Louise Allen - Regency Scoundrels And Scandals

‘So you think I should just find him and…propose?’ It sounded the most frightening thing she had ever done. She could not imagine what it would feel like if he said yes.

‘I think that I will inveigle him into escorting me to Lady Letheringsett’s masked ball the day after tomorrow, and if you cannot find an excuse to carry him off and do the deed, then I wash my hands of the pair of you.’

‘But I am not invited…’ Bel with a plan was proving every bit as hard to resist as her brother.

‘Then come and let me present her to you. She’ll have arrived by now, I have no doubt. She’ll invite you, never fear.’

‘But if Jack finds out, he won’t come.’

‘Trust me.’ Bel grinned. ‘I will tell him at length how disappointed I am that the fascinating Grand Duchess Eva has declined! He will feel quite safe. Now, let’s see if we can fix your feathers.’

‘Don’t you have to dress up?’ Freddie enquired, obviously disappointed. He was perched on the edge of Eva’s bed, watching while Fettersham dressed her hair to accommodate the half-mask she was to wear.

‘No, just masks. It isn’t a masquerade with fancy dress, but there will be a grand unmasking at midnight.’

The mask was pretty, she decided, holding it up so the dresser could thread the ribbons back into her coiffure to hold it securely. It was covered in tiny golden brown feathers, making her eyes seem a richer, deeper brown in its shadows.

Her gown was amber gauze over bronze silk, the neckline swooping low to expose the swell of her breasts and a generous décolletage. Eva was dressing for Jack tonight. Since that first night he had never seen her in anything but practical clothes. This was going to be a revelation.

‘Jewellery, ma’am?’ Fettersham proffered the selection the jewellers had sent. Diamonds, of course, or citrines or amber to match the dress. Eva hesitated, then chose diamonds set in gold with a diamond aigrette for her hair. She glowed, as she intended to, an offering to a man whose scruples must be overcome. She had seduced him once, on his own turf, now, on hers, the world of ballrooms and etiquette, she felt her confidence building. He would say yes, she had to believe it.

‘Mr Ryder will like that gown,’ Freddie said confidently. ‘I think you look very pretty.’

‘Why, thank you.’ Eva stared at her son as his words penetrated. ‘Why do you think Mr Ryder will be there to see it?’

Freddie sucked his cheeks in and managed to look like a cheeky angel. ‘You are all fluttery, Mama.’

‘Impudent child,’ she scolded. ‘Off to bed with you!’

Fluttery, indeed! The little wretch could read her like a book, even if he did not know the first thing about the relationships between men and women. Just like his papa, she thought. Louis had always been able to read her mind—except when he chose not to for his own ends, like that dreadful day in the vaults. She sincerely hoped her innocent son had not the slightest inkling of the sort of things that flitted through her mind when she thought of Jack.

‘What a fabulous gown!’ Lady Bel pounced on Eva as soon as she had entered the ballroom. ‘And such a lovely mask—I wouldn’t have known it was you if I hadn’t been looking out very carefully. It is so nice to be out of mourning, although I shall be in such trouble if Mama finds out. I have four more weeks to go, really.’ She swept Eva down one side of the crowded ballroom, ignoring the chattering throng, the men with their quizzing glasses scrutinising every masked lady, the towering floral displays and the glittering lights.

‘Is this not a brilliant idea of mine?’ Bel congratulated herself as they arrived in a slightly quieter semi-alcove. ‘Because of the masks, no one is announced, so he will not have the slightest suspicion.’

‘Where is he?’ Eva craned to see. It appeared hopeless, then the crowd moved and there, leaning one shoulder against the pillar opposite, was a tall, dark-haired man in severe evening black, his mask a plain black slash across his face, his white linen the only relief from the starkness. She would have known him anywhere, and known, too, that, despite the relaxed half-smile on his lips, the casual attitude, he did not want to be here, that this evening was a penance undertaken to give his sister pleasure.

‘I left him there and made him swear to wait for me,’ Bel explained. ‘There is a retiring room right behind that curtain, and the key is in the lock.’

‘Do you know the location of every retiring room in London?’ Eva asked, amused despite her tension. ‘You make me suspect you have numerous outrageous flirtations.’

Bel coloured. ‘I am boringly chaste—and unchased,’ she said lightly. ‘Go on, he is all yours. And good luck!’

Eva skirted round to approach Jack from behind. She paused, studying him. His hair had been cut since he got back; she could glimpse the whiter skin at his nape, and the memory of how that skin had felt under her fingers, against her mouth, took her breath.

There was so much noise with voices raised in conversation and the orchestra just trying its first few chords that she knew he could not have heard the soft tap of her slippers on the parquet floor, but as she reached the point where she could have stretched out and touched him, he pushed himself away from the wall and turned.

‘You.’ He kept his voice low, but it reached her none the less. His whole body was poised to move, the tension she had sensed on the quayside in Lyon was vibrating through him. He had hardly had to look at her and he knew her.

‘Jack…’ Eva held out her hand, but he did not take it. ‘I need to talk with you.’

‘This is Bel’s doing, I take it?’ His mouth was a hard line and Eva realised he was furiously angry.

‘Your sister told me you would be here. Jack—’ No, he wasn’t Jack Ryder here. This, in the glamour of the ballroom, in his exquisite tailoring, his signet glowing dark on his hand, this was the other man, the one she had never met. ‘Lord Sebastian. Please, there is a retiring room just here, I believe.’

‘Very well.’ Punctiliously he held the curtain back, opened the door for her and waited while she slipped inside.

‘Will you turn the key? I do not wish to be interrupted.’ She glanced around. A chaise against the wall, two chairs, a pretty little marble fireplace set across the corner, that was all.

‘Jack…Sebastian. What do I call you?’

‘Nothing,’ he said harshly.

‘You left without saying goodbye.’ Eva meant it as a prelude; he took it as an accusation.

‘It was better that way. I had hoped not to have this conversation.’

‘What conversation? How do you know what I want to talk about?’

‘I assumed you have changed your mind about wanting our affaire to end.’ Jack’s eyes were bleak, although his tone was neutral. ‘I do not want it to end, either,’ he added. ‘But I know it is the wise thing. The only thing for two people circumstanced as we are.’

‘No. That is not what I meant to say. I agree with you: an affaire is impossible here.’ That, she was pleased to see, took him aback. ‘But like you, I wish it were not.’

‘Then why are we here?’ Jack asked. The black mask made him seem different somehow, more aloof, more dangerous. ‘In a locked room? Just one more time, perhaps?’ Eva moved in a flutter of silk and gauze, needing to be closer, needing to see his eyes more clearly. She saw his control snap, suddenly without warning, like lightning from a clear sky. She was in his arms, crushed against his chest, his eyes were blazing into hers and his mouth came crushing down to silence her gasp of protest.

Damn it, did she think he was made of iron? She had taken him by surprise, with his guard down, and she came in silks and feathers and a cloud of subtle perfume that enhanced the scent of her and spoke of sin and sweetness and soft, soft skin. He was aching for her, had been aching with the bone-deep agony of something broken ever since that chaste night in Brussels.