The Devil and the Viscount, page 2
“I’ll come,” she blurted, “but only for a little.”
“We’ll leave before the unmasking at midnight. Wait there.”
Oddly, when he strode off, she didn’t doubt her decision. In fact, as she paced the room, she was more uncertain about whether he would come back or be distracted again by the party he had just left. Although he was the most amiable drunk she had ever met, he was clearly not the steadiest of men.
I wonder if I would dare go alone to this masquerade? Just to see life, just to experience it before I am crushed by marriage and contempt…
“Here we are,” the viscount said cheerfully, returning to the room with two domino cloaks over his arm and half-masks dangling from his long fingers. “I thought this yellow would suit your gown, though the mask is plain black.” He dropped the yellow cloak over her shoulders and swung a plain black one over his own before handing her one of the masks.
With an odd, rising excitement, she placed the mask over her face and gazed through the eyeholes at her reflection in the wall mirror. She smiled in delight, swept back in time to simple childhood play, games of dressing up and pretending. For an hour, at least, she could be whoever she wanted to be, and she knew instinctively that the viscount would play along.
“Let me.” He batted her fumbling fingers out of the way and tied the mask for her.
It was oddly disturbing to feel him so close behind her, his brisk fingers brushing against her hair. But there was nothing improper in his touch, and he stepped back immediately.
“Shall I return the favor?” she asked.
For an instant, she thought he hesitated, then he simply sank onto the nearest chair to make it easier for her to reach. His jet-black hair was unexpectedly soft to the touch. Soft and clean. Even with the faint whiff of alcohol on his breath, he smelled strangely pleasant.
He stood again as soon as she was finished. “Hood,” he said significantly, and she hastily drew the hood of the cloak up over her head. Frowning, he adjusted it so that it covered her hair but did not fall over her entire face like a monk’s cowl.
Then, with an exaggerated flourish that made her smile, he offered his arm. She laid her hand upon it, and they swept out of the sitting room and across the almost deserted front hall. The viscount’s deserted friends still talked and laughed and clanked from a room on the far side. A dandy stood in the doorway, swaying gently. Lord Darblay didn’t even look at him, merely thanked the liveried porter with the deft flip of a coin, and then they were in the fresh night air.
Chapter Two
There was not much moonlight, although the weather was mild and dry. But the viscount had not misled her. Myriad lanterns lit the path from the hotel to the gardens.
“It can all be a bit improper by this time of the evening,” the viscount said, “so if you’re squeamish, keep your eyes on the path.”
“Why?” she asked, inevitably intrigued, glancing into the gardens on either side. “What goes on there?”
A feminine squeal followed by a giggle and a masculine voice gave her a clue. She flushed, and the viscount said, “Told you. Don’t worry, it’s more civilized in the pavilion, though you might find it a little more…relaxed than you’re used to.”
“It’s very pretty, though,” she said, gazing further afield with some awe. The whole gardens were lit up with torches and lanterns that looked like fairy lights in the distance. Water from a fountain danced in the glow. Odd structures stood on shallow hills, a Grecian temple, an idealized castle. A waterfall cascaded from the highest of the hills. People in masks milled all over, flirting by the fountain, walking, dallying by the castle and the waterfall. All accompanied by distant waltz music.
It was like every fairytale, every imagining a child ever had. Gina was enchanted. They passed through the open doors into the pavilion.
“Later in the season, they dance outside,” Lord Darblay said. “Every dance is a waltz, and strangers will ask you to stand up with them. It’s considered impolite to refuse, so if you don’t want to be bothered, stay close to me.”
Gina was fascinated. She doubted there were many of the ton here, but clearly wealthy people rubbed shoulders, even danced with those of much poorer echelons of society. The prim and the vulgar danced together. Shopkeepers chatted up women in silk and jewels. And no one cared because they were all masked.
“What a wonderful idea,” she breathed. “You could meet everyone here, find out about their lives and dreams.”
“Maybe,” he said, as she gazed about her. “But they’d probably make more sense if you came during the day.”
“They have daytime dances, too?”
“An occasional tea dance, I think. But mostly, people just come to enjoy the gardens, a spot of rowing on the lake or playing with their children. You should have a look tomorrow before you go on to town.”
“I will have to rise early. Mrs. Fitz is eager to get to town. If it wasn’t for her headache, we would be there tonight. What are you…?”
Without warning, he had taken her hand and encircled her waist with his arm. He stepped closer, and she instinctively moved with him, only to be turned and swept to the left. They were on the dance floor, and they were waltzing.
“That was sudden,” she said, covering her shock.
“Well, we came to dance.”
And despite being not entirely sober, he danced divinely. All the natural grace she had seen even when he first threw himself onto the sofa of the ladies’ sitting room was evident now in spades. He held her firmly, though no closer than was proper, and waltzed with a barely controlled exuberance that delighted her. He led with surprising deftness, especially considering his lack of sobriety, so he was easy to follow.
“There, I knew I’d like dancing with you,” he remarked, adding before she could even think of a reply. “Say when you want to sit down, for they barely pause between dances and it’s not always clear where one starts and another begins.”
