Windvale (Regency Love Stories #5)

Prologue

Henry Ainsley was waiting for a gunshot.

It was entirely ridiculous. After all, the man they were here to apprehend was not known for violence, and there were enough of Henry’s comrades in the ballroom to take on the Gentleman Pirate even if he had half a dozen accomplices with him when he exchanged the information.

The information stolen from an English spy: Henry’s own father.

But somehow, the gentle hum of instruments was making him feel as though eyes were on him that very moment. As though at any second, a man would come and pull a flintlock in the midst of the swirling, masked couples.

Was he unfit for his position? A spy for their great nation should not be giving away his nerves with flexing hands and grinding teeth. Yet something felt wrong tonight. He could not explain it. He could only sense it.

“We’ve hours yet before he is meant to sell the information,” Fletcher said from Henry’s left, knocking his elbow into Henry’s own. “Dance with a woman. Enjoy yourself.”

“I am enjoying myself,” Henry said. “Besides, I cannot think of a more amiable partner than yourself, Mr. Fletcher.” He batted eyelashes at the man from beneath his lion mask.

Fletcher, entirely lacking in a sense of whimsy, only stared back. “I hope that is not how you look at young ladies you wish to court.”

“Your sister liked it well enough.”

“I haven’t a sister,” the man returned.

“Or a sense of humor.” Henry rolled back his shoulders, glancing around the room. “Blast, but this would be far easier if there were not an entire ship’s crew—maybe two—here tonight. Half the room seems to be in regimentals. How are we to know which is the turncoat we seek?”

Fletcher only grunted.

Henry continued scanning the room. Years of allowing the Gentleman Pirate to evade capture ended tonight.

If only it were meant to occur that very moment.

“Dance with a woman,” Fletcher said again, voice gruff. “And that’s an order.”

Henry raised a brow. The man was not his senior.

In turn, Fletcher, with his scarred face and hard eyes gazing out from beneath a simple domino mask, cocked his head to the corner of the room. “Captain’s orders.”

Henry’s lips twisted. “My father wishes me to dance?”

The man nodded. “All of us, actually. He says we are—what was it—a solemn crew and a shame to the dozens of ladies decorating the walls.”

Henry chuckled. Trust his father to be worried about the wallflowers when he was to apprehend a traitor to the crown. “Very well. Shall we?”

Fletcher grumbled.

“I take that to be an enthusiastic ‘yes’!”

Together, they approached two masked women at the walls, gained introductions, and brought them to join the upcoming set.

Henry was no great dancer, and he was more than a little distracted as they advanced through the steps.

He could not help his eyes landing on every man in regimentals.

The Gentleman Pirate was almost certainly a naval officer of some sort.

He could be any of those in the room that night.

In dress uniform or blending in with the crowd.

Henry took an incorrect step and attempted to cover it, but to no avail.

He stumbled over his feet, his eyes catching on a young lady watching the dancers beside a naval officer.

She was dressed as a tiger, her red hair joining the ensemble delightfully.

He thought he saw her lips lift at his misstep, and he returned the grin.

At least his mistake had entertained someone.

The set ended none too soon, and duty done, Henry made for a table with light refreshment. He needed a drink far stronger than those served tonight, but some punch would do. With a cup in hand, he retreated to the edge of the ballroom to better view its inhabitants.

A red and orange ensemble caught his attention, as the woman dressed as a tiger passed by him. Something about her appeared uncomfortable. Her head swiveled from side to side as she exited the ballroom, froze, and spun around to retrace her steps.

Henry’s brows pulled together. She was several paces away, and unknown to him, but she seemed distraught. Did she need aid?

The poor woman nearly ran into a vase, and as Henry watched, she lifted her glass and poured its contents inside.

Henry’s brows sprang apart and a chuckle escaped him. Whether she’d heard it or not, her eyes suddenly locked on his. Color entered the bit of her face he could see beneath the black and orange beaded mask.

Not wishing to appear to be laughing at her, he hastily drank from his own punch and cut his eyes to the side. Almost immediately, he choked on the liquid. Oh blast, that was horrible. Watered-down and flavorless. No wonder the tiger woman had disposed of hers.

He looked back to her, and seeing her gaze still on his, he lifted his glass in a silent salute, then dumped it unceremoniously into the vase beside him.

Her hand covered her mouth, and he saw the entertainment in her eyes. But a crowd passed between them, and next he saw, her striking ensemble was retreating.

He watched her go, debating following. He would enjoy gaining an introduction if he could.

Besides, his father had ordered them to dance.

A quick check of his pocket watch told him there was still over an hour and a half until the exchange was meant to happen.

He tucked the watch away, pacing along the side of the room, eyes seeking the tiger-dressed woman.

The hosts of the event must be thrilled by the crush, but Henry was less so.

This many people only made it harder for him to keep at bay that rising feeling of concern that something was wrong.

How was he to survive the remainder of the time until the exchange? How—

There. For the third time that night, the beautiful woman caught his eye. But she appeared to be hiding, partially concealed by a large potted plant. Should he leave her be?

Yet he could not erase the image of her nervous state just before she’d dumped her punch. And if she really was hiding, perhaps she needed help.

He stopped near her. Far enough away that he would not intrude on her personal space. “Bugger,” he said, in a voice loud enough to carry to her ears alone. “Seems this hiding spot is already taken.”

Though he’d hoped to avoid it, she startled, gaze swinging to him.

Should he go? But not without an explanation for disturbing her peace, certainly. “That is unfortunate. I’d pegged this tree as the perfect location for sequestering oneself away, but it seems I was not the only one.”

Still, she said nothing.

