A Masquerade in the Moonlight(18)
“Do forgive me, please, Billie,” she said sweetly, employing the chastened tone her late father could have told Mrs. Billings meant Marguerite was just inches from committing mayhem. “I do my best, but I still most obviously require your continued tutelage in order to acquire the correct measure of town bronze necessary to be a credit to my grandfather.”
Mrs. Billings patted Marguerite’s cheek. “Such a sweet child, to think of Sir Gilbert. As I tell all the other chaperones while you are whirling so gracefully around the dance floor, this charge of mine is sure to be the crowning achievement in my career of introducing young ladies to society. If you behave, that is. Now sit up straight, do, or else your shoulders will become permanently stooped.”
“I exist only to please you, Billie,” Marguerite said, straightening her already erect posture, then covertly searching the crowded area around the top of the staircase from beneath her eyelids.
Damn you, Donovan! Where are you? My dance card is nearly full. Or am I wrong, and the hint I dropped so heavily in Perry’s office this afternoon should have been tied to a red brick and aimed at your grinning head? Oh, what’s the matter with me, that I should abandon my quest even for one evening, and indulge myself in this mad attraction?
“Good evening, Miss Balfour. Have you misplaced someone, that you’re peering so intently at the knot of people doing their best to monopolize our host and hostess?”
“Donovan,” Marguerite whispered under her breath, turning her head swiftly, just in time to see him smiling down at her, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Wasn’t it just like him to sneak up on her, to discover her searching for him? And he knew she had been looking for him. Oh, yes. He knew, damn him, and dared to tease her with his knowledge. “I’m not looking for anyone.”
“Now, now. Don’t be shy. Of course you’re looking for someone. Perhaps I can be of service. I have just now shamelessly deserted a most insistent dowager bent on having me squire her prune-faced daughter in the first set in order to throw myself on the mercy of the most beautiful woman in this room and beg her for the honor of a dance. In order to save me from her clutches, you understand. If I must first perform a boon, I shall do so gladly, if only to see your smile. Tell me the scoundrel’s name, and I’ll seek him out for you.”
“You have put me to the blush, Mr. Donovan,” she replied quietly, deliberately looking past him, to wave at Lady Hertford, who was passing by on the arm of a uniformed hussar. “And you force me to admit to my curiosity. I was searching the guests for a sight of you, worried for your welfare. But now I see I was silly to concern myself. You don’t look the least bit, um, singed.”
“Singed? Now you have piqued my curiosity, Miss Balfour.”
She gave up the pretense of feminine modesty and looked straight into his eyes. “Yes, Mr. Donovan. Singed. I was certain Sir Peregrine’s assessment of your character, delivered to me as we spent an enjoyable hour perusing the bookstalls, would have served to burn your ears to cinders. Tell me, however did you manage to upset him so?”
He bowed to Marguerite. “Not I, Miss Balfour, I assure you. I am the most congenial of men,” Thomas answered, straightening once it had to be obvious to him she was not about to offer him her gloved hand to kiss. “It must have been my assistant, Patrick Dooley, who set the man’s back up. A good man, Paddy, but a little rough about his edges, you understand.”
“Ah, Mr. Dooley. That would be the sweet-faced gentleman you neglected to introduce to me this afternoon, as you were so involved in maintaining your own smooth edges? Another Irishman who has adopted America as his home, I suppose. Tell me, are there any of you left in Dublin?”
“More than enough for you English to browbeat, Miss Balfour, I’m sure,” Thomas said, turning to look at Mrs. Billings, whose confused expression advertised the fact she had no notion of what was going on beneath her nose. “And you must be Mrs. Billings, the fortunate lady who has charge of the Season’s most sought after debutante? May I compliment you on your dressing of her? A prettily wrapped package goes a long way toward assuring its possible buyer he will be purchasing something worth the price.”
Marguerite dug her fingertips into her palms. Poor Billie. Donovan had cleverly delivered both a compliment to the chaperone and an insult directed at her charge, and Mrs. Billings was clearly at a loss as to how to react. “Marguerite?” she asked, beginning to fan herself with her lace-edged handkerchief, for her usually pale cheeks had become quite flushed. “Do you know this gentleman?”