“You have been here before.”
“Often, especially when I was younger. I’ve been most places that society frowns on. Maida is pretty tame in the lists of dissipation but much more informal than ton parties, so it makes a pleasant change. Where did you say you came from?”
“Manchester. At least, I was born there, and that’s where my father’s business is largely located. We live in the country, now, a few miles outside the city.”
“Don’t you have pleasure gardens in Manchester?”
“Well, there is Tinker’s,” she said doubtfully, “but I have never been in the evening. I have walked there, occasionally, and listened to concerts, but I saw nothing like this. My father was very…protective.”
“Then why don’t you tell him you don’t want to marry this man you barely know?”
“Because he protected me so that I could marry him. Or someone very like him. You won’t understand, but someone like my father has no personal ambitions left except to have noble grandchildren.”
“And you are to be sacrificed to those ambitions.”
“You needn’t say it like that. We all do our best for our families, do we not?”
“I suppose,” he said grimly. “I never thought of my cits’ daughters as sacrificing themselves. I want to marry them even less now.”
“But then, you don’t really want to marry at all, do you?” she asked shrewdly.
“No, I’m too interested in other things.”
“Wine, women, and song?”
He looked surprised. “Lord, no, those are just moments, not interests. I have huge plans for the Darblay estates, which would make them profitable again, but I’ve got no money to implement such improvements. Instead, I’ll have to sell some of the unentailed land just to pay off debts.”
“Could you not mortgage some?”
“Mortgaged to the hilt already. I come from a long line of wastrels.” He sounded so resigned that she gave him an encouraging smile.
“But you do dance excellently.”
He grinned. “Do I? No one’s ever told me that before. For what it’s worth, so do you.”
In perfect charity with each other, they danced on, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking of people glimpsed in the crowd or on the dance floor or little things totally unrelated to themselves or their surroundings. Since, despite his apparent reputation to the contrary, he was quite unthreatening company, she quickly relaxed and found him as entertaining as their initial encounter had promised.
And yet, behind her mask, she felt daring, mysterious, and sophisticated. The hour they had allowed passed in no time, without them sitting down once, and only when the music stopped and someone beneath the large clock at one end of the pavilion began to speak, did Gina realize it was a minute to midnight.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the master of ceremonies began.
“Quick, time to go,” the viscount murmured, dropping his arm from her waist and spinning her toward the door. Hand-in-hand, they slipped through the crowd of excited revelers apparently thrilled with the anticipation of seeing their partners’ faces.
Reaching a free passage to one of the doors, Lord Darblay began to run, and Gina ran with him, laughing with the uncomplicated joy of childhood. Once free of the pavilion, they slowed to a walk, listening to the distant shrieks and gasps from behind them.
“Close run thing,” the viscount observed.
They walked through a sweetly scented garden, and Gina sighed with contentment. “It’s like another world here, where nothing else matters. I suppose that’s the charm—to forget your troubles for a few hours. And perhaps get them in perspective.”
“Have you?”
“There are people with worse problems.”
She felt his gaze on her but didn’t meet it. She realized he was still holding her hand loosely in his. For some reason, she liked it there, as though they were childhood friends going home after a day’s play climbing trees and running wild around the woods. Somewhere, she was afraid that if she looked at him, the illusion would be destroyed. And yet, he was easy to look at. Even masked.
They reached the path to the hotel, and it was he who placed her hand on his arm in a more decorous position. “Keep the mask so no one sees you with me,” he advised.
Reality intruded again, but at least she had a strange feeling that she no longer faced it alone.
In the entrance foyer, some of the party had spilled out of its bounds, but no one paid Darblay and Gina much attention. Someone did amble in front of them, but it was doubtful he even knew where he was going. The viscount gave him a gentle shove in the chest, and he landed on one of the comfortable sofas.
“Thanks, Rolls,” came a faintly surprised voice from the cushions.
Gina’s lips twitched, but she kept walking. “What about the masks and dominos?”
“Give me yours when we’re private, and I’ll take them back. Where are your rooms?”
“On the second floor.” She was conscious of a desire to drag her feet, to keep company with him somewhere, somehow, for just a little longer. But that was foolish.
“These are our rooms,” she murmured, pausing outside the middle door of the empty passage. She dropped his arm to seek the key in her reticule. Then she glanced up at him, which was a mistake.
He still wore his mask, which gave him something the look of a devil-may-care brigand, but his eyes were intent on her face, and for the first time, she sensed something other than easy friendship there. They were too warm, too…predatory. Suddenly, she felt hot all over, in the presence of the stranger she had once feared. She didn’t feel frightened now. She didn’t know what she felt, so hurried into speech.
“I’m sorry your lady friend let you down.”
“I’m not. I’ve had a much pleasanter evening with you.” He lifted his hands, unfastening her domino cloak, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. His knuckles brushed softly against the bare skin of her throat. He drew off the cloak, then reached around her head to tug the strings of her mask. How did he smell so good? Warm, clean male, spice and cut grass…
Determinedly, she thrust out her hand. Don’t you dare invite me to your rooms. Oh, God, please do…
He took her hand. “If I can ever help, I will. Good luck, my enchantress.” To her amazement, he raised her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.
