Page 2 of The Slipper Scandal
“Gordon!” she heard Lord Ellington shout from near the door. “Have you seen a little Athena pass by? Olive branch on her mask, gilded tiara?”
She did not stop to retrieve the shoe.
Elizabeth ducked behind the first well-trimmed hedge she could reach, pressing a hand to her chest as she caught her breath. Had Lord Ellington seen her?
The door opened, and she heard footsteps. What was she to do? He would think, in his arrogance, that she had led him out here intentionally. She peeked around the hedge as a man stepped into the light of one of the lanterns.
The man was too tall to be Lord Ellington. Relieved, she took a longer look and thought she recognized him. He had a proud, aristocratic bearing and powerful build. His mask, a dark bronze affair with tufts of hair meant to mimic a lion, did little to disguise the sharp cut of his jaw.
Elizabeth remained still, willing herself to blend into the hedge. She had no desire to be discovered, whether by Lord Ellington or by this man, a friend of Mr. Abernathy’s who had barely spoken ten words during their introduction earlier in the evening, most of them delivered in a tone of such solemn gravity that she had wondered whether he was attending a funeral rather than a ball. Mr. Darcy, that was his name.
The footsteps stopped.
She peeped around the hedge.
Mr. Darcy stooped.
She watched as his hand closed around her slipper, lifting it as though it were some rare and puzzling artifact. His brows furrowed slightly above his mask, and Elizabeth felt a ridiculous urge to laugh. There was something absurd in the way he studied it, as if he had never before encountered such an object. Well, he probably had never found one in a garden before. She must allow him that.
He turned his head towards the house. No! He could not leave with her shoe!
“I should like that back, if you please.”
His head snapped up at her voice, and for a moment, he only stared. Then, to her astonishment, he stepped forward, holding the slipper aloft like some victorious knight returning from battle.
"Miss Bennet," he said gravely, but did not move closer.
Elizabeth attempted to appear unaffected by her predicament. "Mr. Darcy. I do not recall requesting your assistance inretrieving my slipper, but I suppose I must thank you all the same." She held out her hand.
The corner of his mouth turned up, though whether in amusement or disapproval, she could not say. He glanced at the slipper, then at her. “It seems you were in some haste to part with it.”
She was sure she was blushing and hoped he could not see it. “Yes, well, I am testing a theory.”
His brows lifted slightly. “A theory?”
“That one can outrun an unwelcome suitor more expeditiously with two shoes than with one.”
At that, Mr. Darcy exhaled sharply, something almost like a laugh. “I might suggest a simpler solution. Do not allow yourself to be separated from your companions in the first place.”
Elizabeth’s spine stiffened. “Ah, of course. What wisdom you possess, Mr. Darcy. I shall simply keep my friend always tethered to me. Perhaps a length of ribbon tied at the wrist? Though I suppose that might make it more difficult to dance when one is asked.”
His lips curled again, though his voice remained maddeningly steady. “A more cautious approach might have sufficed.”
“Yes, well, when at least ten other blonde women of similar height are also wearing Aphrodite masks in a crowded ballroom, it is difficult to keep track.”
His expression did not change, but there was something in the pause before he responded, something in the measured way his gaze swept over her mask, that made her suspect he had not noticed any of the Aphrodites in attendance.
What an odd man.
At last, he spoke. “I have sent Lord Ellington off on a false scent,” he said, changing the subject with abrupt efficiency. “He is now in pursuit of an entirely different goddess, and though she is thirty-seven and a widow, I cannot promise she will be anymore receptive to his attentions. Allow me to lead you back to Mrs. Abernathy.”
Elizabeth exhaled, tension she had not realized she was holding easing from her shoulders. “You truly sent him away?”
“I did.”
“That was kind of you.”
“A practical necessity, I assure you. I rather like Mr. Abernathy, and a woman alone in a garden, pursued by a man of Lord Ellington’s character, is bound to lead to . . . trouble.”
