Chapter 2 #2
At Phoebe’s frown, Genevieve laughed and clarified, “The red ribbons signify those naughtier rooms. It means there are amorous things at play within those walls.”
“Oh,” Phoebe acknowledged, and then it truly hit her. “Oh.” A flush of heat crept up the back of her neck, and she adjusted the straps of her mask to hide the scarlet that was surely blooming on her cheeks.
“Yes, oh. Now, go and explore, I beg you. Just meet me back here in an hour or so, yes?”
And with that, Genevieve let go of her hands. With one last blown kiss over her shoulder, Genevieve, also known as Fairday for the evening, descended into the ballroom.
It took only a second for her to disappear into the beautiful, colorful fray of anonymity. Phoebe had the chance to nod her agreement for their rendezvous before her cousin had vanished, and then she was left wholly alone.
Magic, she reminded herself. Find the magic.
So, Phoebe spun on her heel and left the ballroom. Her skirts swished lightly as she circled around the male ballerina.
While the girls had spoken to one another, he had continued to move in time with the music and had once more reached for Phoebe. She was uncomfortable with that dancer’s outstretched hand and did what she could to avoid taking it.
She did not want to be spun into such a whirlwind of stunning dancers where she did not belong. So, she fled that room and instead let herself fall into the flood of guests who occupied the hallway.
From there, she let herself be carried by the tide. A flock of young ladies who were dressed as peacocks knocked on a door three times and were granted admittance immediately.
Phoebe craned her neck to see what was happening inside the room but did not allow herself to be pushed through the entryway. She heard a bit of laughter before shuffling forward with the remainder of the throng.
One after another, couples, trios, and small groups of revelers rapped on doors then scurried inside. At each separate stop, Phoebe considered joining the multitudes just so she could remain clustered with the gathering, but then she gently chided herself.
I have never been afraid of being alone before. Why start now?
She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and continued sweeping down the hall. At the end of the corridor, she found herself standing in front of a dark, wooden door.
“Hello?” She spoke quietly while rapping on the door in a soft, respectful way. Phoebe could not decide if she wanted to hear someone call her from within and beg her to join them, or if she would be more content to be greeted by silence.
When nobody answered her call, she pushed open the door…
Only to find herself faced with one singular case of books.
“Huh,” she spoke aloud, drawing nearer to that bookcase.
The door shut on its own accord behind her as she moved further into the tight space.
Because the room was so sparsely furnished, it did not take long for Phoebe to discover a screen.
It was one made of wooden lattice and was perhaps built there to provide some private space for a guest to find a moment of peace.
Phoebe quite liked the idea of taking a moment to breathe, so she scurried behind the screen and ran her fingertip along the spines of the books.
Phoebe had just plucked a book from the shelf and opened the tome to the first page when from the other side of the screen came a voice.
“What are you here for, then? Perhaps seeking refuge, like me?”
Phoebe stilled at the velvety soft voice that came through the other side of the wooden lattice. She was stunned that she had not noticed another person in the room upon entry. Mortified to think that she had inadvertently invaded another person’s space, she froze and held her breath.
A long moment passed. Phoebe waited for the person to speak again, but no words fell between them. Feeling flustered, Phoebe gently closed the book and replaced it on the shelf.
“Perhaps,” she dared to admit as her gaze lifted through that latticed divide.
She had to squint to see clearly through the wooden slats, but when she trained her eyes she caught sight of a man.
He sat in a voluptuous green leather armchair with an ankle crossed over a knee and a book open in his lap. With his attention diverted, she was free to lean closer to the divide and peer closely at him.
In the dim light, his mask glimmered with green and yellow scales. Initially, Phoebe could not discern what these colors signified. Just as she had been baffled by Lord Spencer’s costume upon arriving at the event, she was equally stymied by the mask this man wore.
But then, ever so slightly, he tipped his head to the side, clearly examining the words that were printed on the page of his book, and that single movement provided an ounce of clarity.
The intricate, shimmering patterns made up a snake’s mask, she realized. Phoebe felt foolish. She should have seen the resemblance immediately and probably should not have been as intrigued as she was, but… she could not tear her gaze away from the man.
Following the line of his figure down, she noted dark green attire that matched his mask. Even knowing she was there, he kept his focus on the book, and Phoebe was more curious than ever to know what had captured his attention so thoroughly.
She pressed her nose to the wooden lattice and scrunched her eyes even further to get a better glimpse. Phoebe’s eyes roved over the page, trying to make out words—
He took her in his embrace, his hands skimming her naked curves—
Phoebe immediately lifted her gaze, though her face flushed.
“I am sorry,” she said quickly, stumbling as she backed into the other side of the privacy chamber. “I shall leave you to your reading—”
“My reading? Does it disturb you that I peruse this text which speaks of pleasures of the flesh?” The voice returned.
