Page 24 of A Masked Lady for Mr. Kenworthy
Unlike the night of the masquerade ball, Faye felt wonderful at Lady Salisdene’s party. Mayson had surprised her by giving her a beautiful, cerulean-blue ball gown fit for a princess. Of course, he had explained it was simply because he could not have her looking like she belonged in the poor house when she set out to seduce the marquess. He had told her that Lord Turlington preferred his ladies to be well dressed. Faye had tried not to think about the implications of such a statement. She chose, instead, to simply enjoy the beautiful dress since it was the first new dress she had had since her father had died. She relished the way it looked on her and the way she felt in it.
She looked around casually, smiling at the guests who met her eye and not failing to notice that quite a few gentlemen offered her second and third glances. She could not allow them to distract her, however. She was there for a single purpose. And, as opposed to when she had been working for Mayson, she looked forward to succeeding in her mission. She knew there was a great deal depending on her success, and this time, she was working for good people. She needed to concentrate on doing her best to accomplish what had been asked of her.
She caught sight of a flash of blue that very closely matched that of her dress. She focused on the figure, quickly realizing it was Mr. Kenworthy. Once more, they were dressed in matching-colored outfits. She saw he was staring right at her. Their eyes met, and her heart stopped for a moment. She hardly noticed the smile that crossed her face as they regarded one another. The heat rising in her neck was all she could feel, and the only thing outside of herself that existed at that moment was him. She would have marveled at the effect the gentleman had upon her were she not so busy experiencing those feelings.
She had to force herself to be the first to look away. It was a difficult task, to be sure, but she could not let herself get lost in her budding feelings for Mr. Kenworthy. As she had reminded herself earlier, she was there only to win the affections of Lord Turlington. She ran a risk by even allowing her gaze to linger for too long on Mr. Kenworthy. Should the marquess happen to have already spotted her, he would surely notice where her attention was fixed. With a small smile, she looked away from Mr. Kenworthy, resuming her surveillance of the ballroom.
“May I have your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen?” boomed a voice over the loud buzzing of conversation in the room. Faye looked up and saw the butler standing in the doorway of the ballroom. “Your host Lord Turlington has arrived.”
Faye felt her heart drop into her stomach. She had not seen the marquess at his masquerade ball, as she had been too preoccupied with sneaking into his study. And she would not have known him even if she had not been, as he was wearing a mask just like all his guests. But, as she studied him now, she wished with all her might that he was still wearing his mask. His face was lined, and he looked well-past the forty-something years he was meant to be. Silver streaked his dark hair and large moustache. His eyes were dark and beady and held an odd sparkle which made Faye instantly uneasy. The arrogant smirk teasing the corner of his thin lips matched the look in his eyes perfectly, and Faye could not help but shudder.
As the marquess entered the room, Faye noticed two things. Firstly, that the marquess was, to all appearances, both well-known and charming. Everyone he passed greeted him with relatively pleasant expressions, which he returned. Faye supposed she was the only one to notice that his smiles never reached his eyes. And secondly, it was clear, even though she was well across the room from him, that all the young women in his immediate vicinity were paying special attention to him. All had ceased their respective conversations and graced Lord Turlington with their glances. Their expressions ranged from admiring, curious, and interested to disdain and distrust. Faye felt her heart sink further as she understood what her cousin had said was true: The Marquess of Turlington clearly did love women, but not necessarily in the fashion one might normally expect.
As he made his way toward the dance floor, the marquess caught sight of her. He stopped in his tracks, taking her in for a moment with the calculating look of a curious predatory wild animal. She held her breath, uncertain of what his next move might be. She simultaneously hoped he would move on and overlook her and that he would find her beautiful enough to speak to, which was what Lord Daleshire’s plan depended on. She got her answer a moment later when Lord Turlington began to walk straight toward her. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she braced herself.
When the marquess reached her, she could see clearly see the hungry look in his eyes. She forced herself to remain where she stood, reminding herself how important the task ahead of her was. She stared at him as he bowed rather stiffly, and she responded with a polite curtsey. She could feel his beady eyes on her all the while, and her skin began to crawl. Nevertheless, she put on her best pleasant expression, thinking of her mother so as to remain on track.