And then he was striding away along the passage to the staircase, leaving her to stumble inside alone.
*
Rollo breathed a sigh of relief as he fell onto his own bed. He had come close, but somehow, he had retained enough sense—or at least honor—not to seduce her. But, God, he wanted her. She was so sweet and had felt so delightful in his arms. A beautiful woman who neither feared him nor expected anything of him. A girl who laughed with him and shared his appreciation of the ridiculous.
On the walk home, he had been aware of a reluctance to part with her, a desire to know more and more about her, what made her happy, what her life was like, what she wished it to be, everything. Which had been odd in itself, for normally, he didn’t much care for chattering girls. But Gina Wallace didn’t chatter to fill a silence, to build up to demands or complaints. She just said what was in her heart, and he found that truly endearing. And toward her, he had felt the same sort of protectiveness he felt toward his sisters. Like wanting to scare off the unknown nobleman who’d been “bought” by her rich family.
Only the realization that they stood outside her bedchamber had made him aware of the stirrings of his body. And she wasn’t immune. He had flustered her. He was sure she, too, had felt the tug of attraction and desire. And this would definitely be the only opportunity.
Rollo liked women. And since they tended to like him, he had gone through life happily taking what he chose from what was offered. But they were all women who understood the game—ladybirds or married women of the ton who took a shine to him. Debutantes and young unmarried females were generally too well warned against him to be anything but either awed or frightened, and most of them were a dead bore in any case. Unmarried girls of respectable families had never tempted him before.
He sat up, frowning, and reached for the pitcher of water beside the bed. While he drank it down without bothering about the glass beside it, he made another discovery. His disturbing urge to take Gina Wallace to bed had not just been about his own desires. He had wanted to give her something to make her happy. A little pleasure before she faced the dull sacrifice of a duty marriage to an old man. She was not the sort of woman to break her marriage vows. This would have been her one chance to choose, and he would have done everything in his not quite sober power to bring her a little joy.
But even that would have been unkind.
He rose, tore off his clothes, and washed in cold water. Another means of cooling the ardor. Then he threw himself back into bed and stared up at the ceiling, seeing her laughing eyes and her dazzling smile. And tortured himself by remembering the feel of her in his arms, the subtle scent of her hair, her skin, by imagining how she would look naked and undone in his arms, flushed with passion… And drifted, eventually, into dreams he could not control.
*
Unfortunately, he woke to reality. Which, for Rollo, was a slightly sore head and the prospect of proposing to either Miss Gush or Mrs. Take-me-as-I-am. Like Gina Wallace, he would just have to bite the bullet and do his duty. His father’s debts would be paid, along with his own. The estates would be saved, the land improved, and all the people who depended on him, from his mother to the lowliest farm tenant and servant, would be not only saved from penury, but their positions improved. His sister Hope would have a dowry.
Surely, marriage was a small price to pay for such universal contentment? Certainly, it would be a huge weight off his mind and heart. And no sane person would expect him to be a good husband and never stray.
Irritably, he rang for the hotel servant and ordered a large pot of coffee. While he waited, he finished the pitcher of water and rose from his bed. Naked, he paced to the window and scowled out onto the front drive of the hotel. A traveling coach was being loaded up with baggage by a small army of servants. He wondered if it was Miss Wallace and her chaperone. Well, it wasn’t as if he could wave to her right now, so he backed off and stuck his head in the washing bowl instead.
While drinking several cups of coffee, he dressed in decent buff pantaloons, a perfectly fitting blue coat, and a snowy white cravat, casually tied and fixed with a plain gold pin. All his other jewels had been sold or pawned, apart from one opal ring that was next in line.
He dragged the comb through his hair, poured the remains of his coffee into the cup, and stared broodingly out of the window.
Time to grow up, Rolls. Do the right thing and make the most of it.
But first, a brisk walk to blow away the last of the cobwebs.
He set down the empty cup and made his way downstairs. He thought of inquiring of the staff if Miss Wallace had left, but he had no reason to ask such a thing, and it didn’t really matter. So, he strode out of the building, ignoring a crowd of young men with sorer heads than his, and set off not to the pleasure garden but to the open country beyond the hotel.
It might be fun, he thought, just to keep walking, become someone else and see where he ended up. Let others sort out the viscountcy. Cousin Thomas could surely do a better job than his poor old father.
But not better than you, Rolls. You know how to make it work. All you need is the money to start.
With fresh determination, he spun on his heels and began to stride back the way he had come. His newly polished boots were splashed with mud, but such sartorial misdemeanors had never bothered him. It was time to deal with reality.
Except, when he strode up to the front door, an elegant lady in a blue walking dress and matching spencer walked out of it. She wore a rather fetching cream bonnet trimmed with blue ribbons. And beneath the brim was a face that stopped his heart.
She saw him at the same moment, and a surprised smile lit up her face, turning it from merely pleasing to dazzlingly beautiful. “My lord!”
