Page 55 of The Paid Companion

The man in the mask took her arm. In the next breath, she re-gretted her decision. The touch of his long, elegant fingers sent an inexplicable chill through her.

She caught her breath and told herself that it must be her imagination. But her senses rejected that logic. There was an aura about the stranger that stirred her nerves in a most unpleasant manner.

When he guided her into the steps of the waltz, it was all she could do not to wrinkle her nose in reaction to the unwholesome odor that emanated from him. She could tell that he had recently perspired very heavily, but the smell of his sweat was not that which was produced by normal exertion. It was tainted with some essence that she could not identify; a vapor that filled her with disgust.

She studied the small portion of his face that was not covered by the mask. In the lantern light his eyes fairly glittered through the slits cut in the black silk.

Her first thought was that he was intoxicated, but she discarded that theory when she realized that he was not the least unsteady or lacking in coordination. Perhaps he had just won or lost a fortune in a game of whist or hazard. That might account for his air of unnatural excitement.

Tension tightened the muscles in her body. She wished with all her heart that she had not accepted the cowled man’s offer of a dance. But it was too late. Unless she wanted to cause a scene, she was trapped until the music ended.

She was positive that she had never danced the waltz with this man before tonight, but she wondered if she had met him at some other affair.

“Are you enjoying the evening, sir?” she asked, hoping that she could tempt him into speaking.

But he merely inclined his head in a silent, affirmative response.

The long fingers gripped her own so tightly that she could feel the outline of the ring he wore.

She felt his gloved hand tighten at her waist and almost stumbled in response. If he attempted to move his palm lower, she would end the dance immediately, she told herself. She could not abide him touching her any more intimately.

She shifted her fingertips from his shoulder to his arm in an effort to put a little more distance between them. The movement caused her palm to glide across a long, jagged tear in the voluminous folds of the heavy black cloth of the domino. Perhaps the garment had got caught on the door of his carriage. Should she mention the rip in his cloak to him?

No, the less said between them the better. She did not want to make polite conversation, even if he proved willing to talk.

And then, without a word, the man in the mask brought her to a halt at the edge of the dance floor, bowed deeply, turned and strode swiftly toward the nearest door.

She watched him leave, slightly stunned by the strange episode and exceedingly relieved that it was over.

The folds of her own cloaklike domino suddenly felt much too warm. She needed that breath of fresh air now far more than she had a few minutes before.

Raising her mask to conceal her face, she managed to escape the shadowy ballroom without attracting any more attention. She went down a quiet hall and sought refuge in the Fambridges’ moonlit conservatory.

The large greenhouse radiated the wholesome, soothing scents of rich soil and thriving foliage. She paused at the entrance to give her eyes time to adjust to the shadows.

After a moment she discovered that the pale glow of the full moon flooding through the panes of glass provided sufficient illumination to make out the shapes of the workbenches and the masses of greenery.

She wandered down an aisle of broad-leaved plants, enjoying her moment of solitude and silence. She had danced with any number of mysterious masked strangers that evening, but Arthur had not been among them. Even if he had come to her in a mask and a domino and said not one word, she would have known his touch, she mused. Something in her reacted to his nearness as though they shared some sort of metaphysical connection. Surely he experienced some of the same awareness when he was near her. Or was she fooling herself?

She reached the end of the corridor of potted plants and was about to turn back when something, a brush of a shoe against the tile or perhaps the soft swish of a domino, told her that she was no longer alone in the conservatory.

Her pulse quickened. Instinctively she moved deeper into a patch of shadow created by a towering palm. What if her dance partner had followed her?

The conservatory had seemed a safe enough retreat, but it occurred to her that she could be trapped here at the far end of the glass house. The only way back into the ballroom would take her past whoever had followed her here.

“Miss Lodge?” The woman’s voice was low and tremulous.

Relief cascaded through Elenora. She did not recognize the newcomer, but knowing that she was dealing with a female eased her tension. She stepped out of the shadow of the tall palm.

“Yes, I’m here,” she said.

“I thought I saw you come this way.” The lady came toward her along the plant-lined aisle. Her domino was fashioned of a light-colored fabric that reflected the moonlight: pale blue or green, perhaps. She had the cowl pulled up over her head to shield her face.

“How did you recognize me?” Elenora asked, curious and somewhat surprised to discover that she was still a bit wary. The waltz with the masked stranger had unsettled her usually unflappable nerves more than she would have believed possible.

“I saw you arrive in St. Merryn’s carriage earlier.” The woman was small and rather ethereal-looking in her pale costume. She seemed to drift toward Elenora as though her feet did not quite touch the ground. “Your mask and domino are quite distinctive.”

“Have we been introduced?” Elenora asked.

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