Chapter 14
14
W hen Sophie was nowhere to be seen, beads of perspiration broke out on Julia’s forehead. Not only did she feel the heat of His Grace’s eyes focused on her back as if he were homing in on a prized stag, she’d excused herself under the pretense of meeting the marchioness who was nowhere near the dais, nor was she in the ballroom.
Gah!
What had Julia been thinking? She had just danced with the Duke of Dunscaby and by doing so, she had risked everything. Yes, she ought to have realized Lady Charity would be here with her mother but she’d been given no clue that His Grace would be in attendance and most days he apprised her of his plans.
You complete and utter dolt!
Why hadn’t Dunscaby said anything about dressing as Mark Antony and wearing a tunic that hardly covered his thighs? Regardless if he was wearing a mask, Julia knew the man as soon as he’d been introduced. She would have known him if he’d dressed as Marie Antoinette. Perhaps she might not have recognized the duke if he had been completely covered and dressed as a furry bear. When they’d first met she’d been flummoxed by his kilt and hairy knees. Good glory, the man’s legs alone made a statement of raw masculinity. Not only that, his arms were scandalously bare. If in the first century Mark Antony looked as virile as Martin MacGalloway, Cleopatra would never have stood a chance!
Turning full circle, Julia’s gaze darted across the groups of guests as she frantically searched for Sophie’s blue gown. Had her friend slipped away to the withdrawing room as well? Holy macaroons, with three MacGalloways milling about, she absolutely must not go searching for the hostess. Julia had almost melted into a puddle when Dunscaby had introduced his sister. And there had been a spark of recognition in Charity’s eyes. A trip to the withdrawing room would have ruined Julia’s ruse for good. If she didn’t escape this instant she’d be sacked before the night’s end.
Worse, she’d all but swooned when she was dancing in the duke’s arms. And the way his eyes focused only on her face stole the breath from her very breast. Her waist still tingled where he’d placed his hand for the waltz. But what had rendered her utterly spellbound was the hunger in his crystal blue eyes. Heaven help her, the expression on his face was one she’d dreamed of seeing every night for the past two months.
And he absolutely must never gaze upon me in such a way again!
Beyond the dais, Julia spotted a set of French doors leading to the rear garden. Without a backward glance, she hastened through them. She must take her leave immediately before she was recognized. First thing on the morrow she’d return Sophie’s costume along with a letter of apology, claiming a sudden and violent illness.
Julia dashed past a few couples as she headed for…
Drat! The accursed courtyard was surrounded by a balustrade. Completely trapped, she spun on her heel and scurried toward the other side, finding, thank the stars, a set of stairs leading downward. She grasped her skirts, raised them just above her ankles, and pattered downward.
“M’lady Aphrodite!”
Freezing on the landing, every muscle in Julia’s body tensed as her employer’s deep voice commanded her to stop. Thank the Father Almighty he hadn’t called her Smallwood.
While she regarded him over her shoulder, Mark Antony descended toward her. The light radiating from the hall above, accentuated his powerful frame, his red cape flapping behind him as if he were indeed the most influential general in the civilized world. “Are you in need of assistance?”
“I…ah…” Oh, holy help, how she wanted to reply with a yes. “I am looking for Lady Northampton…I mean Guinevere.”
Martin stopped beside her. Now that he had moved lower than the beams of light, his crystal blue eyes appeared dark and mysterious behind his mask. He gestured upward to the patio. “I dunna think she is out here, unless…”
“Hmm?”
He peered into the darkness beyond. “Unless she has ventured down into the gardens.”
Julia shot a longing look at the remaining steps. She’d nearly managed her escape. “Perhaps I ought to have a quick peek just to be sure.”
“I do not advise it—not without an escort.”
“Oh, no. You are ever so right. I-I wasn’t thinking.” She drew her palm to her dizzied forehead, her heart racing. If anyone had a clue she was alone, partway to an unlit garden with Martin MacGalloway, she would be ruined. But then, by posing as his steward Julia had already taken the steps to ensure she’d be ruined for the rest of her days. Nonetheless, if she could not escape this debacle and he realized she was his steward, she never again would be able to show her face.
