A tall fellow with dark hair approached her. Her mother had the right of it. She didn’t need to see beneath his mask to know he was Thornley. He exuded confidence, wearing his rank like a well-tailored cloak. When he smiled, she thought her stomach should have gone all a’jumble. He was devilishly handsome with power and prestige. She liked him well enough, but he didn’t create any sparks within her. Could she marry a man who didn’t? Duty dictated that she could and would. But would happiness follow? Would it be enough so she didn’t lie in bed and think of another?
“Lady Lavinia,” he said in his deep rich baritone, taking her gloved hand and pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “Or should I say Queen Marie Antoinette?”
She laughed lightly, truly delighted by his perceptiveness. Although she did hope he wouldn’t be paying that much attention throughout the evening. “You discerned who I am. Jolly good for you. As for yourself . . .” He wore his black evening attire and a plain black half mask. She arched a brow in question.
“Wellington, naturally.”
She gave him a pointed look. “You could at least have gone to the bother of dressing in his military garb.”
“I’m an older version of him, long after his military days were behind him. Dare I hope you saved me a waltz?”
She glanced at her card. A waltz was next with no name beside it, and since the gent for whom she’d been saving it had yet to show, she said, “You’re in luck. The next dance is yours.”
Reluctantly, she admitted he was a marvelous dancer as he swept her over the polished parquet floor. Respectful. No wickedness glinting in his eyes indicating he had a desire to hold her nearer. Would he once their betrothal became official? “Do you not enjoy masquerade balls?” she asked.
“Not particularly, no.”
“Then I appreciate that you came.”
“Your mother would have never forgiven me. Would you?”
“Yes, if I understood your reason. Why is it, do you think, we are taught we must do things we don’t want to do?”
“I don’t know. It does seem an odd way to manage one’s life. Are you enjoying your Season?”
“Very much. I don’t want it to end.” And then for reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, she was prompted to add, “I can hardly wait for next Season and another round of balls.”
“Are you in no hurry to wed?”
“No, Your Grace, I am not. Are you?”
He chuckled low. “To be honest, Lavinia, I think we’re both too young for such a venture.”
She laughed at that. He was all of eight and twenty. She wondered when he’d think he was old enough, but then her brother at six and twenty was also taking great pains to avoid marriage. She angled her head haughtily. “As queen, I relieve you of your duty to remain in attendance this evening. And if you’d be so dashed good as to take my brother with you, all the better.”
“Do you truly not mind if I take my leave?” he asked.
“Absolutely I do not mind. I have an abundance of dance partners, some who even went to the trouble of having a proper costume.”
The music faded away, the dance came to an end. With a tender smile, he took her hand and once again pressed a kiss to the back of it. “You are a generous queen. A pity one day you will lose your head.”
She wondered if perhaps she already had—over another. She certainly had no wish for him or Neville to watch her waltzing with Finn, to note she danced with him more closely than she ought, enjoyed his company more than she had that of any of her other partners. Being the perfect gentleman, he escorted her off the dance floor. “Enjoy your night, Your Grace.”
“Enjoy yours as well, my lady.”
He strode away, purpose reverberating in every step. She suspected he intimidated many, but then he’d been forced to put on the mantle of duke at fifteen, was very much accustomed to his place.
“You seem to like him,” a low voice said in a sensual whisper near her ear.
Her heart thundering, she swung around to face a man dressed in common threads. Beneath his greatcoat, he wore a laborer’s jacket, waistcoat, shirt, and knotted neck cloth. His boots, however, were buffed to a shine. His wide-brimmed hat, also that of a laborer or a farmer, was brought low over his brow, casting shadows over his face, a face half-hidden behind a black mask. “You came.”
“I promised you I would. I’d never lie to you, Vivi.”
She smiled. “Your costume . . .” Not nearly as posh as all the others, but then coins were precious to him. She couldn’t expect him to spend them on a trivial matter.
“I’m a highwayman,” he said.
Her grin grew. “Naturally. Brilliant. How creative you are. I daresay, you’re the only one about.” Leaning toward him, she whispered, “You appear to be very dangerous.”
“Because I am.” His lips quirked up sensually. “But only to you.”
Why was it he could so easily cause her entire body to melt, her mind to lose its sharpness? “I’m Marie Antoinette, in case you didn’t know. She was the queen—”
“I know who she was.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to always question your education.”
“I saw her in Madame Tussaud’s exhibit. You’re much prettier.”
“Than a wax figurine? I daresay, I should hope so.”
“Have you saved me a dance?” he asked.
She nodded. “You promised to learn how to waltz. Did you manage to work in some lessons?”
“I watched while you danced with that last bloke. It seems easy enough.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Awhile.”
“Why didn’t you approach me sooner?”
“Because I didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention, so I took some time blending in. You’re quite popular.”
His tone implied he might be bothered by that knowledge. “It’s my family’s ball, so ladies feel obligated to speak with me and men to dance with me. It doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”
“Do you not?”
