Cynders & Ashe (2 page)

Two

The Ashe Ball – 1810

Miss Ella Cynders, companion to Lady Pamela, the daughter of the Earl of Osborn, stood at the entrance of the Ashe Ball, her knees quaking with fear and her heart hammering with excitement.

Fear, because if she were discovered impersonating Pamela, she’d be sacked without references.

Of course, if she was honest, her being sacked was a given. By the morning, there would be no way to conceal Pamela’s runaway marriage and she, Ella, would be let go.

But Pamela, the soon-to-be Lady Percy Snodgrass, had promised to hire her immediately as her companion to come live with her in the country. So if Ella were to be unemployed, it wouldn’t be for long.

Still, Ella couldn’t help but allow a bit of excitement to nudge aside her fears. This was the legendary Ashe masquerade after all. There hadn’t been one in twenty-seven years, not since the last Lord Ashe had plucked the unlikely Miss Amelia Levingston out of the crowd as his perfect bride.

Tonight would be their son Julian’s first attempt to find his viscountess, and the ton was abuzz at the opportunity the ball afforded on a lucky young lady. To become Lady Ashe.

“Pamela,” Lady Osborn said, “remember, if you are to catch his eye, do not be obvious, but not so shy that he doesn’t notice you.”

Ella nodded, but didn’t say a word. Luckily, she and Pamela were of the same height and build, and with Ella’s red hair powdered and done up in a crown of flowers, it was impossible to discern that it wasn’t Pamela’s blonde locks beneath.

And it helped that Lady Osborn was dreadfully near-sighted.

“Certainly, Lord Ashe’s mother has left nothing to chance,” Lady Osborn was saying as they walked deeper into the room. “There are the Damerells, and the Sadlers. And I see Lady Houghton has both her daughters here. I daresay, Lady Ashe knew what she was doing – including only the best families, so there was no chance of some undesirable
parti
catching her son’s eye.”

Ella flinched. Undesirable
partis
were the bane of Lady Osborn’s existence. Such as the one Lady Pamela was running away with this very night.

“I am glad you had Ella rework your costume,” the lady said. “She has such an eye for these things, for I daresay your costume is the finest in the room. I had my doubts when we hired her, but she has the most exquisite hand with a needle.” The lady sighed. “Now, make the most of this evening. While Ashe is only a viscount, at least he has a title and lands.”

This was a pointed snub about the attentions of Lord Percy, who claimed only a courtesy title and no property. Second sons held little appeal to an ambitious mother like Lady Osborn and being in love with one was nothing short of treason.

So Ella nodded and smiled, thankful the lady really spent so little time with her daughter and cared so little for her opinions and even less for her conversation. Thus, Ella wasn’t required to do much more than nod obediently.

They continued to wade through the crush, and Ella felt a bit light-headed, for the crowd was dazzling in its costumes and masks – she’d never seen the likes of such a party. Certainly she’d been to other affairs as Pamela’s companion, but she’d always spent her time alone on the periphery, watching Pamela being courted, while the marchioness was off getting caught up with her cronies.

“I wish I knew how Lord Ashe was disguised,” Lady Osborn mused, tapping her fan against her lips and scanning the crowd, though it was unlikely she could tell a Robin Hood from a Cavalier. “But then again, I have to imagine there isn’t a mother here who wouldn’t give up a year’s worth of pin money for that confidence.”

Lord Ashe . . .
Ella had heard nothing but talk of him and his ball for the last two months. Certainly everyone knew what he looked like – burnished gold hair, a square jaw and wide shoulders. Tall and elegant, he made lady after lady swoon. He would be hard to disguise, so like everyone else she couldn’t help scanning the crowd trying to discover him.

But her quest to find Lord Ashe suddenly paled.

