Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(81)
Everett was a skilled dancer, the steps ingrained so deeply within him that he didn’t falter when Signa missed one. His grip on her tightened, helping correct her with not condemnation or embarrassment but a grin.
“Selfishly, Miss Farrow, I’m glad you came to Thorn Grove.” His smile was infectious. The kind that made her cheeks ache without any clue why. And yet, joyous as the dancing was, his arms did not feel right beneath her hands. He wasn’t the one she wanted to dance with. He wasn’t the one she wanted to see her dressed up like this, bold and striking and beautiful.
She grew breathless as they turned about the room once more, her hand coming up to set before his as they circled each other. When she didn’t respond, he leaned close. “I’m looking forward to the spring.”
He’d spoken quietly enough, but Signa caught the tail end of murmured conversations that sounded very much like gossip as too many eyes observed them. She wondered if he noticed it, too, and if it bothered him. So distracted was she that she lost her footing, and he caught her before she could stumble, just in time for the song to end.
His brows creased, forming deep lines upon his forehead. “Are you all right?”
She wished that she had Eliza’s hideous tea-doily fan so that she might hide her warming face. “Quite well,” she said, following suit as the women around her curtsied to their partners. “Thank you, Lord Wakefield. You’re a lovely dance partner.”
He bowed, and though the lines on his forehead didn’t smooth themselves fully, he didn’t press her. “As are you. I hope this won’t be our final dance this evening.”
“No, I don’t imagine it will be.”
It was as though he’d shattered some invisible barrier with that first dance. She only made it a few steps before someone begged her pardon and made introductions. Soon her dance card was filled, with the exception of the last spot. No one dared take the final waltz from Lord Wakefield. He and Signa caught each other’s eyes several times throughout the night as Signa danced and spun and twirled with more men than she could count. Ones older and younger, wealthy and hungry to elevate their status.
Though she’d expected to enjoy her time and conversation, the more people she met, the more drained she became. While most of the men had decency, there were too many who made Signa’s skin prickle, and even one—an older man with a shrewd mouth and wiry frame—whose hands lingered far lower on her back than appropriate.
She caught sight of Charlotte twirling in the arms of men Signa had never met, and then again with Percy. She and her cousin laughed and whispered, eyes gleaming. Signa’s heart warmed at the sight, though Eliza watched from the sidelines, her mouth tight and her fluttering fan almost lethal.
Everyone else certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves. Now that some hours had passed—accompanied by many drinks—the laughs came easier and the mood was even lighter. It was amusing to people watch, though Signa soon found herself wanting to sneak away to her bedroom with grand illusions of lighting some candles and drawing a late-night bath. For weeks now she had been trying to keep herself together. To play pretend, and tell herself that finding her footing in social circles would get easier. But the rules were stressful and unforgiving, and Signa’s chest felt as though it might burst if she could not escape to the shadows to catch her breath.
But just as a dance ended and she began her retreat, all heads turned to watch a new guest arrive.
Signa was certain she’d never seen the man before. Hair silver as starlight was tied at the nape of his neck, while his attire was a black suit of rich imported fabric and boots of the finest dark leather, as were his gloves. On his face was a mask of pure gold—one that had everyone in the room buzzing with whispers. It was a far more gruesome mask than anyone else had dared to wear, almost devilish in its severity, with two long horns spiraling from the base of the skull. He was impressively tall and well-built, and as he stepped forward, people parted for him. He didn’t acknowledge them as he crossed the floor to stand before Signa, nor did he say even a word when he offered his hand to her.
She took it before she knew what she was doing. The music disappeared with his touch, and she knew at once who it was that pulled her into his arms.
“Hello, Little Bird. Care to dance?”
THIRTY-FOUR
THE LIGHTS AND LAUGHTER OF THE BALLROOM FADED AS SIGNA eased from Death’s grasp.
“What are you doing here?” Her heart thundered as she looked past him to faces still as statues. “Can they see you?”
“I’m wearing a mask, Signa. Whatever they think they see is merely an illusion.” She didn’t need to hear the mirth in his voice to know that he was grinning because she could see it now. Full pink lips that curled into a grin, and a cut of cheekbones—the only parts of his face that weren’t covered by the mask.
One by one the unblinking eyes that observed them evaporated like smoke as the ballroom sank away. Somehow they were in the garden now, bathing in the moon’s pale glow. The ground beneath Signa’s feet grew damp, and the air was heady. Snow crunched beneath her feet and the sky spun into a canopy of stars.
“You look even more beautiful than I imagined.” Stepping closer, he brushed a gloved hand against her hip, inspecting the gown’s fabric. “Do you approve of my gift?”