Lady Allerton's Wager. Nicola Cornick
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excuse for much intimate and provocative behaviour. Yet in the middle of the swirling crowds, one couple stood out, for they danced beautifully but with total decorum. The gentleman was tall and fair, but he did not have much of Marcus’s attention. The lady in his arms was another matter, however.
She was taller than most of the women present and only a few inches short of his own six foot. She wore a silver mask and her silver domino swung wide as she danced, revealing beneath it a dress in matching silk that clung to a figure that Marcus could only describe as slender but voluptuous. Her face was pale with a hint of rose on the cheekbones and her ebony black hair was piled up on top of her head in a complicated mass of curls that was just asking to be released from its captivity. Marcus grinned. Her hair was not the only thing that looked as though it would benefit from being given its freedom—the silk dress hinted at all sorts of delightful possibilities and he was already entertaining the idea of peeling it off her like the skin of a ripe fruit. Glancing around, he realised that at least half the men in his vicinity were thinking along the same lines and his grin broadened. Perhaps they had tasted the fruit already, for the very fact that she was at the Cyprians’ Ball marked her as no lady. Marcus shrugged. It mattered little to him who had been before him, but he had every intention of being next in succession.
‘Setting your sights, Marcus?’ Justin Trevithick enquired, a smile in his voice. Like the Earl, he was watching the dancing couple. ‘From what I’ve just overheard, you are at least tenth in the queue!’
‘I don’t like waiting in line,’ Marcus murmured, not taking his gaze from the girl’s face.
‘Who is she, Justin?’
‘Damned if I know!’ Justin said cheerfully. ‘No one does! The guesses are inventive and range wide, but no one can put a name to the face!’
‘What about the lady’s escort?’
Justin was laughing at his cousin’s persistence. ‘Now, there I can help you! The fortunate gentleman is Kit Mostyn! A shame we are not on terms with the Mostyns and cannot beg an introduction!’
Marcus gave his cousin an incredulous look, then laughed in his turn. ‘Mostyn! How piquant! Then it will be doubly enjoyable to take the lady away from him…’
Justin raised his eyebrows. ‘Is this love or war, Marcus?’
‘Both!’ his cousin replied promptly. ‘They say all is fair, do they not? Well, then…’
The dancers were circling closer to them now. Marcus thought that the lady looked very comfortable in Lord Mostyn’s arms, for she was talking eagerly and smiling up at him. Marcus’s eyes narrowed. He had nothing against Kit Mostyn personally, but there had been a feud between the Mostyn and Trevithick families for centuries. Marcus knew little of the detail of it, and just at the moment he had no interest in healing the breach. He waited until the couple were directly beside him, then made a slight movement that attracted the lady’s attention. She looked up and their eyes met for a long moment before she deliberately broke the contact. Marcus had the impression of a wide, smoky gaze, a slightly deeper silver colour than her dress. A moment later, she looked back at him over her shoulder, with what he could only interpret as a gesture of invitation.
Justin laughed. ‘A result, I think, Marcus!’
Marcus thought so too. He watched as the music ended and the lady and her partner strolled to the edge of the dance floor, then, without haste, he made his way towards them through the crowd.
‘Your servant, Mostyn.’ There was a mocking edge to Marcus’s drawl and he saw the younger man stiffen slightly before he returned his bow with the very slightest one of his own. Marcus’s attention had already moved to the lady, which was where his real interest lay. At close quarters she looked younger than he had imagined, but then he realised that it was not so much a youthful quality but an impression of innocence. Her eyes lacked the knowing look that characterised so many of her profession. Marcus reflected cynically that that air of innocence must be worth a great deal of money to this particular lady. Gentlemen would pay over the odds to possess so apparently unspoilt a beauty. It amused him, for in his youth he had become entangled with a Cyprian who had pretended to a naïveté she simply did not possess and had tried to sue him for breach of promise. Such can-dour was appealing but ultimately an illusion.
He held out his hand to her and after a moment she took it in her own.
‘Marcus Trevithick, at your service, ma’am. Would you do me the honour of granting me a dance?’
Marcus felt rather than saw Kit Mostyn flash the girl a look of unmistakable warning. She ignored him, smiling at Marcus with charm but absolutely no hint of coquetry. Grudgingly, Marcus had to admit that she might have been at a Dowager’s ball rather than a Cyprian’s masquerade. She had an inherent dignity. As she smiled, a small, unexpected dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth.
‘Thank you, my lord. I should be delighted.’
He bowed slightly and led her on to the floor, where a set was forming for a country dance.
She carried herself with a poise that contrasted starkly with the flirting and ogling that was going on all around them and Marcus found it oddly touching—until he thought that this was no doubt all part of the act. Innocence, dignity…It was a clever way to set herself up as out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, her artfulness mattered little to him and he was confident that they could come to an understanding. Sooner rather than later, he hoped. He was beginning to want her very much. He studied her bent head and the way that the ebony curls brushed the nape of her neck. He wanted to touch her. Her mouth was as sultry as her figure, promising sensuous delight. He felt a powerful impulse to kiss her where they stood.
‘Will you give me a name for a name?’ he asked softly. ‘You already know who I am.’
Her smoky grey gaze brushed his face and made him feel suddenly heated. She smiled a little, the dimple flashing. ‘My name is Elizabeth, my lord. In fact, I am known as Beth.’
‘Yes? And…?’
She considered. ‘That is all I wish to tell you. There are no names at a masquerade. You have already broken the rules once by telling me your own identity.’
Marcus laughed. He had no problem with breaking any of society’s rules that he did not agree with.
‘What is Mostyn to you?’ he asked, as the music brought them together again. ‘I would like to know—before I attempt a trespass.’
He felt her fingers tremble in his before she freed herself and stepped away from him. She danced most gracefully.
‘Kit is very dear to me,’ she said, when eventually they came back together.
‘I see.’
‘I doubt it.’ Once again that silver gaze pierced him. ‘He is a friend. Closer than a friend—but that is all.’
An old lover, Marcus thought, with a vicious rush of envy. That would explain why they looked so comfortable together, yet had none of the heat of sensuality between them. Old passions had burned themselves out, leaving only the flame of friendship. It made him jealous to think of their past relationship, yet it also implied that there might be a vacancy…
‘And is there anyone else?’ Foolish question, when she probably had a dozen admirers paying for her favours! Yet her cool gaze searched his face and she answered quietly.
‘I do not care to discuss such matters here, my lord.’
Marcus allowed his gaze to hold hers for several long seconds. ‘Then may we discuss it in private? I confess that would suit me very well…’
He felt that he might reasonably have expected some encouragement at this point, even if it was only a smile, but Beth gave his suggestion thoughtful consideration, and then inclined her head.
‘Very well. There is a study off the hallway—’
‘I know it.’
She nodded again. The dance