Dutifully following Lady Osborn through the crush of bodies, she spied a tall man dressed in a long, embroidered surcoat and form-fitting hose and boots coming towards them. She didn’t know if it was her own love of medieval stories or the way he carried himself, but she was utterly and instantly mesmerized. From the dark mane of hair brushed back, to the straight line of his shoulders, to the way his leggings showed every muscle in his long legs – it was as if Lancelot or Richard the Lionheart had just stepped out of the Crusades or a tournament, minus the chain mail and sword. He came closer, prowling through the crowd as if it was his to command, and Ella’s breath caught in her throat.

She, who had no business falling in love, fell. Fell in an instant. If that was what this was – being unable to breathe, afraid to move, afraid even to blink, lest he disappear from sight.

Oh, save me, came an errant thought. Save me, oh, knight.

And as he passed by, his gaze met hers, and something inside her flamed to life. A spark passed between the two of them.

It was as if they had always been together, were destined to be united. That they had known and loved each other until the ages had torn them apart, and now . . .

Now they had found each other once again.

Even as she continued past him, their gazes held, her head turning so she could gape after him. Then he was surrounded by the crowd and disappeared from sight and, in a flash, the connection was broken.

Ella shivered.
I cannot lose him.
It was a cry from deep within her heart, a place within her that until now had been silently slumbering. Sleeping no longer, she couldn’t do anything other than stop and whirl around.

She forgot all about being Pamela, all about deceiving Lady Osborn – who had waded ahead, having spied a friend she knew would have the most current
on dits
, and had all but forgotten her daughter.

And to her shock, as she turned to determine where he had gone, he was no more than a few feet from her. For he had stopped as well. Frozen and fixed as if he couldn’t take another step away from her.

Gazing at her, his eyes sparkled beneath his mask, and a smile rose on his lips. And that connection, the one that had brought them to this moment, sparked anew. It drew her closer to him, even as he closed the final bit of difference between them.

“Good evening, oh, fair, fey creature,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand, bringing it up to his lips. “I have sought you for an eternity.”

Then he kissed her fingertips and sent a tremor of desire racing through her. Ella willed herself not to snatch her hand back, for she’d never felt anything like it. And it seemed she wasn’t alone. He looked at her anew as if the sensation had been something he had hardly expected.

“You . . . you have?” she stammered as she looked down at her fingers, which still tingled. Biting her lip, she hazarded a glance up at him.

“How could I not?” he said, bowing slightly. Then he leaned closer. “I believe they are about to start the dancing. If you are not already engaged, may I have the honour?”

She nodded wordlessly and he led her through the crowd.

Again, a thrum of desire raced through her as she walked alongside him and out on to the floor. Couples were taking their places, and soon they were surrounded, but Ella couldn’t shake the sensation that they were all alone. When the music began, they moved through the steps that pulled them apart and pushed them together and then separated them yet again.

“Your costume is lovely,” he said, as he returned to her. “Are you Titania?”

She blushed. “Goodness, no. I am merely one of her court.” Out of the corner of her eye she spied Lady Osborn watching her, then turning her gaze on Ella’s partner. Once she’d taken his measure, she turned to the lady next to her and got to work. To discover whether or not he was an eligible
parti
.

Not that any of that mattered to Ella. She’d never danced at a ball, never held a man’s attention, never even been kissed. Not that she expected such a thing, but stealing a glance at the firm line of his lips, she had to imagine a kiss would be heavenly. This was her own fairy tale, one she doubted very many ladies in her position ever lived. And instead of being cautious, instead of remembering her place, she allowed herself to believe that this night was hers to discover her heart.

“I feel as if I have met you before,” he confessed, as they moved around each other, their hands entwined and his gaze never leaving hers.

“I you.” Ella wasn’t about to play coy, or engage in all the elongated trappings of courtship. She hadn’t the time. She knew if she was ever to have a night, this one was it.

This one night. Her night.
Their night.
And then it would be off to the country to Lord Percy’s family estate in Shropshire. Certainly, there were no such men there – no knights like this, capable of sweeping a lady off her feet.

The dance continued and they said little, just stealing glances at each other, and revelling in the moments when his fingers entwined with hers, when his hand would come to the small of her back and guide her through the steps.

When the music ended, Ella held her breath. For she didn’t want this dance, this night to ever end.

