Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Friday evening arrived swiftly, and Tristan had not spoken to Caroline since the day they had visited in her parlor.
When he noticed her in Hyde Park, Dennison had pretended not to see him in order to keep Caroline to himself.
The man was an infuriating puzzle. Did he wish to propose to her or not?
The longer he waited to do so, the more hope Tristan held that he would choose to walk away.
Which was entirely unfair of him. Caroline had made it perfectly clear she was not interested in a relationship with him. Losing Dennison and becoming desperate wasn’t likely to send her crawling into Tristan’s arms.
He wanted her to want to be there. For her to think of kissing him as he had thought of kissing her.
Perhaps that was a better course of action. Show her how enjoyable it could be to marry him, how deeply he would cherish her. Precisely how he would hold her…
No, not that. Tristan would remain a gentleman, regardless of the temptation otherwise.
He glanced in the long mirror in his bedchamber and shifted the mask over his eyes.
It was simple, plain and black, matching the black caped domino and wide hood.
Surely he would blend into the crowd and the numerous other black dominos to be seen that evening.
That was his hope, at least. He had told no one of his intent to attend the masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens except for James, who had decided to wear a similar costume and attend anonymously with him.
Caroline wouldn’t like it above half, but if she was going to the pleasure gardens to keep an eye on her friend, which was undoubtedly her reason for accepting the ridiculous invitation, then James and Tristan would attend in order to keep an eye on her.
“Do you think she will be angry?” Tristan asked when they arrived at Vauxhall and climbed from James’s carriage.
Flames flickered on torches lining the pathway while people milled about, lacking inhibitions.
Loud, grating laughter rent the night air, and the overall tone was more abrasive than the usual ton party. Tristan found he disliked it immensely.
“How are we to find them in this crush?” James asked.
“Bengard would have paid for a supper box, I’m certain of it. Shall we make our way toward them?”
James agreed, so they wound their way through the groups, passing the maze and crossing a small bridge over a pond. A woman bumped Tristan’s shoulder roughly, sending him into James. She didn’t apologize, only laughed harder as she was led away with her group.
“My sister shouldn’t be here,” James said.
“She is a strong woman.” Tristan scanned the boxes circling the dance floor. “Miss Fielding, however, seems a more sensitive female.”
“Sensitive? Kitty?” James laughed. “A more lively lady I do not know. She is made for a place such as this.”
Tristan disagreed. He saw youth and na?vety when he watched Miss Fielding, and he feared this evening would be a shock for her, though she was bound to pretend otherwise. Caroline was different, though. She did not need to be coddled.
“There.” James pointed across the floor. “Is that not Kitty?”
Tristan had to shift to peer through the moving partners. The torches threw light over the crowd, but not enough to see easily.
“The fox,” James explained. “She has Kitty’s shape, and I believe it looks like her mouth.”
A woman in a copper gown with long sleeves and a fox mask was dancing with a dog.
Her smile was familiar, but James would certainly be able to recognize her more easily than Tristan did.
They moved about the floor in a waltz not unlike the one they had danced in Almack’s, only this one had a peculiar discomfiture about it.
When they completed the dance, the fox drew her hand through the dog’s sleeve and giggled her way toward a box in the half-circled building lining the perimeter of the dance floor.
It looked like something exotic Tristan would have seen on the Continent during his Grand Tour, a tall red building with private, arched tables inset, like a curved row of booths.
“Aha,” James said when the couple slid into a box where two women waited, one of whom was shrouded in a red domino—the color Caroline was meant to wear. “It is Kitty. Though I won’t have to tell you I don’t like all this waiting around.”
Tristan agreed. “Then we can ask them to dance.”
James glanced at him. “And give ourselves away?”
“No. You can disguise your voice, can you not? I shall do the same.”
“I won’t ask my sister. Devilish odd, that would be.”
“You ask Kitty. I’ll ask your sister.”
When the plan was decided, they made their way along the perimeter of the dance floor and stopped at the box holding their friends. Bengard leaned over Kitty in a predatorial way, though she did not seem to notice.
James cleared his throat. “I’ve never seen a more fetching costume. Might I have this dance, Miss Fox?”
Kitty looked at him sharply. Her gaze drifted to Bengard, whose eyes had narrowed.
“Only one dance,” James repeated.
“I’m not sure…” Kitty looked at Bengard, then at Caroline.
But Caroline was looking at Tristan, a bend in her brow. He bowed to her. “I would be honored to dance with you, Miss Scarlet.”
“I should like that,” she said.
Had he not disguised his voice well enough? She had accepted at once, and he a stranger, no less. He would like to think she had recognized him, because the alternative—that she would willingly dance with a man she didn’t know—was troublesome.
“If you will accept, then I suppose no harm can come of it,” Kitty said.
That wasn’t true in the least. Most people at Vauxhall did much to harm their reputations, which was the appeal of the masks.
James stepped away to give the women room to exit and leaned close, lowering his voice. “I dislike how quickly they accepted.”
Tristan lost the opportunity to reply when the women approached. He put out his arm and Caroline put a gloveless hand on his elbow. The slender, pale fingers wrapped around him, making him want to hold them. They started toward the center of the dance floor, just behind James and Kitty.
