Chapter 8 #2
She continued: “A woman will attend dressed in a scarlet-striped gown over a scarlet petticoat and a black, red, and gold stomacher. At some point before the unmasking at midnight, she will leave with the earl. If any of these Scottish gentlemen are watching, they will quite likely try to take some action then, if only to follow the couple closely. This will give you a chance to spot them.”
Roberts scratched his nose, understandably dubious. “Who is this woman, milady? And why would these Scotsmen come out of hidin’ as soon as she appears?”
Elf put on a frosty Malloren look. “She is another servant of the Mallorens, that is all you need to know. Just be sure that if the Scots show themselves, you do not lose them. If they should attack the woman, you must protect her. But try to take prisoners rather than to kill.”
It felt extremely strange to be speaking so calmly of mayhem and violence, but Roberts didn’t seem alarmed. He merely nodded. “Very well, milady. Any other instructions?”
“Just be sure to note anyone who shows especial interest in this lady and the earl, and find out where they are hiding themselves. Keep a particular eye out for this Murray.”
“Right. Medium build, mousy-blond ’air.”
“Exactly.”
“And the woman, the one in scarlet?”
“Will be merely a decoy. As long as she’s not in danger, you can ignore her further movements.”
Roberts bowed and turned to the door. Elf remembered a detail.
“And, Roberts . . .”
“Yes, milady?”
“You can ignore that item in the locked room until tomorrow.”
Did she imagine that he gave her an odd look? Nothing untoward showed in his voice as he said, “Very well, milady.”
With that, he left and Elf puffed out a long, long breath. What on earth had she done?
On the surface it was a reasonable plan to draw the Scots out.
Murray and his men would surely be keeping an eye on Fort. They had to be. When Fort reappeared with a scarlet lady on his arm, they’d recognize the woman from Vauxhall. They’d see a chance to silence her and keep close watch.
She hoped they didn’t stage an open attack, for that would ruin the other part of her plan—the one that would get her into Walgrave House, enabling her to steal the key and investigate the cellar.
The one that would make her Fort’s lover.
Of course, she’d have to insist that he let her keep the mask on, but he’d been hot enough for her to accept any terms.
She hoped.
She remembered his kiss, his touch, his splendid body, then covered her mouth with her hand, appalled with herself. She couldn’t suppress the excitement, though. Or the anticipation.
What a wicked woman she was, to be sure!
Composing her features, she walked briskly back to the drawing room, despite shivers of guilt. Surely the maid standing back to let her by, and the footman stationed in the hall must see how wanton she was. She felt as if her wicked plan was written on her back!
In the drawing room she picked up her embroidery, but immediately threw it down again to sit staring into space.
How could she? said her conventional part.
How could she not? asked the rebel who’d once been a hell-born twin.
Since the only man she wanted would never want her, she seemed likely to die a spinster.
She’d be damned if she’d die a virgin. She couldn’t imagine, however, joining her body with just any man merely for the experience.
What other chance would she have to lose her virginity to a man so special to her and keep her identity secret as well?
And, she thought with a sigh, it was more than sex. She wanted so much to be with Fort again in his kinder form, the form he had shown to Lisette, the form she’d glimpsed at Sappho’s. She wanted to see him in a state of joy.
Surely a man would have to be joyous in sex.
She wanted to see him naked again. She remembered him inviting her to do to his naked body all the wicked things she was imagining . . .
Elf waved her hand in front of her hot face.
Oh my. She now knew why people throughout history had made utter fools of themselves over members of the opposite sex.
Was she making a fool of herself?
Probably. And she didn’t care a jot.
The only snarl in her lovely plan was her disguise. If he recognized her, that would be the end of it. Would powdered hair and mask be enough at even the most intimate moments?
Hurrying up to her room, she found the loo mask and tied it on, studying her face. Yes, it really was enough. With only her mouth and chin uncovered, no one would recognize her. If she spoke French, he wouldn’t know her voice.
It had worked before, and would again, particularly since he would be distracted by the throes of passion.
That reminded her that she had better make sure the strings were knotted very tight. It wouldn’t do to have it come off when she was in the throes of passion.
Throes of passion. It was one of those phrases she didn’t entirely know the meaning of.
But she would.
Tomorrow night.
