Page 36 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
By some cruel twist of fate, Mr Raphael Travers had found himself at aTonball. He had slipped in mostly unnoticed while the ball was underway, adjusting and readjusting his mask as he weaved through the crowd. The musicians had been set up on a dais at the far end of the room. Raphael settled himself at the other. They played a gentle piece, which Raphael took to mean he had arrived between dances.
A footman passed with a tray of ice and berry lemonade, and he hungrily scooped one up, taking a sip. He sighed as he realised it wasonlylemonade. He would need something much stronger to survive the night.
Against his better judgment, he watched for Lady Cecilia. Edward had described her gown in the least helpful way possible: it was “long”, and “somewhat brown but also not brown.”
The duchess was much harder to miss, dressed in a flamboyant affair of pink chiffon and red silk. She turned from her party to wave in Raphael’s direction, and it was only when she began moving toward him that he understood she had been waving athim, her supposed son.
Setting his goblet down on the nearest surface, he darted away, throwing himself at the mercy of the rippling, sweating crowd.
That was when he saw her.
Cecilia was standing beneath the window in a gown that was in fact not brown, nornot-notbrown, but golden. Raphel d
id not know how he had recognised Cecilia, only that his body had tensed at the sight of her. The red-haired woman to her left could only have been Lady Daphne. To her right was a gentleman dressed in grey. There was no mistaking the man for anyone else. Raphael had avoided him at all costs since he had arrived at Lantham House five days ago.
It was Lord Radcliff, and he had his hand on Lady Cecilia’s arm.
Without thinking, Raphael crossed the ballroom, pushing through the crowd. Cecilia gasped and smiled as she saw him, waving him over. It gladdened him to no end, until he remembered she thought he was Edward.“At last!” Lady Daphne said, swaying into him. “Where have you been? We have not seen you since you left to check on the kitchens two hours ago!”
“Mama wants a word with you,” Cecilia interjected. “She says there are three ladies shemustintroduce you to before the evening is over, though that rather defeats the point of a masked ball, do not you think?” She giggled, but her expression flipped as Lord Radcliff leaned in to say something to her.
Raphael flexed his fingers, not quite knowing what he could do without revealing himself, but wanting to shove Radcliff through the nearest window.
His breath caught in his throat as he felt a hand drift up the side of his thigh.
Snapping his head down, he froze. The hand belonged to Lady Daphne. She curled a free finger before her face, and he leaned over, thunderstruck.
This is it, I have been discovered.
“If youdoend up speaking with those three ladies, I will not be your Valentine, Lord Edward,” she whispered. “Am I clear?”
Raphael flinched back, shaking his head.
Lord Edward and Lady Daphne are valentines?
Daphne seemed to want to say more, and Raphael could not have imagined anything worse. Thankfully a new dance was called, and he saw his chance to leave. Clearing his throat, he shot a hand out for Cecilia to take.
Her eyes darted between his palm and Lord Radcliff. “Yes, please,” she breathed. Thrusting her goblet into Daphne’s hands, she followed Raphael onto the dance floor.
Cecilia grabbed his arm, holding it tightly against her chest. “It is not like you to want to rescue me, Edward,” she said. “What is your agenda? Saving yourself from Mama? Toying with Radcliff? Either way, I hope you have practised this one.”
Raphael stopped brusquely at the edge of the dance floor. He had not heard what set had been called, but it did not matter.
He had not the faintest clue how to dance.
Cecilia looked up at her brother, brows knit together. He had stopped in the middle of the ballroom. Eager pairs pushed past them, readying their spots for the waltz. If they did not hurry, they would be left behind, and Radcliff would be on her in seconds.
“Edward, what is the matter?” She tugged on his arm. “If you have changed your mind, let’s be off. Our guests are beginning to stare.”
He ran a hand over his jaw and it nudged his mask upwards. Cecilia gasped as he revealed more of his face—a face that was not her brother’s but Raphael’s. She squeezed her eyes shut, convinced she was seeing things. She had nothing but Raphael on the brain, after all.
She opened them again, and his mask was back in place, but the rest of him came into focus: his sharp jawline, his full lower lip, the freckle on his jowl, and his soft brown hair, which was still too light despite his obvious attempts at oiling it darker.
He had stopped at the edge of the dance floor because he had no intention of dancing with her, because this was certainlynotEdward but Mr Travers, come in his stead.
Cecilia did not take kindly to being lied to. When her surprise passed, it gave way to anger. Her mother called the third set from the other end of the floor. The music sounded, and Cecilia almost jumped out of her skin.
“Come with me,” she ordered. She gave Raphael’s arm a yank, drawing him away from the dancers, away from all prying eyes.
