To Seduce a Sinner (Legend of the Four Soldiers #2)(39)

But she was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Pynch. Immediately, Mr. Oaks sobered, the footmen straightened in their seats, one of the upstairs maids giggled nervously—a sound shushed by her neighbor—and Mrs. Moore blushed. Sally let out a sigh of frustration. Mr. Pynch was like a bucket of muddy Thames river water thrown over everyone: cold and unpleasant.

“May I help you, Mr. Pynch?” the butler asked.

“Thank you, no,” Mr. Pynch said. “I’ve come for Miss Suchlike. She’s wanted by the mistress.”

His wooden tones produced another giggle from the upstairs maid. Her name was Gussy, and she was the sort to giggle at nearly anything. Her little giggle stopped on a gasp, though, when Mr. Pynch turned his cold green gaze on her.

Bully, Sally thought. She pushed back from the long kitchen table and rose. “Well, I thank you, Mrs. Moore, for a most delightful story.”

Mrs. Moore blinked and a pleased flush lit her cheeks.

Sally smiled at the people around the table before hurrying in Mr. Pynch’s footsteps. He, of course, hadn’t waited for her leave-taking.

She caught up with him on a turn on the back stairs. “Why do you have to be so nasty?”

He didn’t even pause in his climb. “I don’t know what you refer to, Miss Suchlike.”

She rolled her eyes as she panted in his wake. “You hardly ever eat with the rest of the servants, and when you do make an appearance, you flatten the talk like a horse sitting on a cat.”

They’d reached a landing, and he stopped so suddenly that she ran into his back and nearly lost her balance on the stairs.

He turned and grasped her arm without any sign of confusion. “You h Cfusghtave a colorful turn of phrase, Miss Suchlike, but I believe it is you who are overly familiar with the other servants.”

He let go of her arm and continued his climb.

Sally had to suppress an urge to stick out her tongue at his broad back. Sadly, Mr. Pynch was correct. As a lady’s maid, she should be placing herself above all the other servants save Mr. Oaks and Mrs. Moore. Probably she, too, should disdain their jolly meals and turn up her nose at their laughter. Except that would leave her with hardly anyone to talk to below stairs. Mr. Pynch might be content to lead the life of a hermit, but she wasn’t.

“Wouldn’t hurt you to be friendly at least,” she muttered as they reached the hallway outside the master bedrooms.

He sighed. “Miss Suchlike, a young girl like yourself can hardly—”

“I’m not so young as all that,” she said.

He stopped again, and she saw amusement on his face. Considering how wooden he usually looked, he might as well be laughing at her.

She set her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know I’ll be twenty next birthday.”

His lips twitched.

She scowled. “And how old are you, Grandfather?”

He arched an eyebrow, which was a very irritating thing to do. “Two and thirty.”

She staggered back, pretending shock. “Oh, my goodness! It’s a wonder you’re still standing, a man your age.”

He merely shook his head at her antics. “See to your mistress, little girl.”

She gave up suppressing the urge and stuck out her tongue before fleeing into Lady Vale’s bedroom.

MELISANDE HID HER trembling hands in the fullness of her skirts as she entered Lady Graham’s masked ball that night. It had taken all her courage to come. As it was, the decision to attend had been last minute—if she’d thought of it longer, she would’ve talked herself out of it. She loathed these types of entertainments. They were filled with tight knots of people, gossiping and staring, and always seeming to exclude her. But this was Vale’s own ground. She needed to confront him in just such a venue as this if she was to show him that she could be a fitting replacement for his parade of paramours.

She rubbed her skirt between nervous fingers and tried to steady her breathing. She was a little helped by the fact that it was a masquerade ball. She wore a velvet demimask that was so purple it was nearly black. It didn’t hide her identity—that wasn’t its purpose, after all—but it still gave her a small measure of confidence. Melisande took a fortifying breath and looked about. Around her, masked ladies and gentlemen laughed and shouted, all of them confident in the knowledge that they were here to see and be seen. Some wore dominoes, but many ladies had decided to wear colorful ball gowns and rely only on a demimask for their disguise.

She was enveloped in a domino of purple silk, and she drew the folds around herself as she moved through the crowds, looking for Vale. She hadn’t see CSheinon him since the garden party that afternoon. They’d parted ways when they’d left the party—he on his horse, she in the carriage. From subtle questioning of Mr. Pynch, she knew her husband was wearing a black domino, but then so were half the men in the room. A lady moved past her, jostling her shoulder. The other woman glanced back at her dismissively.

For a moment, Melisande fought down an urge to flee. To abandon the room and this night’s purpose and seek the shelter of her waiting carriage. But if Vale could brave a crowd of elderly ladies to stalk her at a garden party in the afternoon, then by God she could brave the terrors of a ballroom to hunt him by night.

She heard his laugh then. Turning, she saw him. Vale stood nearly a head taller than those around him. He was surrounded by smiling men and one or two giggling ladies. They were all beautiful, all entirely sure of themselves and their place in the world. Who was she to try inserting herself in this group? Would they not take one look at her and laugh?