Marquesses at the Masquerade(70)

She continued to furtively search for Exmore, and at the same time, she tried to assure Phoebe that her hair still appeared beautiful, even without the strand of adorning beads that had broken in the carriage on the way over.

“But I had my hair in papers all night and morning for this coiffure!” Phoebe complained.

“Don’t be so crestfallen. If you were to meet a gentleman tonight, and he were to fall in love with you only for your coiffure, I don’t think you should have him.”

“It’s still vexing.”

“What if I discreetly take a leaf from this palm and place it your hair? Would that do instead?” Annalise reached for the palm, knowing well she wasn’t going to snap off a branch of the hostess’s magnificent plant, but she enjoyed teasing Phoebe and casting her from her frustrations.

“No!” Phoebe gasped.

“But if you don’t stand beside the palm for the remainder of the evening, no one will know.” She laughed. “Come now, you know I’m jesting.”

“Ah, Annalise, there you are.”

Annalise whirled around to find her uncle had materialized behind her. He normally didn’t attend parties, but he couldn’t turn down Lord Warrington’s invitation. It was the greatest home he had been accepted in. His pleasant smile looked like a tight, ill-fitting garment on his face. Beside him stood a trim, handsome man possessing an intense face accented by startling pale eyes.

“Colonel Lewiston, may I present my niece Miss Van Der Keer.” Her uncle had taken on the polite tone he used in public. “The colonel has expressed a desire to dance with you.”

“Thank you.” Annalise curtsied. “I should be very happy to dance.” And she was. She had danced enough now that she no longer feared causing bodily injury to others.

“There now,” her uncle said to Colonel Lewiston. “She is tame enough. Enjoy her.”

Annalise took the colonel’s offered arm and tried to make small conversation to conceal her embarrassment at her uncle’s demeaning treatment of her. “I’m sorry, but I am at a disadvantage,” she said as he led her to the dance floor. “For you seem to know me, but I do not think I’ve met you before.” She would have certainly remembered such a striking gentleman.

“I do not attend many balls.” He spoke in a blunt, clipped manner. “In truth, I knew you were coming here tonight, and I sought out your uncle to present you.”

“Oh,” Annalise said, because that was politer than asking, And why were you searching me out?

“You see, I came to warn you,” he said as they took their positions for a quadrille.

“Concerning?” Annalise was becoming nervous. Who was this Colonel Lewiston?

“I’m sorry for my abruptness and harsh manner. I am a military man, and I lack the talent of delicate conversation. But it has been made apparent to me that Lord Exmore holds you in much esteem.”

The dancers began to move, but Annalise remained still. “Why do you say this? It is not true.”

He held out his hand. She stared at it and took it only after a neighboring dancer bumped into her.

“Please heed my advice,” he said, leading her in a turn. “Take care to avoid him.”

“Why do you speak this way to me?”

He edged closer to her than the dance dictated. “He cares little for your feelings,” he said, only loud enough for her to hear. “He is a marquess and will have his way.”

“Sir, again, do not speak to me this way. It is impolite.”

“The truth is often impolite. He misused a lady. A lady I loved. He destroyed her gentle heart and her life. He… he killed her.”

“What?” She yanked from his clasp. The dancing couples beside them turned, eyeing them. Annalise wanted to walk away, no, run, but knew the best tactic was to stay in the dance and then quietly slip into the crowd. Causing a scene wouldn’t improve the situation.

“My apologies.” He lifted her hand and drew her back into the dance formation. “You may misunderstand. He did not kill her with his hands. He tortured her heart, slowly draining away her life. She died of grief.”

Sorrow imbued his dramatic proclamation, and normally Annalise would have been more sympathetic, but she felt only annoyance. “People do not die of grief, Colonel Lewiston. I should know. Please do not speak any more on this topic. We are at a ball. Tell me, have you attended Astley’s Circus or Kew Gardens?” She pointedly attempted to change the subject to a more proper one.

“As a compassionate gentleman, I urge you, do not fall under Exmore’s influence. Stay away from him.”

The only man she wanted to stay away from was the colonel.

She knew Exmore led another life as a rake in the dark belly of London. He visited places and did things she didn’t care to know about. She knew that sorrow changed a person, driving him or her to act in desperate ways. She couldn’t judge him, especially when she was ignorant of the particulars concerning Colonel Lewiston or his lady friend. But she didn’t want to be dragged into any sordid situation between the two men.

Then a worrisome thought struck her: If Lewiston knew about her secret friendship with Exmore, who else did? Her gaze flew to her uncle. He was drinking champagne and speaking amicably with another gentleman.

The dance began to feel like a sickening blur. She wanted to rip her hand away from Lewiston’s clasp. She didn’t want him touching her in any manner. Thankfully, he turned silent for the remainder of the dance, and they both moved through the figures. When the music ended, he leaned close and whispered, “I warn you. Stay away from Exmore.”