced around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. Indeed she was; earlier, she had been too focused on hiding that she had been staring at the floor for most of the evening. Now she saw the huge white staircase with enormously wide steps next to an ornate brass railing. The red curtains were pulled aside to reveal the tall windows. Exquisite paintings even more stunning than those in the Haywoods’ manor lined the azure walls. The nearest one depicted a sunny day at a park.
Her right shoulder felt cold; the sleeve of her dress had fallen askew. Lady Theodosia was an inch taller and a tad bit wider than Isabelle. Thankfully, the dress fit her well enough, with the crossover gauze bodice centered where it should be. She straightened her dress and checked the bow in the back. Her nerves were, once again, getting to her.
Her mysterious man handed her another glass. Without hesitation, she drank. Sweet Madeira wine. With nothing in her stomach, and already an alcoholic beverage, she had better be careful. Still, she could not help but enjoy herself. After all, an occasion such as this would never again happen in her lifetime. Lady Theodosia was making the most of the evening, the last night of her being single; why shouldn’t she?
“Have you any plans for Christmas?” she asked, then winced inwardly. Of course he had! “With your family, perhaps?” she added to try to save face.
“Not with my family this year, no. You?”
Isabelle stared at her half-filled glass. Her mother had died five years ago, the last of her family. “Not with mine either.”
“Perhaps we could spend some time together then.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed with an enthusiasm she truly felt despite the knowledge that it would never come to pass.
His lips were the only part of his face she could clearly see, and they curled into a smile she returned easily.
“I cannot wait until tomorrow,” Isabelle confided.
“And why’s that?” he asked. Through his mask, she could see the gold twinkling in his eyes. He truly was interested in what she had to say. Normally, Lord Haywood said nothing to her, and the few male servants she spoke to thought little of her because she had only recently secured her station at the manor.
“Why decorating, of course. There’s something almost magical about Christmas.” Isabelle was glad her mask hid her blushing. ’Twas almost sacrilegious to call Christmas magical.
“I know what you mean. Christmas brings out the best in people.” After he finished his wine, his lips twisted teasingly. “One year, I made my parents late for Christmas Day service. I had misplaced one of my shoes, or so I thought. Actually, the dog ate it. After we ate the Christmas meal, I gave him the other shoe. My mother wasn’t happy, but Baxter sure was.” He chuckled, and she joined in.
“My mother used to give me small presents each year. Just to show how much she loved me.” Isabelle smiled at the memory. After her mother had died, she had learned present giving wasn’t typically done, but she had already decided that if she were to ever get married and have children, she would continue the tradition.
“Sounds like she was a lovely woman.”
“She was.”
“So is her daughter.”
The alcohol must have been affecting her because she merely smiled again. She appreciated his not harping on her mother’s death and his lack of questions. Even so, she did leave his side to approach a picture a few feet away. A dark church. A pond and trees. A horse-drawn carriage. The cloudy sky
speckled with blue and pink caught her eye, as did the rainbow streaking across the background.
“Shall we dance again?” he whispered in her ear, having come to stand behind her.
She could feel his strong body against her back and inhaled his scent—soap and cinnamon. As much as she wanted nothing more than to say yes, the dance was unfamiliar, plus it would soon be time for the meal, and Lady Theodosia had assured Isabelle they would leave beforehand so her being there would not be detected.
“I’m afraid I have to get going.” She faced him, careful to keep some distance between them. A pit filled her churning stomach, and she handed him her glass. No more alcohol for her this evening. No more dancing. No more conversation with this tall, mysterious, handsome man. She knew the bewitching hour would come, and yet she found herself not wanting to leave his company.
His eyes closed for a second, and his lips tugged downward in a frown for the first time that evening. Her heart skipped a beat at seeing him so unhappy. “Can I at least learn your name?” he all but begged.
No!, a voice in the back of her mind said. If he were to ask about her, he would learn her station in life, and she could not bear to see him look at her as all lords did, with unseeing eyes. Maids and servants were invisible to gentry unless they had need for them to do a chore or job. But he saw her as a lady, as one equal to him, and her heart blazed at his gaze. He saw her for her. And yet he didn’t. He knew not who she was.
With great care, inch by inch, she lowered her mask. As much as she wanted to stare at its silver darkness, she forced herself to look at him.
They were far to the right of the dancing, and no one neared. He blocked anyone else from seeing her just by standing there as he stared at her, his eyes seemingly drinking her in. She knew she should blush and not tolerate to be gazed upon in such a manner, but she enjoyed it, relishing in pretending to be a noble lady, dreaming she could spend the night dancing and laughing in his presence.
Masked Love (A Christmas Regency Novella) Page 1