Chapter 29
Eli stared up at the darkened townhouse before him, pulling his riding jacket tighter to ward off the chill.
No light shone from any window, and no activity outside led him to believe anyone was home.
The night was growing late. His borrowed horse stomped its hoof on the cobbled drive and tossed its head, showing displeasure at being out in the cold when he could be warm in the Cartwright stables.
It had been an entire day since Eli had seen or heard from Sam.
Over twenty-four hours spent eating, sleeping, or laboring away at the museum, but his every thought had revolved around her.
Her perfect rosebud lips, her scorching red locks, her unsettling stare that always seemed to find the tiny things Eli wished to keep hidden, but then she would just as seamlessly transform into the coy hoyden.
Eli had finally given up on his day’s work when he’d mislabeled a saber from the Orient as a scythe sickle from the wheat fields of England used after the Great Fire of London.
It was a mistake no true collector would have made, and thankfully, Lord Cartwright had not discovered the error before Elijah had.
He’d decided then it was time to return to the Cartwright townhouse; a meal, warm bath, and sleep were exactly what his body—and mind—craved.
Besides Sam in his arms.
He pulled the note from his pocket, a single line jotted on pristine, cream paper.
The Cartwright butler had handed him the note, addressed to him, when he’d returned from the museum.
14 Saint George Street, Hanover Square – 10 o’clock, sharp
Maybe the sender meant ten o’clock in the morning, not that night; however, Sam’s elegant script was unmistakable, and Eli would not risk missing another outing with her even if it took place in an unfamiliar part of London, at an unfamiliar home—with no explanation as to why.
Eli spied a post where the drive disappeared behind the house.
Tying the reins securely, he searched each window for any sign that someone was within.
The sound of carriage wheels and hooves sounded in the near distance, drawing Eli back toward the street, flanked on each side by neatly kept homes.
He took shelter next to a tall shrub, keeping himself hidden from view as the carriage approached from the same direction he’d journeyed from.
To his surprise, the coach slowed to a crawl before turning into the drive at 14 Saint George Street and stopping a mere several paces from where he stood in the shadows.
He was intrigued, there was no question about it. What exactly had Sam planned for their evening?
Sam exited the conveyance as if reading his thoughts.
Her shimmering gold gown became visible only for a moment before she pulled her long cloak tightly around her.
Eli noted that her hair was pinned under a cap, masking its vibrant color, but he still knew it was her: from the graceful curve of her neck, the confident set of her shoulders, and the tilt of her chin.
That he also recognized the coach and driver from the previous evening only confirmed it was her.
The carriage pulled away, leaving her standing outside the residence, clutching her handbag in one hand as something else hung from her other.
“Miss Samantha,” he called, stepping from the shadows.
“Shhhh, my lord,” she hissed, meeting him halfway. “Take this. Tie it tightly.”
Sam held a black domino mask out to him, her own disguise matching but in gold and outlined in silver.
Eli took the mask and turned it over in his hands. “What is this?”
“Do hurry and don your mask, my lord, before anyone happens upon us.” She did not hesitate to tie her golden disguise securely to her face, a simple bow at the back of her head as her handbag dangled from her wrist.
The loud bells of St. George’s rang through the crisp night, sounding the ten o’clock hour.
“Come, it is to begin, and we cannot be tardy.” Her eyes fairly glowed in the dark with her excitement, and any lingering doubt on his part melted away as he quickly secured his own disguise.
His grandfather had been wrong. One did not need travel the seven seas to find adventure. It lay about London proper in great abundance if one had the right guide.
She grasped his hand the moment he was finished and pulled him toward the darkened house.
“There appears to be no one in residence.”
“Oh, my lord—I will refer to you only as such this evening—what lay beyond the front door of this townhouse is certain to shock you,” she said breathlessly as they reached the front stoop.
“What shall I call you?”
“Whatever you’d like, my lord.” Her teasing tone mellowed to something else as if his chosen endearment meant much to her. “But you must decide quickly before the door opens.”
Sam knocked loudly on the door, and footsteps sounded within.
“Do not delay…” She raised her eyebrow, challenging him to answer.
“My fair maiden,” he replied without further thought. When she scrunched her nose, he tried again. “My perfect English rose?” He thought the play of a red rose and her burnt color hair was perfect, yet her expression said the name did not suit her at all. “My enchanting marchioness?”
Her eyes narrowed behind her mask before she chuckled deeply. “Splendid. No one will suspect who I truly am.”
Unease settled heavily upon his shoulders as the door opened to reveal a manservant, smartly dressed in green and black with his own mask in place. “Welcome,” he said in greeting. “My master is pleased you are here. Do remove your overgarments and come this way, the game is preparing to start.”
Sam did as instructed and started after the man, but Eli held her back and whispered, “Where have you brought me? And what game does he speak of?”
“Heavens, my lord, can you not tell a lark at play?
I do not know who lives here. Nor will any of the other guests.
I overheard Payton—“ her voice dropped with a hiss when she uttered her sister’s name—“speak of the thrill of a night such as this, and I simply had to know more, see more, experience more. And so, here we are!”
The manservant pulled open a set of double doors and stood aside for Sam and Elijah to enter the room. “Enjoy your evening. Do let any servant know if you are in need of anything. You will not know my master from any other player.”
“Are you ready, my lord?” she asked with a wink, and he knew her mask hid her smile.
Elijah was in no way ready as his gaze set upon the room before them.
At least five tables were spread around the large space, each filled with masked men and several women dressed as if they were attending a grand ball—a masquerade ball.
Two servants were posted at every table; one handing out drinks perched on a silver platter held aloft, and another seated among the guests.
“A card game?” he asked.
“Not just any card game, a high-stakes card game where more is at stake than coin.” Sam moved from his side, and the sway of her hips as she entered the room held his attention. “Come, my lord,” she beckoned over her shoulder like the siren she was.
It was then he noticed her gown plunged in the back, almost to her rounded derriere.
Where had she gotten such a risqué dress?
Certainly, her family could not know of its existence, or Sam’s nighttime outing wearing the alluring golden creation.
He strode to her side, wondering if her neckline was as daring.
Elijah had no need to see for himself. Every eye in the room had turned to watch them enter, and he was not foolish enough to think anyone noticed him at her side.
He’d hailed her as enchanting.
He could not have imagined how accurate that was. His only regret was that he had, as yet, failed to request her hand as his marchioness.
From the lecherous stares hidden not at all behind the masks of many men…and the envious glares of the dozen women in attendance, he should not wait long to ask.