“Wherever the marchioness is, I’m certain she’ll return anon. After all, she is the hostess. Perhaps we ought to return to the hall.” He slid his fingers around her elbow, brushing the bare skin just above the edge of her glove. She drew in a sharp gasp while frissons of awareness skittered from her arm to the back of her neck. “Have you a chill?” he asked.
The absolute last thing on Julia’s mind was the temperature. “N-no, sir.”
He took a step closer, the heat from his body warming her, luring her. Before Julia knew what she was doing, she, too, took a step toward him. Her hand grew a mind of its own and she stroked her fingers along his jaw as she had wanted, craved, desired to do so many times. A hint of stubble bristled beneath the thin doeskin as she imagined it did in the afternoons when he’d oft leaned down and consulted with her on matters of the estate. Oh, dear God, how much she’d longed to touch him every time he was near. And how she trembled as she commanded his attention, those eyes focused so intently upon her.
With her gesture, the duke drew in a sharp breath. “Please tell me, how do I know you, m’lady?” he whispered, deep and low, sending a thrill through her body.
“Know?” she asked, her voice shooting up and her heart hammering even faster than before. Oh, help, here it comes .
“Have we not met before this night?” he asked.
“I assure you, I have been away from Town for years and years—tucked away in a remote little village far away from Scotland, mind you.”
He swept a lock of hair away from her face as his gaze lowered to her mouth. “But you are closely acquainted with the marchioness are you not?”
Julia tipped her chin higher. “Old friends,” came her breathless reply. “From childhood.”
“Childhood,” he mused softly, his lips moving closer and closer, captivating her, mesmerizing her, making her powerless to flee. With a slight tilt of his head, he slid a hand behind her neck and kissed her. Oh, yes, yes, yes, at long last Julia kissed the man who had consumed her every other waking thought since the day she walked into the Newhailes library.
His tongue stroked her lips, slowly, not forcefully, but with command as if he knew exactly what he wanted. Indeed, as if he knew exactly what she wanted. Timidly, she opened for him and within a heartbeat her ability to reason melted away. He tasted of spice laced with a hint of whisky, sweet, yet potently hypnotic. A lush, decadent pleasure filled her and thrummed throughout her entire body, pooling between her legs in the unmentionable place that endlessly ached for him.
Oh, yes, how she ached for him.
As the kiss drew to an end, Julia’s eyes fluttered open, and she gazed into Martin’s masked face.
He cupped her cheek. “Och, lass, forgive me for taking liberties. But you have me bewitched?—”
“Marty?” Charity called from the top of the stairs. “What are you doing down there?”
Julia’s heart flew to her throat. “Please go. Now. And do not follow me!”
Before he replied, she raced down the remaining steps and darted into the darkness.
What in God’s name am I doing?
“Marty? Who was that?”
Before he answered his sister, Martin stared after Lady Julia’s retreating form, her yellow gown disappearing into the darkness in a flurry of billowing silk as if the woman were a ghost.
“…do not follow me.”
Why? What was she afraid of?
He swiped a hand over his lips still tingling from their stolen kiss. Oh, by the rood, he’d been too forward. He’d caught her scent and tracked her like a predator, most likely frightening the lass half out of her wits. Why was he such a damned rake? Blast it all, after one dance with the woman, he’d lost his bloody mind.
I never should have kissed the lass.
Even if she hadn’t told him to follow, he mustn’t. Martin had escorted Charity and Mama to this masquerade. Not only would it be very bad form for the Duke of Dunscaby to leave his mother and sister behind to chase after a mysterious woman, the scandal would be the headline of every London paper on the morrow, which would do nothing to further his sister’s prospects.
Clenching his fists, he climbed the stairs.
“You didn’t answer me,” Charity persisted. “Who was that?”
“I intend to find out,” Martin said, offering his elbow as Mama stepped out the French doors.
