Chapter 4 #3
Down another step, and another. The lights from the balcony above became blocked by the fountain and the railing, and they were in near darkness. Angelica blinked and stopped on the steps, a real frisson of fear descending over her.
She shook her head as if she’d just awakened, and when Dewhurst turned back toward her…his eyes were glowing. Reddish, piercing, there in the dark.
Angelica stifled a scream and he responded with a guttural sound of surprise and fury, his neck ruff going askew. She saw a smooth, undimpled chin clearly for the first time, and suddenly realized: this wasn’t Voss.
The next thing she knew, Angelica’s mask was yanked down over her face, covering her eyes. She felt herself tripping and falling, and a strong arm catching her, gathering her up closely before she landed on the ground, and then he was moving with quick, jolting steps.
She tried to scream, tried to claw the velvet away, but his hand closed over her mouth and the mask with all of its lace ground into her skin and lips, stifling her. Panicked, she kicked and fought, but he smashed her up against him and ran.
Her arm was bent up beneath her, her hand curled between her and her attacker, and suddenly she realized she felt the shape of her reticule wadded up beneath her arm.
Trying to focus and to keep the fear from oversetting sense, she managed to grasp the little purse.
Through the light fabric, she felt the shears and closed her fingers around the entire bag, then stabbed down into the man’s torso.
Hard.
She felt it slice into him, the sickening sense of driving into flesh, and she squeezed her eyes shut despite the fact that she was already blinded.
He staggered and her dark world tipped as she screamed, then she stabbed again.
Dampness leached into her and she felt his grip loosen.
Suddenly she tumbled free and landed on the ground.
The sound of him crashing away through the hedge sent a wave of relief through her.
Voices and footsteps came, and by the time she’d sat up and readjusted the mask over her eyes, Angelica was surrounded by what would normally be the work of a nightmare or hallucinatory episode. A faerie, a peacock, a sultan, and a jester had gathered around.
Her fingers and knees shook and her belly felt as though it were about to erupt, but Angelica managed to stand without assistance once the jester helped her to her feet.
She realized she still clutched the reticule and suspected it was soaking with blood, so she allowed it to drop to the ground in the dark.
“What has happened?” they were asking in a variety of manners and tones.
Angelica could barely organize her thoughts, let alone summon the words to respond.
And now that the moment of terror was over, she wanted nothing more than to forget about it.
To forget her fear, the sudden inability to think, her foolish mistake and the harsh hands gripping and holding her. And the glowing eyes.
Glowing eyes. How could that be?
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing her voice to be steady. If Maia found out about this incident, she’d never let her come to another ball, let alone a masquerade. Nor would Corvindale or Chas. “I merely lost my way in the dark and some creature ran over my foot and startled me.”
“Did you fall in the fountain? Your gown is wet,” said the faerie, and Angelica reached automatically to touch the lower part of her skirts.
“It’ll dry,” she said, realizing it was blood and thankful it wouldn’t show on the dark fabric as more than a shine.
Her hair sagged heavily near the back of her head, instead of at her crown where it had originally been anchored, and it felt as if a few curls had come undone. But the original arrangement had been a loose, messy one, and she hoped it wasn’t noticeably different.
No one asked what she’d been doing in the gardens alone—the anonymity of the masks was still at work—and Angelica thanked the characters for their assistance before pivoting toward the ball.
By the time she climbed the steps back to the balcony, where the party roared above, her stomach had settled and her knees had strengthened.
Angelica hadn’t finished berating herself, however, for her foolish mistake.
Hadn’t it been at the Lundhames’, two nights ago, that she’d reminded herself of the fate of Miss Eliza Billingsly and her compromising position with Mr. Deetson-Waring?
And here she’d gone and done something nearly as foolish, and dangerous, too, simply because she was wearing a mask.
Clearly her companion had been after something more serious than a simple kiss in the dark.
Had he meant to ravish her somewhere in the back of the garden?
Or…was it possible he’d been trying to abduct her? To force a wedding or engagement?
He’d seemed to know who she was, for he’d asked about her brother, and the Woodmores were known to be a well-established, wealthy family.
A little shiver threatened to weaken her knees again, but Angelica fought it away. She’d come through this incident safely, and now she would forget about it. She’d learned her lesson, thankfully, without serious consequences.
“Miss Woodmore. I have your drink.”
Heaven’s daisies. It was Harrington, standing there with a little glass cup of something pale.
“Why thank you,” she said, and gratefully accepted the drink. She was thirsty. “I do hope you weren’t waiting long. I had to—I walked outside for a moment just to see the stars.” Her fingers still trembled a bit.
“Not at all,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to stroll about on the balcony with me?”
It was fortunate she was drinking from the effervescent lemonade, for if not, she might have responded too quickly. As it was, as she withdrew the cup from her lips, she looked across the dance floor and saw him leaning against one of the Babylonian columns.
It’s him.
Voss.
He was masked, of course, with the lower part of his face covered, and only his eyes and thick, slashing brows showing above. He looked like some sort of Oriental thief, with a low, square hat half covering his thick hair and a sweeping cloak.
A flush of heat swept her as their gazes connected. There was the space of half the room and throngs of people between them, but it was as if he were standing next to her. She had no doubt this time it was Voss.
How could she have mistaken that other figure for him? She could hardly credit her previous error.
“I…” Angelica looked back at Harrington. Even from behind his mask, she could see the warmth in his eyes. A week earlier, she would have been taking his arm with alacrity and strolling in the moonlight with him. And perhaps even permitting a second, chaste kiss.
But now… She resisted the urge to glance back over her shoulder in Voss’s direction.
Just because he was here, and looking at her…
well, that really meant nothing. Everyone of the ton was here tonight.
Perhaps he didn’t even recognize it was Angelica behind this coy mask, and even if he did…
well, it didn’t mean he’d ask her to dance. Or even approach her.
“Miss Woodmore?” Harrington had tilted his head to look down at her during this space of silence.
He made his voice loud enough to be heard over the low buzz of voices and strains of music.
“I can only imagine how lovely the moonlight will be, filtering over your dark hair. But I should certainly like to see it for myself.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t help a smile in return.
Such a romantic thing to say without being ridiculous, like comparing her eyes to diamonds and her skin to silk or whatnot.
Lord Fedderley had done that once and it was all she could do to keep from rolling her so-called diamondlike eyes.
She lifted the drink again to give herself more time to determine how to respond, and managed, as she lowered it, to glance back to where Voss was standing.
He was gone.
Angelica wasn’t prepared for the stab of disappointment when, as she cast her gaze over the perimeter of the room in what would be the path between where he’d been and where she stood, she didn’t see him.
That, she supposed, was that.
She turned. And there he was.