“Oh, my gloves.” Caroline looked back toward the supper tables. “I was eating when you approached, and I forgot to put them on.”
“Surely one dance won’t matter.” He tried to speak in a lower tone, but it only sounded forced.
“I suppose not.”
The music began, and their hands came together above their heads.
Tristan circled her waist with a firmer grip than he had at Almack’s, but the dance was nearly the same.
Caroline sucked in a quiet breath that made him want to pull her even closer.
He looked into her eyes, rimmed by the scarlet mask, as he spun her about the floor.
For this dance, at least, he did not have to reserve any of his feelings.
He was able to release the tight hold on his inhibitions and relax into the warmth of his attraction to her.
“There is something familiar about you,” Caroline said. “Are we known to one another?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so,” she muttered.
For a brief moment, he feared she knew who he was, but her eyes searched his for so long, he decided she had not quite reached that level of understanding.
“The man dancing with Kitty is my brother, I presume?”
Blast. Perhaps she had known him after all. “How did you know?”
“He cannot disguise his voice from me. Though I am certain he’s fooling her.”
“Is that why you accepted so easily?” Tristan asked, curious if she had guessed at his identity as well.
“I could not allow my friend to remain under…” Caroline glanced up at him and snapped her mouth closed.
“In Bengard’s greasy paws?”
“I would not have said it so plainly,” she countered.
She had stopped herself from saying it at all.
Tristan grinned. “I have no compunction in saying it for you.”
Caroline looked into his face, her red mask marring everything but her eyes and lips. She had a focus about her gaze that made him wonder if he’d been too free with her and given himself away.
“The man is forever taking liberties,” Caroline said, “though they are small enough to remain merely questionable and not severe enough to call him to account. Although I suppose that’s no better than proposing to a woman for the sake of a wager.”
Was that what she’d thought he’d done? Tristan maintained a placid expression, certain she knew who he was. But how did he want to spend the remainder of their time together? He searched his mind for a way to steer her off the path of certainty she currently trod.
“What a beastly thing to do.” He spoke with an added degree of gentility to his tone. “Though I do wonder if you misunderstood the gentleman. No one would propose to you merely for the sake of a wager.”
“Give up, Tristan,” she said. “I know it is you.”
“I stand by my words,” he replied smoothly.
Caroline left his side for a portion of the dance and returned, chewing her lip. He could not take his eyes from it. “How did you know it was me?” she asked.
“Your red domino was a dead giveaway. How did you see through my charming facade?”
“I do not know.” She took his hand, raising it above their heads for the last part of the dance. She must have forgotten Kitty had told him the color of her domino. “Something about the way you looked at me, I suppose. It was familiar.”
Warmth climbed up his torso, encasing his limbs. He felt as though flames licked the air around him when he was with her, but he didn’t realize it came through his gaze as well. Could she see through him?
Undoubtedly not, for she believed the only reason he had proposed was because of the wager. Which…could have been true at one time, but it wasn’t now. He also knew her to be of good character, from a good family, and possessed of a good dowry. All those points had run in her favor at the time.
Unlike Dennison, Tristan could stomach marrying a woman who didn’t share his appreciation for horses. They had spent a good deal of time together and he enjoyed her company immensely. She didn’t need to ride with him, as well.
Tonight, were he to repeat that fatal mistake, however, his reasons would’ve been far different and had nothing to do with a marriage wager at all. She was witty, intelligent, and beautiful. He could imagine himself enjoying his days with her and his evenings passing happily by her side.
“I thought my attention would be reserved for Kitty this evening. Little had I known, I am more helpless when it comes to her than I’d thought.”
“How so?” he asked.
“She is guileless, Tristan, and believes everything Lord Bengard says to her.”
“A danger.”
“Indeed.”
They finished the dance and bowed to one another. Tristan offered his arm, formulating a plan as he returned her to the supper box. James conveyed Kitty toward them at the same time. She laughed heartily, hanging from his arm, and his smile seemed rueful.
Once they reached the table, Tristan did his best to disguise his voice again—not for Caroline’s benefit but for the rest of the party. “I had a mind to walk through the gardens. Miss Scarlet, would you care to join me?”
Caroline looked at him with confusion before her blue eyes cleared. “What a splendid idea. Kitty, shall we walk through the gardens? I’ve heard they have all manner of delights.”
Kitty’s hands came together as though in prayer. “Oh, yes. What a lark.”
Bengard’s dark eyebrows slashed in irritation. “I can take you through the garden if you would like.”
“Shall we all go together?” Caroline cut in, before Kitty could agree. “My new friend is so charming, I vow he must be a gentleman.”
Had Tristan been a stranger, that would have been an odd thing to say. James looked at his sister now, probably surmising she had worked out their identities.
“There are a number of interesting things to see in the gardens,” Bengard said, leaving his half-eaten plate behind and joining them. “Are you coming, Hortensia?”
“No,” his sister said. “I will stay here and finish my supper.”
It was a good thing Tristan and James did choose to watch over the ladies, because the chaperone Bengard had provided was a paltry excuse for the position. Mrs. Hough first allowed her charges to dance with strangers, and now she permitted them to go into the dimly lit gardens together.
Caroline appeared to think these things at the same time. She looked at Tristan, then Kitty. “Shall we?”