Juliet Landon - Mistress Masquerade

‘When was I angry with you, my lady? Do remind me.’

She ought to have kept quiet. She had set out the premise of a debate and now would have to refuse to elaborate. ‘Never mind,’ she whispered. ‘If you don’t recall it, then why should I? Please, which way is the exit?’

Shaking his head, he tried to hide his smile behind a knuckle as he came to stand four-square in front of her, lifting her chin to see beneath the bonnet into her deep violet eyes rimmed with black lashes long enough to sweep up moonbeams. ‘You thought I was angry when I kissed you?’ he said. ‘Really?’

She tried to move away, mortified that she had shown him so clearly what was in her mind. Secret thoughts, not to be shared. But now her back was against the cool wall, held there by his hands braced on either side of her, and she feared he meant to repeat it, after all her denials and disapprovals.

‘Since you ask, yes! Why else but to...?’

She saw his eyes widen. ‘To what? Humiliate you?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It was unforgivable, my lord. I am not to be used so.’

‘If that’s what you believed, then it was indeed unforgivable of me and not at all what I meant. I would never use such means to humiliate a woman.’

‘Then if that is the case, please don’t say any more. We shall forget about it.’

‘I hope not,’ he murmured.

‘I would like to return home, if you please.’

‘Steady, my lady. I shall take you home, but there’s no need to go galloping off like a spooked filly.’ His head lowered to hers and she was compelled to watch his mouth, to hear the softly spoken words, few of which she could remember later, that sounded like those he might have used to a nervous horse about to bolt. Gentling. Calming. Words of admiration about breeding and class and exclusiveness, elegance and loftiness that needed a man’s hand, not an old man’s, nor a boy’s. She might have shown irritation at that too-personal opinion, but she did not, for something deep within her kept her still and listening, as though at last she was hearing the truth for the first time.

‘Come on, my beauty,’ he whispered, holding out his arm for her to take.

Placing her fingers again on the blue sleeve, she walked with him to the door, blinking at the sunlight.

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