The next night, Elf traveled to Lady Yardley’s house in a stew of hot anticipation and chilly doubt. She was dressed as she had been at Vauxhall except for the domino. Tonight she wore a light, cream cloak. In fact, with her white hair and white half mask, she surely looked snowily demure.
What clear evidence that one should never judge by appearances! Virginal white merely disguised the “appalling” outfit Fort would surely recognize, and the wicked woman who hoped to be very unvirginal come morning.
“I’m surprised Chantal didn’t leave your service,” teased Amanda as the coach turned into Clarion Street. “She was almost in tears when you insisted on wearing that ensemble to a society affair. You do have dreadful taste, dear.”
Elf pulled a face at her. “It’s just that you all like to dress so dull. I weary of demure, pale shades.”
“They suit you.”
“I don’t think so.” As the coach drew to a halt, Elf flicked open the fan she’d had made especially for this evening.
One side was mother-of-pearl, and matched her outer self.
The other was red, black, and gold lacquer, the colors of her other persona.
“Tonight I am again Lisette Belhardi, mysterious French enchantress, and I can dress as I please.”
Amanda shook her head. “I still don’t know what you think to achieve by this mischief.”
Elf had come up with a story for Amanda, and now she repeated it. “I just want to meet Fort again on friendly terms.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.”
“More than having fun flirting with my enemy?”
“Remember, love, I know you. You’re up to something.”
“Perhaps,” Elf admitted as the coach came to a halt. She let the fan slither shut and descended, assisted by the waiting footman.
Mounting the steps to the brightly lit house, Elf chose the right moment to prepare Amanda. Once they were surrounded by other guests and attendant maids, she murmured to her friend, “Yes, I’m up to something, Amanda. If I slip away with Walgrave, don’t try to stop me.”
“Slip away!” Amanda exclaimed, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Elf, do but think!”
Cloak gone, Elf flicked open her fan, colored side out. “Oh, I’ve thought. Believe me.”
It hung in the balance, but then Amanda rolled her eyes. “Well, he’s a completely eligible parti, my dear. If you want to conduct your wooing in this outlandish way, I daresay no great harm will come of it.”
She sounded almost smug, which drove Elf to protest. “Amanda, I have absolutely no notion of marrying the man.”
Her friend just shook her head with a maddening smile and led the way up to the ball.
Really, thought Elf, climbing the flower-decked stairs, it was infuriating. Amanda seemed to think she and Fort were lovebirds! Lovebirds did not peck at one another until the blood ran.
She’d be hard pressed, however, to say what they were.
Lady Yardley’s ballroom was of moderate size, but well lit and heavily gilded. The glittering chamber swarmed with costumes and masks, both beautiful and macabre, and a wave of chatter and music hit Elf as she walked in.
Here, in a private home, more people had chosen costumes over dominoes or had merely added a loo mask to their regular evening wear. This should have made a black-clad Earl of Walgrave easier to spot, but Elf searched the room without success.
Stuff and bother. She’d hoped Fort would attend much as he had at Vauxhall, in ordinary clothes with just that narrow mask. If he were wearing a domino or one of the more cunning costumes, detecting him could be a challenge.
What if he wasn’t here, and didn’t come?
That possibility had plagued her ever since she’d hatched the plan. She’d even considered sending him a cryptic note from Lisette in order to draw him here. The risks to that were too great, however, and surely he must at least put in an appearance at his aunt’s one grand entertainment of the year.
Still, she couldn’t see him or anyone who might be him.
She shrugged and made herself calm. If he was here, he would surely spot her. He couldn’t have forgotten this outfit.
Since everyone was supposed to be incognito, there was no question of greeting their hostess, so Elf and Amanda blended with the crowd to enjoy some anonymous fun.
Immediately, a slender Tudor gentleman in tights and puff breeches bowed and begged Elf’s hand for the dance.
Though he certainly wasn’t Fort, Elf happily complied.
She spent the time plying him with questions to try to establish his identity, and he did the same with her.
Since it was the custom to act in part at these events, she spoke in French and he did too, though rather clumsily. They parted unenlightened, and Elf suspected he was a member of one of the embassies, probably from Spain.
Next, Elf accepted the company of a pirate of a century ago. She recognized Sir Cronan Darby, always a jolly fellow. His French was appalling, but his gaudy yellow shirt and lace-frilled breeches appealed to her, and when he teased her into a corner and stole a kiss, she didn’t object.