Marquesses at the Masquerade(9)



The next dance was a quadrille, whose steps she remembered finding confounding as a girl. The waltz was, in fact, the only dance she really knew how to do, probably because she could practice it alone in her room, humming as she twirled around with a broom handle.

“Actually, a lemonade sounds more the thing,” she said.

“Lemonade it is.” He placed a gloved hand lightly at her elbow and guided her through a throng of people toward the table. The room had been crowded when she’d arrived and since then had become only more so, and now it was rather difficult moving about.

“How thirsty are you?” he asked as their progress was arrested by a seemingly impenetrable mass of people.

“Not terribly,” she said. “I suppose it’s more that I’ve become warm.”

“Oh, there you are,” an older woman in a cream mask said to Rosamund’s partner, squeezing past a man dressed as a bishop. “It’s just as I feared.”

The tall gentleman laughed. “A success, you mean? Yes, I fear the ball is quite horribly successful.”

“Cheeky fellow. You know what I mean. People will be feeling terribly crowded. I really don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t think there is anything to do,” he said. “And I don’t think anyone else particularly minds that it’s a squeeze. What do you think?” he asked, turning to Rosamund, who was watching him and the woman in the cream mask with dawning comprehension.

The woman who was expressing such hostly concern—and who had, now that Rosamund was noticing, hair nearly the same color of golden brown as the tall gentleman—could only be Lady Boxhaven. Which would mean that the tall gentleman was a member of her family, and Rosamund would lay odds he was her son. That meant either her younger son, or the marquess.

From the way he’d sent her dancing partner scurrying, she had a pretty good idea which son he was, and her heart skipped in her chest.

They were looking at her, waiting for a reply.

“I don’t mind being a little crowded when a ball is so wonderful,” she said.

His eyes twinkled at her before he turned to the other woman, surely Lady Boxhaven. “There, you see? An impartial observer. The ball’s a success and not at all horrible.”

Lady Boxhaven’s attention finally came fully upon Rosamund. She had very kind, soft eyes, and she seemed to pause as she regarded Rosamund. “Well, an impartial observer is a very good thing,” she said with a smile. “Do excuse me, please, I think I am wanted,” and she disappeared back into the crowd.

“I suppose that little conversation has given you clues about my identity,” the tall gentleman said.

“I suppose it has,” Rosamund agreed, liking the way his eyes teased hers. A lady passing next to Rosamund jostled her, and the marquess—for she was now certain her companion must be him—steadied her with a hand on her elbow.

“Shall we go out to the terrace?” he asked. “It will be cooler outside, and I should think less crowded.”

“Yes, please. This truly is a wonderful and successful ball, but too much successfulness at one time could make a person’s head spin.”

“Successfulness.” He chuckled. “A very nice way of putting not being able to move.”

With a stride that clearly expected to encounter no opposition—and, to Rosamund’s delighted amusement, didn’t—he led her to the open doors leading to the terrace. Outside, the air was cool and fresh, and only a few couples stood about here and there. He guided her to a spot away from the others, near where the balustrade led down a short set of steps to a garden.

“Now then,” he said, leaning a bit closer and offering the kind of beguiling grin that had probably stolen more than a few feminine hearts, “since you’ve had clues to my identity, don’t you think it a good idea to offer me some clues to yours?”

She laughed. “No. This is supposed to be a night of mystery.”

“A night of mystery,” he repeated. “But my identity isn’t a mystery to you anymore, is it?”

“Not unless you aren’t the Marquess of Boxhaven and that wasn’t your mother speaking with us just a minute ago.”

He inclined his head with playful dismay. “Will you at least tell me if we have ever met before? Though I feel certain I would know if we had.”

She felt certain she would know if they had even passed each other on the street, because there was something about him, something that made her heart race and her skin feel warm, and she knew she hadn’t stopped smiling since their eyes had met on the dance floor. He was special, but not because he was wealthy and titled. He was handsome and commanding and, for whatever reason she could not have named, completely interesting to her, and she wanted to know everything about him. She liked him.

“We’ve never met before,” she said.

He nodded, as if he too would have known her. “Did you come tonight with your family?”

She smiled, feeling that nothing in her life had ever been more fun than teasing this man. “That would be a helpful clue, wouldn’t it?”





Chapter Four





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This, this was what he’d been waiting for his entire life, without even knowing that he’d been waiting. This feeling of being so incredibly alive, like every inch of his skin was awake, all because of the lady in blue.

Emily Greenwood, Sus's Books