She could hear a hint of amusement coloring the tone.
“What is wrong? Why do you feel you must scurry away? Many ladies who come to Lord Spencer’s Masquerades are not so afraid of such topics. ”
Phoebe stilled. She pressed her hand to her heart and inhaled slowly. She willed her pulse to return to a normal speed so that she might be capable of answering the gentleman, but her heart continued to beat erratically.
I do not know what is wrong with me.
She was thrown by his seemingly simple questions. When she was in the privacy of her own room, at her parents’ townhouse, Phoebe had often read novels that were filled with scenes like the ones in the gentleman’s book.
Yes, and if I were at home, sheltered behind my bed curtains, and away from prying eyes, it would be acceptable for me to peruse such bawdy plotlines and dream of what might happen between a gentleman and a lady.
But here…? In the library at Lord Spencer’s home?
Phoebe was scandalized. She knew not what to do next. It occurred to her that she should say something, but what could she say to a gentleman who read these texts then sought to speak of them with a young lady he did not know?
“I am guessing by your silence that this is your first time at such a ball like Lord Spencer’s,” the voice said. “You know, of course, that Spencer is not his true name?”
With a tight throat, Phoebe said, “I am aware that nobody ought to give their true names here.”
A low, deep chuckle came in response. “I do not care for such anonymity. If a person cannot be themselves at all times, then they ought to change their ways, not their name.”
Phoebe swallowed hard, feeling so much like an outsider. His quiet laugh mocked her. “Nonetheless, I am sorry I interrupted, but I must take my leave. You were clearly seeking solitude so that you might read your book without interruption. Or you were expecting another person and…”
She knew that she was rambling slightly. Nervous butterflies flitted through her stomach as she waited, once more, to hear him speak and tell her why he had truly come to this room and positioned himself so that he might hide from everyone else.
Her eyes lifted to that latticed partition. Phoebe felt a desperate need to learn the identity of the man who read such daring things on the other side.
He said he did not care to remain anonymous, so I am not violating his privacy by trying to catch a glimpse.
Cautiously, she leaned forward and laid a gloved hand on one of the wooden slats.
Oh, how I wish I could pry this flimsy structure apart and see who is really hiding behind those reptilian scales.
The idea of learning this gentleman’s real name overwhelmed Phoebe.
She no longer cared what might be happening in the ballroom nor did she spare a thought for the lascivious acts that might be entertaining those flippant partygoers who had daringly entered the red ribbon rooms. Now, she could only think of the man who was divided from her by the partition.
Perhaps he is someone like me, she thought, and then chased that notion away. But then, another idea rose to replace the first: This is someone who might have to read in secret.
“I was only waiting for somebody eager to listen,” the stranger answered, that velvety voice dropping even further. “The Blooming Flower of Spring,” he quoted, and she saw the brief brush of fingers over a title page to tell her further. “Have you ever heard of it?”
And, Heavens, in all her time of reading such material, material that had made her very being sing, Phoebe had to confess, “No, I have not.”
“A shame. It is a good title so far.” He shifted his position in the chair and looked up at her.
The green scales near the eyeholes of the mask sparkled as he said, “I am sure you can only read bits and pieces from your vantage point. Would you like me to read aloud so that we may share this text together?”
Phoebe paused. Her face flamed hot as her lower lip caught between her teeth in both hesitation and allure. She could not fathom a response, not yet.
Before she could utter a single word, the masked stranger continued in a sultry tone, “The point of Lord Spencer’s Masquerade is for the guests to enjoy themselves freely. Surely you want to hear me read a passage?”
Phoebe’s heart rate accelerated once more. She was already intoxicated by the sound of the man’s voice. She could not fathom what would happen to her if she stood still and listened to him read aloud those scenes of seduction.
When she said nothing, he continued speaking in a low, husky voice.
“Nobody has to learn about it. Even the two of us know very little about each other because of this very convenient wall which separates us. As much as it would please me to see your face and reveal my own, I respect the ways of this event. We will remain anonymous.”
He drummed his fingers idly on the gilded edges of the pages.
“What do you say? Would you like to hear more? Or will you leave this place and never look back?”
Phoebe’s chest burned with shame. She could not fail to realize that she had been caught intrigued. She wished to stay and hear more.
Finally, when she knew she could not keep him waiting any longer, she whispered, “My identity is truly hidden behind my mask?”
“Behind mask and wall, madam. Whoever you are.”
So, she sat down firmly on the bench presented to her in the private chamber, and she heard a low chuckle in response to the wooden creak of her sitting.
“So, you are interested.” It was not a question.
Phoebe said nothing. Her actions had spoken for her, and now all she had to do was sit quietly and wait.
“Well, then, where was I? Ah…”