Always a Maiden (The Belles of Beak Street #5)(10)

“A masquerade. You won’t be seen.” He tugged her forward. “I have a mask and domino for you to wear.”

“But I’m not wearing a ballgown.” Her voice wavered. “You said to wear a plain dress. It’s just a muslin day dress.”

Her day dress was probably better than many of the attendees’ finest. “No one will care.”

They walked a few more steps before she tentatively asked, “Who is hosting a masquerade ball?”

“You wouldn’t know her,” Evan said. “You probably won’t know any of the females present, and you shouldn’t acknowledge any of the males even if you know who they are. If you must talk to one, just call them sir, unless they tell you differently. I’m taking you to a Cyprian’s ball.”

She balked again. “A Cyprian’s ball?”

Freeing his arm, Evan circled behind her and picked her up—although not particularly gracefully. He merely wrapped his arms around her midsection and lifted. She went stiff. They were nearly to the carriage anyway. The coachman upon seeing them rounding the corner had opened the door and then mounted his box pretending not to notice her at all. He knew the drill.

“It is a ball where we can dance together all night. The music is surprisingly well done. You do like to dance, don’t you?” Evan set her into the carriage and followed her inside.

“It is my duty to accept invitations to dance.”

Damn. “You do spend a lot of time on the dance floor at any ball I’ve ever seen you attend.”

“How else am I to encourage a suitor if I don’t dance with him?”

Did she think she would land a husband merely by accepting any male’s invitation to dance? “Conversation, perhaps.”

“I converse at routs or when someone calls on me. Isn’t dancing what is supposed to be done at a ball?”

He had been working off what he knew of Lady Susanah when he set up this night’s entertainment. At every ball where he’d ever seen her, she danced a lot. She was proficient. She never made a wrong move—not that he’d studied her intently. She danced with the same bland smile she tended to wear and no flamboyance. He’d wondered if she were free from the constraints of polite society if she would move with more joy.

“Do you not enjoy the feel of the music as you move?” There were other questions. Did she not enjoy her partner’s attention, his touch, or notice his figure as he moved?

“Feel the music?” She sat on the edge of the seat blinking owlishly at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What are you experiencing when you dance?”

Her chin dipped. “Mostly I’m just making certain I don’t make a mistake.”

“Well, don’t worry about making a mistake and just try to enjoy the dancing tonight.”



*

Casting a sidelong glance at Mr. Cooper, Susanah wondered if he meant to expose her to licentious behavior before taking her somewhere to experience passion with him. Perhaps he meant for her to see how the demi-reps charmed men. In any case, their conversations had digressed to logistics as he insisted upon tying on a mask that covered everything but her eyes. Then he added a nun’s wimple “to hide her hair.”

He adjusted the coif until he was satisfied nothing was showing, then pinned on the veil. She wondered why she’d bothered to pin up her hair after her maid had let it down and braided it.

He pulled a large painted crucifix on a chain over his head.

“So I am to go as a nun and you are a monk?”

“For tonight at least,” he muttered as he pulled out a black domino and draped it around her shoulders.

He donned a red mask next. Unlike hers, his left his nose and lips free. The domino he pulled out for himself was also red, and then he retrieved a wide-brimmed red hat from the valise that had been waiting on the seat for them.

Annoyance flashed that she was in a plain white round gown—although dressing in anything else without her maid’s help would have been too difficult—and he was brightly plumaged in proper evening clothes under his showy domino. “That doesn’t look like a monk’s costume.”

He stopped in his maneuvers to get the red cloak around his broad shoulders in the enclosed space. “I’m a cardinal. You may address me as ‘your eminence’, and I’ll call you”—he tilted his head as if considering.

“Sister,” she said for him. “I do get the point of a masquerade is to not reveal who you are.”

“No. You’re not my sister.” He grinned. “I’ll call you darling…darling.”

In spite of her annoyance that they seem to be playing a childish game, something stirred deep in her at the sight of his lips curling. Or perhaps at the term of endearment. She fought the feeling. “My mother says masquerades are disgraceful affairs.”

“They are.” He settled back into the seat, his costume, such as it was, in place. “I doubt that stopped her from attending one or two in her youth. Although this one might be especially so. But we will ignore everyone else. The goal is to dance with abandon, to find joy in the music, to enjoy yourself to the fullest.”

She stared at him, wondering if he was teasing her. But then she’d lost her nerve to ask about what would happen after the ball when he’d teach her about passion. Or at least that was when she assumed he would begin his lessons. Perhaps he liked to dance or used it to seduce. “How long shall we stay?”