Marquesses at the Masquerade(16)

“Dogs will do things like that,” she said reasonably. “Perhaps he saw a cat, or smelled something appealing to him, like a cheesemonger’s cart.”

Her speech was educated, her manner pleasant. He suspected she might be one of the numbers of women of good families who had fallen on hard times. And then her eyes met his again, and he was struck anew with the thought that he knew her.

“I say, is it possible that we’ve met before?”

“How—” the word came out as a croak, and she cleared her throat. “That seems highly unlikely.”

He grinned. “It does, doesn’t it? But I have the strangest sense that I’ve seen you before.”

“Oh, well, I’ve walked through Mayfair many times. Perhaps we’ve passed each other on the street.”

He nodded slowly, though he felt that this wasn’t quite right, that it was too thin an explanation for the jolt of connection he felt when looking in her eyes. But what difference did it make if he had once passed her on the street? He didn’t know her.

“Shall I relieve you of my dog?” Socrates had laid his head shamelessly on her shoulder and appeared supremely content.

“Could I hold him for a moment longer? He’s so dear.”

“Certainly.” Marcus would have gleefully agreed that she might hold Socrates for the rest of the day, since such an occurrence would allow him to do any number of things he had put off while he’d been busy keeping Socrates out of trouble. As Marcus watched, his dog licked the area of his rescuer’s neck right below her ear.

“Socrates,” he said sternly, “behave yourself.”

She laughed. “I don’t mind. He’s just a puppy.”

Something about her laughter made him want to laugh as well, even though there wasn’t anything especially amusing about their conversation. Or maybe it wasn’t only the sound of her laughter, but the way her eyes twinkled that made him feel as though they were sharing something fun.

“Well, I can’t thank you enough for saving him. It was fortunate that you were here.”

This was the moment when she might say why she had happened to be on the street, whether she perhaps worked in one of the neighborhood households.

“Yes, it was,” she agreed, not offering so much as a hint as to why she was there.

“Are you perhaps employed in the neighborhood?” he prompted.

“I am a seamstress.”

This made sense. Not a few seamstresses were gentlewomen fallen on hard times, and the more he talked with her, the more certain he was that she had had a good upbringing.

“Ah. Well, I hope that I might perhaps tempt you to make a change in position. I have a proposition of employment for you: I would like to retain you as a minder for my dog. As evidenced by recent events, Socrates is in need of someone to keep him out of trouble.”

“I’m sorry, did you say you wish to retain a companion for your dog?” she said, clearly puzzled.

He couldn’t blame her, as he would never have expected to find himself attempting to hire a woman he’d just met to be a companion for a dog, but he knew that he would not be able to bear the disappointment in his mother’s eyes if something happened to Socrates. Not that he wanted anything to happen to Socrates either, at least, not most of the time. Also, this woman presented the possibility that Marcus might have time unencumbered by his dog, which, after months of nearly constant canine companionship, sounded incredibly appealing.

“Yes. Suffice it to say that he was a gift and that, excepting yourself, it seems, he will not tolerate the company of anyone but myself. As you might imagine, this can create problems. Namely, if I can’t be with him, he howls constantly.”

“Ah,” she said.

“I’m journeying north today, as soon as possible, in fact, and I should be obliged if you would consent to accompany me—or, more specifically, my dog—on the journey.”

Not surprisingly, she looked taken aback by this abrupt proposal.

He smiled encouragingly. “I would pay you handsomely, of course.”

His words did not appear to put her at ease, and he thought she hugged his dog a little more tightly to her chest, as if Socrates might protect her from him. He was slightly offended, until he remembered that he hadn’t introduced himself and that a pretty young woman had good reason to be nervous about the idea of a strange man offering employment suddenly, particularly employment that would require a journey alone in his company.

“Please excuse me,” he inclined his head politely. “I have not introduced myself. I am the Marquess of Boxhaven.”

*



He didn’t recognize her.

She’d known it was him the minute their eyes met and she heard his voice, even as the carriage behind him with its gilded crest silently mocked her. But he didn’t know who she was.

True, he’d clearly felt some recognition—she’d seen it in his eyes and the wrinkling of his brow. The jolt when their eyes first met had been a shared jolt. But that had meant nothing. He didn’t know she was Poppy, and he apparently wasn’t under any kind of lingering enchantment from the ball that might have swept across the chasm between them and made everything into a happily ever after.

Rosamund knew she should be glad. None of the circumstances that had allowed them to meet at the ball was in force anymore, and she now was of an even lower status than when they’d first met.