“So much is done out of duty. You’re here because you want to be, because you wanted to please me.” Although it was ill-advised, she reached out, grabbed his gloved hand, and squeezed. “It means the world to me that you came. Did you clamber over the wall?”
He chuckled low. “No, I used the gate. I didn’t want to risk messing up my disguise.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Looking past him, she saw a gentleman approaching. “I have to dance the quadrille with Lord Dearwood. Your waltz is after that. Wait here for me.” Since she hadn’t given any thought to how she would introduce him to anyone, she left him there and met Dearwood on his way to her.
The entire time they danced, she was aware of Finn watching her, studying her, his gaze never leaving her. He cared about no one other than her. He was here simply for her. He made her feel special, unique, cherished. When the dance finally ended, she was grateful to be headed back toward him. Dearwood fell into step beside her. “You don’t need to see me off the dance floor.”
“Of course I do, my lady. I am a gentleman after all.”
She tried to detour them around some other couples and arrive at edge of the dance floor away from Finn, but it seemed both men had caught each other’s attention because Dearwood sought to steer her where Finn was, and Finn had left his spot to meet her. She cursed men and their stubborn natures and jealousies even as she couldn’t help but secretly gloat that Finn was determined to claim her.
When they were finally off the dance floor, Finn stepped up. Dearwood angled his head in a way that reminded her of a confused dog. “I’m not certain I know who you are, sir.”
“Dick Turpin,” Finn said smoothly, his diction not straying from the manner in which he usually spoke, and Lavinia knew a moment of panic, fearing he would be discovered.
Dearwood laughed, but the chortling didn’t contain any true amusement. “Clever, sir. However, I was referring to your true identity not your costume.”
“
I thought the entire purpose behind a masquerade ball was, for one night, to be someone other than who we truly are.” Now, with his words perfectly pronounced, he spoke haughtily, as though he were a king addressing a subject with whom he found fault. In his profession, he no doubt frequently dealt with posh people and had learned to mimic them. Dearwood would think his earlier diction merely part of the role he was playing. Finn bowed slightly toward Lavinia. “Marie Antoinette, I believe the next dance is mine.”
Ah, yes, he could definitely be mistaken for an aristocrat. Without hesitation, she placed her hand on his offered arm. “Thank you for the dance, Lord Dearwood.” And she was ever so grateful to be escorted away from the prying man. “He’s a friend of my brother’s. A rather curious one, it seems.”
“I think he has his eye on you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She almost told him she was spoken for but didn’t want to ruin the magic of the night. Separated from others, they waited at the edge of the dance floor for the cotillion to end. “You handled him well. It occurred to me too late we should have given you a moniker—Lord something or other.”
“I’m not a lord.”
His tone was flat, and she dearly hoped he wasn’t feeling as though he were surrounded by better men, because he wasn’t. No one she knew was as kind or interesting as he. “No, you’re Dick Turpin, an infamous highwayman. Why him?”
“His story always fascinated me.”
She shook her head. “The things you know.”
“You can learn a good deal spending your evenings in taverns. I once visited one where he supposedly drank on occasion. They still talk about him—legendary hero to some.”
“But if he’d really been a hero, he’d have not been hanged, surely.”
“Perhaps not, but justice isn’t always meted out fairly.”
She didn’t want to talk about justice or hangings. “We’ve gotten rather maudlin.”
“We’re dressed as people who came to a tragic end.”
“Then let’s pretend tonight they had no tragic end but lived happily ever after.”
He wanted to give her that happily ever after, a silly thing to want when she lived in a world such as this. Although he hadn’t missed the shine that had lit up her eyes or the brightness of her smile when her gaze had fallen on him and she’d realized he’d come as promised.
He’d been here for a while, getting a measure of the place, the people. One of the reasons he’d been such a skilled thief was because he never rushed into anything, but took his time, cataloging all the varied nuances of a situation, ensuring he took no missteps. He’d done the same tonight, knowing it was crucial he be mistaken for an aristocrat. He had little doubt that if his true origins were suspected, he wouldn’t be merely pleasantly escorted off the property, but would be hauled off to jail with a punch or two delivered along the way for his arrogance.
The earl and countess wouldn’t like at all that he’d invaded their exclusive ball. But Vivi liked it. She liked it a great deal, which made the risk worth it.
The tune that had been playing finally came to an end, and he led her onto the dance floor. His brother Mick’s lover was a duke’s widow, and she’d taught him how to waltz and Mick had grudgingly taught Finn. It seemed he believed as Aiden did that Finn was a fool for spending any time in the company of an earl’s daughter, but they were the fools for not understanding what it was to feel complete when in someone else’s presence. They didn’t know what it was to experience unrivaled joy when taking hold of a hand or gazing into green eyes. His world was drab and dark, his days filled with hard, often gut-wrenching tasks—but whenever he saw her his past, present, and future were more colorful and brighter. His troubles melted away, or at least they scurried into hiding. As long as he was with her, he was filled with hope.
