Chapter 10
Jude had found her.
He honestly hadn’t expected to—not in this crush of bodies and glittering masks—but then he saw a young woman wearing the most obnoxiously large mask in the room…
and he knew. The feathers bobbed every time she turned her head.
It had to be a deliberate choice to hide the stitches on her forehead.
A small, protective fury stirred in him at the reminder of Mr. Broderick.
Now that he’d found her, he would not let her out of his sight.
He had intended—foolishly, perhaps—only to watch her from afar, to assure himself she was unharmed.
But when she turned, when her eyes met his, when she smiled…
everything inside him unraveled. He had made peace with the idea of observing her discreetly.
Then she spoke, and every burden he’d carried—his father, his future, the dukedom—disappeared.
It was just him and Josephine on the dance floor.
She executed the quadrille steps perfectly, looking as graceful as he remembered.
He had expected nothing less. But as he moved through the figures, a memory came unbidden—the last time he’d danced the quadrille with Lady Gwendolyn.
The ring in his pocket had weighed so heavily he’d felt nearly dragged down by it.
He had been a fool then, so close to offering his whole life to a woman who had never cared for him.
And then he heard her true opinion of him. She only wanted his title. Not him. How grateful he was that he never slipped that ring on her finger.
The music ended. Jude bowed. Josephine curtsied.
This time, he didn’t care about the consequences of being near her. He stepped forward, offering his arm. “You dance splendidly.”
“Thank you,” she said. “My dance master was relentless in ensuring I was properly trained.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Then I daresay he succeeded. You were the finest dancer on the floor.”
She snorted in the most unladylike—and utterly charming—way. “Then you must require spectacles.”
He didn’t want to walk away yet, so he asked, “Would you care for some fresh air on the veranda?”
Josephine froze.
Ah, fool. Fool, fool, fool.
Why had he said veranda? The very place Mr. Broderick had abducted her just a few days prior.
“Did I say veranda?” Jude corrected instantly, clearing his throat. “I meant the library.”
Her eyes brightened behind the enormous mask. “Now you have my attention, sir.”
Jude nearly laughed. “Are you well read?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
She nodded with enthusiasm, the feathers wobbling dangerously. “I am. I love nothing more than reading near the fireplace.” She sighed softly. “Books are my greatest joy.”
“That sounds rather serene.”
“It is, but my brother disagrees. He thinks I should spend my time finding a husband.”
Jude studied her expression. “Do you want a husband?”
She gave a derisive huff. “Every woman is expected to want one. Society believes our only purpose is to marry and produce an heir.”
He leaned closer. “But what do you want? Not Society. You.”
Josephine hesitated. “I do want a husband. But not a marriage of convenience.”
“You want love.” He already knew. She had already told him. But he wanted to hear her say it.
She met his gaze directly. “I do. Though I have no idea why I am being so forthright with a stranger.”
“Strangers who shared a dance,” he reminded her.
Her lips pursed behind the mask. “Do I know you? Your voice seems… familiar.”
Panic fluttered in his chest. He couldn’t reveal the truth. Not here. Not yet. “Most likely it is because I am the most handsome man in the room,” he replied with exaggerated confidence.
Josephine laughed. “Ah, I see you are rather cocky.”
“The handsomest man in the room has found the most beautiful woman in the room. It is only logical.”
“How do you know I am beautiful?” she retorted. “My mask covers half my face.”
“Yes,” Jude said, “but the part I can see is beautiful.”
Her eyes narrowed with amused suspicion. “Are you certain you are not a rogue?”
“I am not,” he said, drawing himself up. “Now, about the library.”
She looked around the ballroom. “I should tell my mother where I am going.”
“Do you see her?”
She sighed. “No. There are far too many people here.”
He softened his tone. “The rules are far more relaxed during a masquerade. And besides, you are safe with me.”
She froze. Then slowly, she asked, “What did you say?”
“You are safe with me,” he repeated, more earnestly this time.
Something shifted between them—subtle, but powerful.
“I am,” she whispered.
They left the ballroom, walking down the corridor to the library. A few couples lingered near the hearth, speaking in hushed tones. Josephine slipped her hand from his arm and drifted towards the shelves, running her fingertips along the spines as though greeting old friends.
“Does anything spark your interest?” he asked.
Her hand dropped. She turned and approached him slowly, with purpose. “Yes. Something does,” she said.
She stopped directly in front of him. Her eyes—visible above the oversized mask—searched his face intently.
“How are you here?” she asked.
