Page 69 of Lady for a Season
“But your clothes… your hair…”
“Joseph had a second costume prepared for me. I could not bear another night of being followed everywhere.” They changed direction, gazing at one another through the oval created by their arms. “And as you can see, the ruse has worked. The ladies are searching for my gold velvet, and it is nowhere to be seen.”
“I thought…”
“What did you think? That I had been dragged into a quiet spot by some especially persistent young miss, hoping for a proposal?”
“Yes.” The cold fear that had run down her whole body, the way tears had risen in her eyes at the idea… what was that?
“I have been careful to avoid them all,” he said, and his voice was serious. “There is only one woman here I would care to be alone with.”
Maggie’s stomach churned. So, he had found someone. “And who might that be?” she enquired, trying to keep her voice light. “Do I know her?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “If we dance towards that side of the room I will try and point her out to you when we reach her. She is very beautiful,” he added with a smile.
Whom could he mean? It could not be Miss Belmont, for he knew Maggie had met her repeatedly. But then who? None of the young women with whom he had danced, walked, on whom he had called, had taken his fancy. Besides, if he had fallen for any of them the Duchess would have promptly given the match her blessing, for all of them had been deemed suitable, eligible, even desirable, for Edward to pay court to. He had only to say the word and the wedding would be arranged in as much haste as was possible without appearing unseemly.
She stumbled over his feet, then tried to regain the rhythm of the waltz, which had felt so magical before, but the previous grace and flow of it had deserted her. She felt clumsy, awkward, as though dancing without music, without a partner, all alone and in the way among the whirling couples, unwanted in their midst and uncertain of her steps.
Slowly they moved across the ballroom, towards the outermost edges of it. Edward steered them, still dancing, through a door and into a side room which was empty save for a full-length looking glass on one wall and low velvet benches set around the edges. This was the room where all the ladies at the ball came to change into their dancing shoes if needed or to check that their feathers and wide skirts were uncrumpled from the journey. For now, it was empty, and Edward stopped their rotations, but did not let go of Maggie, so that one of his hands was on her waist,the other clasping her hand but lowered, so that she was held within the circle of his arms, her back to his chest, her face towards the looking glass.
“There she is,” he said, his voice low against her cheek. “I told you she was beautiful.”
Her laugh of dismissal died in her throat, for he tightened his hold on her and bent his head. She watched in the looking glass as he kissed her shoulder, felt his lips warm on her bare skin, spoke in a half whisper, her voice shaking. “Edward…”
“You know me,” he said softly. “As I know you.”
Slowly, he turned her in his arms so that she was facing him, then let go of her, reached up and pulled away his mask, which he dropped to the floor. His hands went behind her back, brushed gently up her neck before untying her mask, which he cast aside as he had with his own.
“There you are.”
She gazed up at him, lips parted in expectation, full of desire for his touch. Her hand reached up to touch his cheek, and she felt the hardness of his jaw. She had touched his face many times during his nightmares, but never like this, pulling him towards her. His hold on her tightened as his lips touched hers, soft at first and then more passionately as she responded, somehow knowing what to do, instinctively wanting more, wanting every part of their bodies to be entwined. She clung to him, a moan escaping her lips.
“Gracious, Lord Sedgewick is a terrible dancer,” came a giggling voice just outside the doorway. “I swear my toes are black and blue.”
In a moment, Edward had knelt and picked up the two masks, lifting his own to his face, passing Maggie hers as two young women entered behind them. Maggie, flustered, turned her back on them to use the looking glass as she tried to fasten her mask. Edward fastened his own, bowed to them all and left the room.
“Who was that?” asked one of the women, turning to watch him go.
“Don’t know,” said the other, sitting on a bench, unlacing one slipper and examining her stockinged feet. “Gentlemen ought to be given more lessons before they attend balls, if they can’t be trusted to get through one dance without sending their partner home with a limp.”
Maggie’s trembling fingers somehow managed to fasten the mask onto her face. She turned to leave and came face to face with the Duchess.
“Are you ready to leave? It is almost two o clock.”
“Yes,” was all Maggie could manage.
“I will take Edward in the carriage. You can follow on in the phaeton.”
She stood and watched as the Duchess took Edward’s arm and steered him out of the ballroom, saw him look back over his shoulder at her but could not make out his expression beneath the mask he wore.
“Are you leaving?” The Earl of Frampton was by her side.
“I – yes,” was all Maggie could manage.
“Allow me to escort you to your carriage?”
She hardly heard him, only saw his arm and took it, followed him outside and took his hand as she climbed the carriage steps, nodded at whatever he was saying, waited for the carriage to take her away. The open carriage suited Maggie, she needed the cold night air on her face, her neck. She took off the mask and lay it beside her, tilted her head back and closed her eyes, the better to remember every word, every touch, every moment that had passed between them but above all to revel in the rush of feelings that filled every part of her. Edward had kissed her. The feelings she had held for him, had tried to suppress, came rushing up in her, suddenly vivid and undeniable. She had thought it was only her concern for his wellbeing that made her feel anxiouswhen he walked or talked or danced with other women. But that was not it. She loved him. The fear she had felt when she had thought he was about to show her his future bride had turned into overwhelming desire for him as he had kissed her and now she wanted only to be close to him again, to press herself against him and feel his lips on hers, to whisper words to him, to hear what he might whisper to her.