He cleared his throat. “Are you stalking your prey then?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?” Her voice was quiet. Sweet. He found he liked it.

He nodded to the ballroom beyond. “Discovering who you shall ensnare? The next gentleman you intend to capture? The—” When she continued to stare blankly at him, he gestured to her mask. “Tell me I have not guessed wrong. I assumed you were a tiger.”

She watched him just long enough that he began to wonder if he’d caused offense. But before he could escape, she spoke again.

“My apologies, I did not choose my costume and keep forgetting what part I am to play.”

“It is a rather striking look. You wear it well.” And indeed she did. On many, red hair might clash with an orange ensemble, but she managed it impressively. It only made her appear as if she belonged in an exotic location amongst brightly colored flowers.

A puff of air escaped her. “I have always thought the mark of a good man was his honesty. It is unfortunate you do not measure up on that count.”

Surprise took him and he laughed outright at the remark. “Is that why you are hiding away? Because you fear your”—his eyes ran down her costume again—“ensemble would overwhelm the crowd with its brilliance?”

Finally, a smile cracked her facade. Pride shot through him.

“Certainly that. There is no chance it could have anything to do with nerves.” She bit her lip, eyes darting to the crowd beyond their potted plant.

“Nerves?” he questioned.

Her fingers toyed with the leaves of the fern concealing them. “To own the truth, I am rather frightened by my first London ball.”

His mask shifted as his eyebrows rose. “Your first.”

She did not immediately respond, and he took a step back to lean against the stone wall a few feet from her.

“I am impressed you’ve only retreated this far.

I think I left my first ball within a quarter of an hour.

” He shuddered with the memory. “My sister threw up in the shrubbery after a half hour of her first. Society is terrifying.”

“Yes,” she breathed in agreement, “I missed two steps in my first dance.”

He shook his head in camaraderie. “I missed seven.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And that was just yesterday. I will not horrify you by telling you how many I missed in my first dance. Honestly, I think I got more wrong than right. You, I believe, saw one of my missteps just tonight.”

Her smile flashed again. “They are so very complicated.”

“Worse than doing sums,” he grumbled without losing his grin.

Her lips stretched wider, and on impulse, he pushed from the wall, stepping to her. Her smile fell in the moments before he extended his hand, but it was too late to stop himself.

“Even still, we cannot have you spending your first ball behind a tree. Is your next dance taken? It seems the current set is coming to a close.”

She shook her head, the action slow. “No. No, it is free.”

He inched his outstretched hand closer to her with a dip of his head. “Then might I request it? I promise you could miss thirty steps, forty even, and I would not judge you one bit.”

She was going to say no, he was certain of it from the way her eyes grew wary and dropped to his hand.

After all, she did not know him. They’d not had a true introduction.

Even Henry’s father, desirous as he was for the group to dance tonight, would not be pleased.

But then she shocked him by dipping her head.

“Yes, you may.” And she accepted his hand.

Strange. A sort of warmth, or awareness, suddenly snaked its way up his arm and into his chest. It made him swallow, his throat quite dry. Attempting to avoid thinking too much on the odd sensation, he brought them both out of hiding.

The line of dancers was long, and she hesitated on the outskirts of the crowd. He leaned a little closer. “I have you,” he murmured.

She nodded, offering a small smile.

Without incident, they came to stand in the line of waiting couples. Her hand was tight on his, and before he released her, he whispered, “If ever I am nervous, I find that slow breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, help.”

He hadn’t a clue if his suggestion was welcome, and fear that he was overstepping with this young lady overcame him. She did not need his advice. She likely did not even need this dance. Who was he to offer himself up in such a base manner?

An imbecile. Preoccupation with the events coming up that evening must have addled his brain.

But she was watching him, and so he smiled. Even with it all, he itched to know her name. To know what her appearance was beneath that elaborate mask. He took a deep breath, using his own advice to calm himself. Across from him, she copied the action.

The music began, their hands meeting in the middle and separating.

Coming close, then moving farther apart.

Switching partners, then returning to one another.

But the entirety of the time, his eyes could not seem to leave hers, and the smile would not vacate his face.

Two dances passed too quickly, and then it was over.

He crossed to her, cutting short his applause for the musicians to tuck her arm back in his. “Where is your mother?” he asked quietly. “It occurs to me that perhaps I ought to gain a proper introduction.” Then he might call on her tomorrow. Get to know the lady beneath the mask.

The idea was more than pleasant.

But she did not respond. Her eyes were on the edge of the crowd. Her back stiffened.

“Is everything well?” Henry asked.

Wide eyes collided with his own. Something—not quite fear, but close unto it—swam in their depths. “I am terribly sorry. I must go.” Her words tripped over one another in their haste.

He released her, because that was what she wished, her arm pulling from his. But confusion kept him at her side.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I will—” Her eyes darted to the side, and Henry saw an older woman, with hair a similar color to his partner’s, coming near.

He did not fully understand, but it was clear there was something more playing out before him.

Something this young lady did not wish him to be a part of.

He bowed, stepping back. “I shall seek that introduction another time then.” And he would.

Father knew everyone in London. With her vibrant hair, it should not be overly difficult to track her down.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

His eyes lingered on her even as he walked away, memorizing details he might need. There were not many outside her costume and mask.

Someone tapped his shoulder. Fletcher’s rough voice sounded, low and hurried. “There has been a change. We need to go. Now.”

Alertness flooded him as his feet moved into action. He and Fletcher weaved through the crowd. A part of him wished to glance back at the tiger-masked woman, but he needed all his wits about him just now.

It was time to apprehend a traitor.