Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (6 page)

The night of the ball was dark and overcast. A light misting rain presaged the storm that grumbled in the distance. The air was heavy, throbbing against Leslie's skin, accentuating the excitement she already felt for the night ahead. Impatiently she waited for the end of Jacko's lecture.

"Wash your hair at this time of night?" Jacko frowned, his face set in disapproval. "You'll end up with a lung congestion for sure, if you go to bed with a wet head."

"I promise not to go to bed with a wet head," Leslie placated. "All I want is to wash my hair and curl up with a book. It'll be perfectly dry before I blow out my candle."

"You could do it good and proper in the morning. It's raining now and the very air is damp. More water can't be good for a body."

"Jacko, please. I have nothing better to do with my evening." Leslie wrestled her face into an expression of sad resignation. "This way I won't hear the music from the ballroom."

Jacko stared at the drooping figure in the window seat. A barely stifled sniff was his undoing, and he hurried to order the hot water. He would have been less eager to please, if he had seen the triumphant grin on the girl's face as he bustled out the door.

"Ten o'clock! Just two more hours," Leslie whispered. Her voice vibrated as high strung as the rest of her body.

Leslie sprang off the cushioned seat, pacing the floor as she once more went over her plans for the evening. During the day, she had collected the gypsy costume and purloined the boot blacking from the storage room. Leslie decided to dress in her room and to leave a change of clothes in the boatshed. With so many costumed guests, she was sure she would be able to escape notice.

When Jacko returned with the hot water, he added more wood to the fire and fussed around until Leslie thought she would scream. Kissing the old man on the cheek, she assured him nothing further was needed and determinedly eased him out of the door, closing it firmly behind him.

Leslie worked quickly. After mixing the dye, she held her head over the basin, and poured the black goo, working it through the tangle of curly hair until satisfied she had coated the lot. Wrapping her head in a towel, she washed her hands, and with a wet cloth removed any spots of the coloring from her skin. She erased all evidence of her activities, throwing the blackened water out the window and hiding the stained towels under the bed. After combing her hair, she moved to sit before the fire to brush the darkened curls completely dry. Although in the beginning she had been nervously excited, the gentle rhythm of the brush strokes soon calmed her. Only when the clock struck eleven did Leslie stand up ready to dress for the evening.

Pulling open the wardrobe, she rummaged in back to bring out the costume. She laid the blouse and the skirt carefully on the bed, smoothing out the material. Kicking off her buskins, Leslie unbuttoned her knee breeches, stripping down to her underwear. She picked up the white lace blouse and with gentle hands pulled it over her head. Next came the tiered skirt. Although it was a little loose around the waist, she felt it would pass muster in the semi-darkness of the gazebo. She walked over to the mirror anxious to see how she looked. One glimpse and she cried out in disappointment.

"It's awful," she moaned.

The wide-collared blouse slid off one shoulder at a rather rakish angle, but, above the neckline, the straps of her undershirt were clearly visible. The skirt bunched around her hips over her small clothes and, beneath the hem, Leslie's white wool stockings appeared ludicrous. She looked exactly like what she was - a child playing dress up.

"Damn!" she swore, sinking to the floor in an agony of despair.

Her eyes glistened with tears and as Leslie bent her head, a single drop rolled down her cheek into the corner of her mouth where she licked at it. She had thought of everything that might interfere with the success of her playlet, but had never considered the fact that she would be inadequate in the role of the "enchantress." She would have to give up the enterprise. After all her planning she would just have to wash out her hair and go to bed.

Slowly Leslie pulled herself up, staring once more into the mirror. She could just imagine the catlike smirk on Cecily's face if the woman could see her now. Leaning toward her reflection Leslie mimicked the woman's artificial laugh.

"Why, you silly child. Whatever could you possibly know about intriguing men?" Leslie's voice was brittle with scornful hauteur. "Fie on you. Men want skin and---and curves and---such. Why just see how they all flock to me. All I have to do is wave my fan and they just rush to my side. Pax will beg for my hand after an evening spent in my charming company."

Leslie glared at her reflection just imagining Cecily's triumph. At the masquerade the wretched woman would be using every opportunity to press herself on Pax, and Leslie couldn't do a thing to stop her.

"Oh, why can't I look enchanting," Leslie wailed. "I have skin and curves."

Quickly she stripped off her clothes until she stood naked in front of the mirror. Free from the confining undershirt, her bosom rose high and proud above her tiny waist and soft curving hips. Leslie's legs were long and well shaped, thanks to the exercise she had daily while riding and walking. Her skin glowed with health, satiny in the light of the flickering fire.