“Charity, dear, why did you not wait for me?” asked the duchess, her fan oscillating wildly. “You must have a care for your reputation.”
“But my brother is out here for heaven’s sake.”
Martin arched an eyebrow at his sister. It was very unlikely she had seen him go outside. “Ladies, I believe the orchestra is playing one more set before dinner, shall we return to the ballroom?”
“Indeed.” Mama took his other elbow and they proceeded inside. “These masquerades are so confounding. I say, half the guests are dallying about as if the rules of etiquette do not exist at all. My dearest, do not let yourself fall into the ne’er-do-well half, heaven forbid.”
At his first opportunity, Martin left his mother chatting with another woman in a domino costume while his sister danced with a pirate, who he first warned to be on his best behavior. Once free to pursue his own matters at hand, he found Lady Northampton by the refreshment table.
“Excuse me, Queen Guinevere,” he said, bowing with a flourish. “May I say what a marvelous extravaganza you have organized this evening. I am certain this masquerade will be the highlight of the Season.”
The marchioness curtsied deeply as she would do for a duke. “Ah, Mark Antony, how every kind of you to say so. And might I add I was pleasantly surprised to receive your acceptance. Are you fond of masquerades?”
He loathed them. In truth, he loathed balls in general. “I am. And it has been ever so diverting to accompany my mother and sister this evening.”
“Ah, yes. Lady Charity…I mean Cleopatra looks particularly lovely this evening.”
“Thank you, I thought so as well.” Having engaged in about enough preamble as Martin could bear, he opted to broach the subject as to why he’d embarked on this conversation. “Earlier, you may have noticed I was dancing with Aphrodite, a woman your husband referred to as Lady Julia.”
“Indeed, a dear friend from finishing school.”
“She’d mentioned as much. Forgive me, but I canna place a Julia. I must know the lady’s family name.”
“Did she not tell you herself?” Her Ladyship scanned the crowd. “Wherever has she gone?”
Martin puzzled. Lady Julia had said she was looking for the marchioness. “Her ladyship didna find you?”
“No, I haven’t seen her since the two of you enjoyed your waltz.”
“I see.” In truth Martin didn’t see at all. The more he enquired about Lady Julia, the more mysterious the woman became. “I must know how to find her. My mother would like to invite Her Ladyship to tea.”
Guinevere raised her finger with a flourish of her voluminous, medieval sleeve. “But this is a masquerade, Mark Antony. Tonight no one is who they seem.”
No, he wasn’t about to allow a marchioness to fob him off so easily. He leaned in, leveling his gaze and lowering his voice. “If you please, I’ll have the lady’s family name, and I’ll have it now. Thank you.”
The woman’s face grew red as she gave a wee shake of her shoulders. “Very well if you must, it is St. Vincent.”
Martin nearly jolted at the news. “Brixham’s daughter?”
“The one in the same. And mind you, she is the kindest, sweetest, most pleasant woman I know.”
Martin didn’t doubt Lady Northampton’s words, but why had Lady Julia been so emphatic that he not follow her? Then again, he most likely startled the lass half out of her wits. He’d kissed an unmarried gentlewoman in a public place. At least the landing of the portico was partially public. Anyone could have caught them—Charity practically had. Lady Julia must have been mortified.
“Did the Earl of Brixham not divest his London town house?” he asked, fishing for more.
“He did, indeed,” she replied, flicking open her fan and cooling her face.
“Is Her Ladyship residing with you, then?”
“No.”
“Where might she be staying? With a relative by chance?” Martin asked, doing his best to sound nonchalant, but failing miserably.
“She is renting a room…ah…nearby.”
“Just nearby?”
“Yes.” The marchioness curtsied. “If you’ll please excuse me the steward is about to announce dinner.”
Martin bowed. “M’lady.”
Fancy that, Lady Julia was the Earl of Brixham’s daughter and that meant only one fortuitous thing—Jules Smallwood must know the lass. Had they corresponded? Doubtless, his steward knew where to find her.