Chapter 2
Moray Callander had attended enough social gatherings of the ton to know exactly how long his tolerance would last. An hour perhaps, or even half if the conversations were particularly tedious.
After that, the music became noise, the voices too loud, and the laughter obnoxious.
His endurance was more of a punishment than anything else.
The ball, however, was different; his mask provided enough coverage to hide the larger portion of his scar that spanned the right portion of his face. It was a rare commodity that he got to partake in a social gathering without having people gawk at him as if he were an oddity.
The scar was a souvenir from a French blade, something that he would rather have forgotten in time.
Pressing his way through the crowd, he made his way across the room to where his cousin, Elspeth, was waiting for him in a quiet corner.
“Ye seem to be looking for someone, Yer Grace,” she teased him gently. As his younger cousin, Elspeth was always completely at ease in his presence, taking liberties in conversation that others would never have dared.
At the age of twenty-four, she was still quite youthful with long black hair that was always worn in a braid and dark, soulful eyes. She wore a simple black dress with a matching mask and boasted a tail and ears on top of her head.
Moray offered her a half smile as he came to a stop beside her. “And just who do ye think I was looking for?” he asked in a barely hidden Scottish accent.
Elspeth smiled mischievously at him. “I daenae ken, Yer Grace, perhaps one of the debutants has caught yer eye this evening.” She glanced around, seemingly looking for someone to point out.
Groaning under his breath, Moray rolled his eyes. “Nay young woman has caught my eye. Ye should ken better than anyone else that I have more important matters to tend to.”
Elspeth seemed bored with his response as she let out a small sigh and ignored what he was saying.
“Have ye seen Miss Hermione Fenwick this evening? I have heard it said that she is the belle of the ball and the one to watch out for this Season. She is said to be the most beautiful woman here this evening. She is apparently quite a beauty, although I daenae ken how one can tell with all these masks.”
“I daenae have time to judge the beauty of debutants when I have come to the ball on a mission,” he said dismissively.
Frowning, Elspeth angled her head to the side. “What do ye mean?”
Looking around to see if they were truly alone, Moray placed his hand on her elbow and drew her deeper into the corner where he was certain that they would not be overheard. “I heard whispers that someone here at the ball this evening kens who betrayed the crown and aided the ruin of my battalion.”
Elspeth’s eyes grew wider as she looked at him, her gaze briefly falling to the section of scar that was visible on his chin.
“Aye,” he nodded. “I will find out who gave me this scar. “I saw a woman earlier. I think she may be the informant.”
“What makes ye say that?” Elspeth seemed intrigued now as she lowered her voice and glanced around in the same manner.
Guests mingled in passing, but nobody seemed to be paying them even the slightest bit of attention.
Moray turned his attention back to her. “I saw her after entering the house this evening. She seemed to be looking at me as if she kens who I am, but I have never seen the woman before in my life.”
Those eyes. It was her expressive eyes.
Her warm brown eyes had peered deep into his, making him believe that she had wanted to see him later in the evening.
Elspeth seemed to relax a bit as she smiled. “Are ye certain that she didnae just recognize ye as the Duke of Craigmorrow because she is looking for a husband? Ye are quite an eligible bachelor, Yer Grace, even if ye daenae wish to admit it yerself.” Her voice held a teasing tone once more.
Unconsciously, he reached up and touched the small section of scar that was visible.
It was possible that she had recognized him as the duke, but there was something else in her gaze that had drawn him in.
“Nay,” he lowered his hand again and shook his head.
“I dinnae think she was looking at me as a potential suitor.”
“Then ye will have to get closer to her then. There is only one way for ye to find out.” She looked away again, seemingly done with the conversation.
Moray loved Elspeth dearly and would always move heaven and earth to keep her safe, but he knew very well that his cousin was easily driven to boredom when it came to political matters and war.
Turning away from her, he searched the ballroom for a moment before spotting the blue-feathered woman from across the room.
She stood beside the other woman, her posture tense and rigid as he watched the dancers gather for the opening song of the evening.
Now is my chance.