He blinked. “Well, I took a coach and came through the main door—”
She cut him off. “How are you here? Why are you not back at the Duke of Ashmoore’s estate?”
His pulse stumbled.
She knew.
Botheration.
“How did you know?” he asked quietly.
“I recognized it when you said, ‘You are safe.’ It took me back to the cottage.”
He lifted a finger towards his lips. “Shh. You mustn’t speak of that here.”
“It’s true, is it not?” she pressed. “How, pray tell, does a gamekeeper attend a masquerade ball in Town?”
He could have told her the truth.
He should have.
But the words lodged painfully in his throat.
Instead, he managed, “I wanted to ensure you were safe.”
Josephine stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. “By dressing up as a gentleman and sneaking into a ball? What if you had been caught?”
“It was a chance I was willing to take.”
She cocked her head. “Do you believe I am unsafe in London?”
“With Mr. Broderick still at large? Yes.”
“So you intend to protect me wherever I go?”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “I haven’t thought that far yet. But the thought of anything happening to you—” His jaw tightened. “I cannot abide it.”
A shadow crossed her expression. “My brother doesn’t believe I was abducted. He thinks I tried to elope with Mr. Broderick.”
“I know,” Jude said. “I overheard the conversation at Ashmoore Hall.”
She stilled. “You overheard?”
“I did. And your brother was wrong.”
A breath escaped her, soft but full of relief. “I am glad that you believe me.”
He reached for her gloved hand, unable to stop himself, and gently lifted it between them.
“I will always believe you, Josephine.”
The moment her name left his lips, her eyes widened behind the mask. “You shouldn’t say my name, especially not here. Not now.”
He arched a brow, attempting lightness though his heart hammered. “I could call you Josie.”
She flinched, but not in fear—more like surprise softening into something tender.
“My father used to call me that,” she whispered.
Jude felt the tiniest ache pierce his chest at the vulnerability in her voice. “I could choose another name if you prefer—”
Her fingers tightened around his. “No. I would… I would prefer that name.”
“Then Josie it is.”
A true smile—unguarded and radiant—lifted her mouth. “I am glad you’re here,” she said. “Though I do hope you won’t get into any trouble on my account.”
“Lord Luca is aware I am in London,” Jude admitted. “Perhaps not that I am here at the ball, but he knows I came.”
She exhaled a small, shaky sigh. “I will confess that I feel safer with you here.”
“Then my work is done,” he replied with a slight incline of his head.
He had barely finished speaking when a sharp, furious whisper cut through the air.
“What do you think you are doing?”
Jude turned and saw Lord Redden standing a few paces away, his eyes blazing.
Josephine snatched her hand back and stepped away as though burned. “I… uh…”
Lord Redden closed the distance in three strides and seized her arm. His voice was a low hiss. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you are already cavorting with another man. Did you learn nothing from Mr. Broderick?”
“I was merely—”
Her brother cut straight across her words. “I know exactly what you were trying to do. I can see it plainly.”
Jude stepped forward, refusing to let her shoulder this alone. “It was my fault entirely. I was the one being too familiar—”
Lord Redden didn’t even grant him a glance. “You may go. This is a family matter.”
Jude ignored the dismissal, looking only at her. “Will you be all right?”
Josephine nodded, though the movement was faint. “I will be. Thank you.”
Lord Redden yanked her firmly towards the door. “What in the blazes possessed you to let him escort you to the library?” he demanded as they walked.
She cast a look over her shoulder—a fleeting, fragile moment—and met Jude’s eyes.
“He is a friend.”
“A friend?” Lord Redden scoffed. “Young women are not friends with gentlemen. One of them always expects something from the other.”
Jude didn’t hear the rest. He couldn’t. His pulse thundered too loudly, drowning out everything except the sting of having put her in the center of danger he had sworn to shield her from.
Blast it all.
He hadn’t meant to get her into trouble. He had only wanted to make certain she was safe.
As they made their way down the corridor towards the ballroom, Josephine snatched her hand free of her brother’s grasp, heat rising in her cheeks.
“What gives you the right to speak to me that way?” she demanded, stopping short so that Alexander nearly ran into her.
“The right?” Alexander repeated, arching a brow as though she were being absurd. “I saw you in the library, Josephine. Holding hands with a man. You were being entirely too familiar.”
“He is a friend,” she said. “A good man.”
“Bah.” He made a disgusted sound. “He is no friend. He was only trying to lift your skirts.”
She gasped. “Alexander! What a crude thing to say.”