At that precise moment, his arms were filled with her. Perhaps he held her a little nearer than he should have, his legs brushing up against her skirts, but she didn’t chastise him for it. Instead she wore a wicked little half smile and watched him through teasing eyes that signaled she knew what he was about. He wished they weren’t wearing the damned masks. He wanted to see her face in its entirety, here in a room where half a dozen crystal chandeliers rained gaslight down on them.
While her eyes were more visible than he could ever recall seeing them, the mask did throw shadows around the emerald. Green had become his favorite color but there were so many different shades that he wasn’t certain he’d ever seen one that matched her eyes exactly. He was grateful her mask stopped just below her nose, that her mouth remained visible to him. Her pink lips tempted him to lean in and take possession of them. His hand, with his fingers splayed, spanned a good deal of her back. She was such a delicate creature that he feared she wouldn’t be able to survive in his world.
He required a lot of coins if he had any hope at all of making her comfortable. The absurdity of contemplating a future with her was not lost on him.
“I’m impressed,” she said. “You’ve not stepped on my toes once.”
“I would do nothing to cause you harm.”
Her eyes warmed. “You may not be nobility, but you are most certainly a gentleman. There is no one within these walls who I hold in higher esteem.”
Her words touched him deeply, and he didn’t doubt for a single moment she meant them.
“Will you dance with others?” she asked.
“No. I’m here for only you. You’re the only one I care about, Vivi.”
For the space of a single breath, he thought she might lean in and kiss him. “There are two more waltzes and I’m going to dance them with you,” she said instead. “It’ll be scandalous, but I don’t care.”
“What makes it scandalous? We’re dancing now.”
She laughed. “A lady isn’t supposed to dance more than twice with a gent. Silly rule, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want another waltz with you. I want to take you someplace where I can kiss you.”
She bit into her lower lip. He’d never noticed before but one of her front teeth was slightly crooked, lapping over the other. The sight of it did something funny to his insides, made him want to protect her all the more. “Between those two waltzes are three other dances for which I have no partner. Perhaps we can take a stroll about the garden.”
Away from everyone else, where he’d be more in his element, wouldn’t feel as though he was under constant observation. “I look forward to it.”
Dancing with him had been a dream come true. He was so light on his feet. Little wonder she hadn’t heard him enter her room that first night. And the way he’d held her, respectfully and not. Where her fingers had rested against his, he’d tightened his hold as though he never intended to let her go. At her back, his hand had claimed her, and she’d dearly wished he’d brought her in nearer, had urged her closer. She should have gone anyway, but she suspected somewhere her mother was watching, brow deeply furrowed, striving to determine with whom her daughter was dancing.
It was all so delicious—even if no one knew she was being naughty. She knew. And so did Finn. He liked that about her. Thornley would not. The duke expected her to remain above reproach. How frightfully boring it was to always do what was expected. She could only hope her eventual marriage wouldn’t be as unexciting. Yet she’d have memories of Finn to see her through it.
No matter where she was in the grand salon—on the dance floor, standing about with other debutantes and whispering about one gent or another—she felt Finn’s gaze on her, had merely to look over and, with unerring accuracy, would find him, always alone, carefully avoiding being drawn into any conversations, into being questioned by someone who wouldn’t take Dick Turpin as the answer to his identity. How lonely it must be for him. How selfish she had been to invite him.
Yet when the next waltz arrived, the one that gave them some time to be alone, he didn’t seem the least bit put out. Instead his eyes grew warm and his grin welcomed. When she’d first met him, she hadn’t
realized that eventually he’d become the most important person in her life, the one for whom she got out of bed each morning, the one she carried with her into her dreams.
She really needed to be forthright with Thornley and inform him she had misgivings about their arrangement. Although there was always time for that as neither of them was in any hurry to see it through. Maybe he even had someone special he’d prefer to marry; perhaps that was the reason his time in her company felt compulsory rather than desired. Unlike her time with Finn. She was with him because she wanted to be, because she would cease to breathe if she wasn’t.
“So how do we manage this secretive tryst without getting caught?” he asked.
“As discreetly as possible, make your way to the open doors, go through them, and down the steps. Wait for me there. I’ll be thirty seconds behind you.”
“Done this before, have you?”
“No.” She grinned. “But I’ve watched others slipping out.” Thornley had never sought to arrange a tryst with her. She found the notion of having one with Finn exhilarating. Quite honestly, as handsome as Thornley was, she never thought about kissing him, while she thought about kissing Finn all the time. But then most of her day and almost all her night was spent thinking about him.
When the music stopped, he led her off the dance floor, took her hand, and bowed over it, pressing another kiss to her gloved knuckles. “I’ll be waiting,” he murmured seductively.
She watched as he walked off, wending his way through the gathered throng of guests, suddenly disappearing from her sight. How had he accomplished that? To blend in until he became invisible to her? Perhaps he’d managed breaking into her room because he was still a thief, hadn’t given it up as he’d claimed. He’d certainly succeeded in stealing her heart.
The Scoundrel in Her Bed (Sins for All Seasons #3) Page 9