Apparently, neither did he.

“Have you seen the conservatory?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“It is rumoured to have oranges blooming right now. Would you like to see them, my lovely fey creature?” He held out his hand to her.

“Oranges?” she said. “Oh, I do love orange blossoms. The fragrance is heavenly.”

“Then come along and indulge yourself.”

Ella smiled and twined her fingers with his. “Do you think we should?” she asked, as he led her from the ballroom. Stealing one last glance over her shoulder, she could see Lady Osborn with her gaze fixed on the dance floor as she searched for some sign of her daughter.

“Certainly. Lord Ashe is a particular friend of mine,” he confided. “He won’t mind in the least.”

It was exactly from this sort of scandalous adventure that she’d been hired to keep Pamela – and then again, here she was disguised as Pamela so her charge could run away with Lord Percy.

So she might as well fall into her own mire.

“I can’t help thinking that we’ve met,” he was saying.

“I feel the same, but I can’t think of where or when.” Ella looked at him again, searched for something familiar, wondering if he was an officer who might have served with her father. For certainly he had the confidence and bearing of a man used to being in command. But she could hardly ask who he was, for then he would ask for her name.

And she would have to lie. The one thing Ella didn’t want to do to this man was tell him half-truths and fabrications. She couldn’t. But the truth? That she was naught but a pauper hired by Lady Osborn because her services could be had for very little?

Would that matter to him? He was a few paces ahead of her, leading the way to the back of the house, and she glanced at his back. His pace reminded her of a lion’s, the surcoat doing little to hide the muscled strength beneath it.

“Whatever are you smiling at?” he asked, as they stopped at the door to the conservatory, which had been built in the gardens behind the house.

“Your costume. I can’t determine if you are Galahad, Richard or Percival.”

“I would prefer a Templar,” he said, taking a fighting stance and grinning wickedly at her.

She laughed. “You do realize that most of them were nothing more than expert brawlers, men trained for naught but waging war.”

This took him aback. “You know of the Templars?”

“Certainly. My father was in the army, and adored military history. I have no brothers, so I grew up on a steady diet of books featuring the campaigns of Hannibal and Alexander, and ever so many histories – including the Templars. My mother feared I would be quite unmanageable from such an education.”

“No, I think you are most surprising,” he said, opening the door. The warmth and moisture of the air inside swarmed over them. “But I suppose I must leave the unmanageable part for further discovery.”

“I am hardly unmanageable,” she told him, as she stalked past into the warmth of the conservatory.

His brow arched.

“Well, I do make my mistakes from time to time. And I fear I don’t always exhibit the demeanour expected of a lady.” Which is why she’d been fired by Lady Gaspar
and
Lady Preswood.

He folded his arms over his chest and eyed her. “Let me see how outspoken you are.” He paused. “What do you think the likelihood of the Americans joining France against us?”

“Very,” she told him. Forgetting Lady Osborn’s dictum that ladies never discussed politics.
Never.
“But it will be a dangerous situation.”

“Yes, well, I doubt the Americans have much sense over the matter. A hot-headed rabble is all they will ever be.”

“No, sir, you mistake me. I mean it will be a dangerous situation for us.”

“For us?!” he sputtered. “I think your mother was right.”

“No, sir, you aren’t looking at it from a military vantage,” she said, feeling the thrill of debate outweigh any dictum by Lady Osborn. “We will be spread too thin. If we make war in the Americas, we weaken our ability to defeat Bonaparte quickly.”

“So you think we cannot defeat the French?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said, pacing around him. They were circling like cats, but to Ella it was exhilarating. “It is just that every military leader in history who has spread his troops over greater and greater distances thins his lines to the point where gaps are created. Dangerous gaps.”

He paused for a second and eyed her, an astonished respect in his gaze. “But Napoleon is faced with the same problem. He called for Spanish recruits last month and the bloody Spaniards raced for the hills rather than be conscripted.”

“And yet there are eighty thousand Frenchmen who have been conscripted, and another forty thousand in the waiting. And how many able men are in America? We are but one island.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.