“Good day,” she said softly.
The marquess took her hand, giving her one of his smirks as he kissed the back of her glove.
“Good day, my dear,” he said. “My, I do believe you are the most beautiful woman at the party.”
Faye shuddered, quickly masking it by shifting her weight and straightening her posture. Her cheeks were crimson, but it was not from pleasure or bashfulness. However, she used it to her advantage to keep the marquess from seeing her repulsion. She batted her eyelashes and looked away, taking the opportunity to organized her thoughts.
“You are far too kind, my lord,” she said. “Perhaps it is merely my dress which has captured your attention.”
The marquess’s eyes wandered over her figure, and she did not fail to notice he started from below her waist. They traced her face briefly before he shook his head, smirking again.
“Believe me, my dear,” he said, his arrogance creeping into his voice. “I know a beautiful woman when I see one.”
Faye’s cheeks heated up again, and she bit her lip. She appeared to be humbly stifling a modest smile, but she was actually masking a grimace.I just bet you do,she thought bitterly. She did her best to remind herself that her interactions with him were purely for the sake of the mission. She did not have to have any real interest in him. That offered her marginal comfort.
“This is a wonderful party, is it not?” she asked, attempting to change the subject away from his vexatious flummery.
The marquess glanced around, but only briefly, before resetting his hungry gaze onto her.
“It is,” he said with complete disinterest. “But I would be far more delighted by sharing the next dance set with you.”
Faye cleared her throat to keep from snorting. She should not have been surprised that he had phrased the request as though she were the one wishing to dance with him. But now he had, she found his arrogance masquerading as charm as amusing as it was distasteful. She gave him a forced smile, fueled by that amusement, and curtseyed again.
“I would be honored to share this next dance with you,” she said.
The marquess beamed at her as though he had just secured the best business deal in London. He released her hand, which she uncomfortably realized he had still been holding, and offered her his arm.
“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the dance floor.
Faye took his arm, tensing as her hand wrapped around his elbow. Her stomach rolled with nausea as he led her onto the ballroom floor. Her nerves suddenly began trying to take over her again as they weaved through the other couples preparing for the dance. Each pair they passed stopped to watch them, making Faye even more uneasy still. She tried not to meet any of their gazes as she followed him to a vacant spot. When he pulled her close to him and placed his hand in hers, she caught the smell of liquor on his breath. Nausea intensified, and she felt beads of perspiration beginning to form on her forehead.What in the world have I gotten myself to?
When the music began, the marquess jerked her into the start of the dance. He was not a terrible dancer, but it was clear he had consumed enough alcohol to interfere with his movements. She feared he might accidentally step on her foot or trip over his own and cause them to crash to the floor in front of all the other guests. Fortunately, as the dance continued, he seemed to fall into a memorized rhythm and remained steady enough on his feet. He attempted to engage her in conversation, but she remained politely taciturn. She hoped if she allowed the marquess to do the talking, that he might tell her something useful to Lord Daleshire and Mr. Kenworthy.
She sighed as she thought of the man who had kidnapped her. Dancing with the marquess reminded her of the night she had first met Mr. Kenworthy, and she smiled. The marquess seemed to take it as a sign she was enjoying his conversation and kept talking, even though she was no longer listening. She let him speak as her thoughts wandered back to Mr. Kenworthy. She glanced around, hoping to spot him, but not truly expecting to.
She was pleasantly surprised when she did see him at the far end of the ballroom. He was watching her with an intense, concerned gaze. She gave him a small smile, hoping to reassure him that she was all right and that everything was going well so far. But his expression did not lighten. In fact, she saw his brow furrow and a frown crease his features. But the frown was not at her. He glared at the marquess as his eyes narrowed. Faye sighed. All at once, she was wishing it was Mr. Kenworthy with whom she was dancing. Their first dance had been wonderful, and they had been complete strangers. Now she knew a little more about him, she thought dancing with him again would be magical.
Chapter Eighteen
“My dear,” the marquess said, breathing more of his alcohol-laden breath directly into Faye’s face. “I dare say that you are the most talented dancer I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Where did you learn to dance so well?”