He headed directly toward her, leaving Elspeth to her own devices.
It did not take him long to cross the room, and before he knew it, he was standing in front of her, bowing. “Good evening, Madam. I was hoping that ye would share the first dance with me?” He came up straight again, catching the look of surprise and astonishment in her eyes.
Her full lips parted slightly, and she seemed to take a breath before answering. “I…”
“She would be delighted to accept,” the woman beside her answered before she could say anything.
Her posture once again stiffened as she glanced at her companion, but she quickly looked back to the duke. “It would be an honor.” She curtsied politely.
She is beautiful.
Moray found himself strangely breathless for a moment as a whisp of gold hair became visible at the nape of her neck. She had finer features than he had ever seen on a woman, and her brown eyes were flecked with gold. Was she the Hermione Fenwick that everyone had supposedly been talking about?
If she were, the rumors had not done her beauty justice. She certainly seemed like the most beautiful woman at the ball to him. Pushing the thoughts aside, he quickly reminded himself of why he had come to the ball in the first place.
Behind them, the string quartet readied their instruments as the chatter quieted down around them.
Pulling himself up to his full height, Moray offered her his arm, feeling a strange quickening of his pulse when she placed a gloved hand in his. Warmth seeped through her glove, forcing him to keep his composure as he considered pulling away.
Who is this woman?
He led her into the middle of the dance floor, taking up their positions opposite another young couple.
The polished floors reflected the chandeliers overhead, silk gowns shimmered like moving jewels, and the low murmur of conversations softened as couples arranged themselves into squares.
The first notes of the quadrille drifted through the ballroom, bright and lively beneath the glow of hundreds of candles.
Moray watched her closely, every movement and every step. She was far too composed and confident to be a debutant.
She carried herself with grace, and every movement seemed to have been thought out with expert precision. “Yer costume must have taken a great deal of time to prepare,” he began the conversation that he hoped would lead to a more in-depth one later on in the evening.
Her eyes flickered to his for the briefest of moments, and once again, he could feel his pulse race. “Thank you, my lord,” she said meekly, assuming his title.
A faint smile flickered across his lips as they parted and came back together once more.
Her voice was soft and melodious, completely unassuming.
She was perfect for someone who needed to relay delicate information in disguise.
He still wondered if she could be the informant; she certainly had a mysterious quality about her demeanor.
The first figure drew them apart, annoying Moray, who wanted to ask more questions. The quadrille was a dance of brief intimacies and frustrating distances. Hands met for brief moments, only to be relinquished again. Partners departed and reattached in measured steps that demanded patience.
“What brings ye to the ball this evening, my lady?” He assumed her title, noting the flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
Is she nae a lady?
His patience began to wear thin as they parted again, and he found himself wishing that the dance had been a waltz. There was far more room to have conversations when your partner was not constantly being drawn away.
She came back and placed her gloved hand in his. “The same reason that you came here this evening, my lord.” Her tone gave nothing away. Was she simply waiting for the opportune moment to let him know who she was?
He moved around her again, his mind a whirl of thoughts.
The dancers moved in and out, their costumes swishing across the floor. Had she been alluding to the fact that she was there to gather information?
Before he could press further, the next figure carried them apart.
He watched her as she turned gracefully beneath the glow of chandeliers, her blue feathers shaking lightly with each measured and graceful step.
She did not seem like a nervous debutant who would glance around the room in her first Season.
No, she was far more confident than that.
The confidence of an informant, perhaps?
His interest piqued even further as they came back together and glanced into each other’s eyes. “May I ask yer name, madam?”
Her breathing stilled again as her perfect lips parted.
He was about to press her further when the song suddenly came to an end.
How long have we been dancing?
He blinked a few times before glancing around the room as applause broke out among the guests. He had been so occupied with the dance and his companion that he had not even realized how long it had taken.
It seemed almost impossible that it was already over, yet they stood across from one another, staring into each other’s eyes with the same kind of intensity as when they had met.
“Could I…” He began as he took a step toward her, but she quickly curtsied.