The dyed black curls billowing around her face gave Leslie a sense of unreality as she looked into the mirror. All at once, she saw a woman in place of her usual young man's appearance. The very unreality of her image gave her renewed confidence that she might be able to play the part of a charmer. As though in a trance, she reached for the gypsy costume.

The blouse was made of soft lace which clung to her naked body. The neckline was controlled by the drawstring ties in the front and after some slight adjustment, Leslie tied the ribbons so that the neckline ran from shoulder to shoulder, dipping beneath her collarbones to just hint at the swelling of her breasts. The wide collar fell almost to her elbows giving a caped effect to the blouse. The red satin skirt hugged the skin of her hips, then swelled out in three tiers almost to the floor. Each of the flounces was edged with stiff black lace, giving the skirt body as it belled around her. Leslie sighed in pure happiness as she looked once more into the mirror.

Caught in the smoky glass was the image of an enchantress. From tousled curls and glistening pouting mouth to dainty bare feet peeking from beneath the flounced skirt, Leslie was everything she had imagined. Her eyes, alight with excitement, gave her face a glow as if lit magically from within. She whirled in delight, hugging herself until she felt the neckline slip to reveal more of her bosom than she was comfortable with.

"The devil! What do you suppose ladies wear underneath a rig like this?"

A gamin grin broke out on Leslie's face, erasing the puzzled look, as she realized that "ladies" probably wouldn't wear a gypsy costume. And if they did, they definitely wouldn't wear it over nothing but skin. The sheer audacity of her own nakedness gave an additional fillip to the excitement of the evening ahead. Thank the stars that Pax would only see her for a moment or two in the dimly lit gazebo.

"Shoes?" Leslie asked her reflection.

She had absolutely nothing suitable. During the day she had considered asking her friend Polly who worked in the kitchens if she might borrow a pair of sandals. But Leslie couldn't think of any excuse to give the girl for wanting them. She couldn't risk stealing them because Polly only had one other pair, and finding them gone, the girl might set up a commotion. Well, it was unseasonably warm outside, and Leslie liked going barefoot so she would go without, taking along her boots for the return trip.

"All I need now is the mask."

She rummaged once more in the wardrobe until she found the black satin sash. Earlier in the day, using her pocketknife, Leslie had cut holes to see through. Now she tied the material across her eyes and the bridge of her nose, leaving the lower half of her face free. After experimenting with the fabric, Leslie tied a jaunty bow at the side of her head, but the shiny satin kept slipping free. After some thought, she opened her bureau drawer and smiled in triumph as her fingers touched the Magdelena stickpin.

"A Spanish lady for the gypsy," Leslie crowed in delight.

Quickly she anchored the scarf knot with the stickpin, turning to see how the gold caught the light. Satisfied at last, Leslie hurried to the wardrobe for her cloak and the bundle of clothes she had prepared earlier. It was still raining out, and she did not want to arrive at the gazebo looking like something dragged up from the lake. Checking the clock, Leslie was pleased that she still had a half hour. More than enough time to leave the extra clothes in the boatshed. Nervously, she opened the door and peeked out into the hallway. Then, bare feet soundless on the carpet, she slipped out into the empty corridor.

***

It had been a long night, Pax thought as he absently glided to the waltz tempo. Why had he ever let Cecily talk him into the costume ball? He had spent the entire evening talking and dancing when he would have preferred reading a book in the quiet of his library. God, he was bored! His face blank of expression, Pax ignored the pain in his foot as Harriet Barlow once again stepped on his dancing pump.

Kindly he smiled encouragement to the flushed girl in his arms. Harriet was not long out of the schoolroom, having made her come out only this year. Perhaps asking her to waltz had been a mistake, but Pax had been goaded into it when he saw Cecily, puffed up by her own popularity, preening for the benefit of the little debutante. He searched for a topic to lighten the anxious look on the girl's face as she concentrated on her traitorous feet.

"It's good to see your father looking in prime twig again, Harriet."

"He was hoping to cut a dash this evening, your Grace," she answered in kind.

Harriet dimpled prettily and Pax smiled at her ready response. The girl had potential, he thought, although he knew her mother would be appalled at her use of cant. Perhaps having three brothers might have certain advantages, if she could get over her initial shyness in company. As he caught sight of Jeremy Hartung, glowering on the edge of the dance floor, Pax smiled in genuine amusement down at the girl.

"It appears, Miss Barlow, that I have displeased one of my guests."

"Oh, no, your Grace. Everything has been wonderful this evening," the girl stammered in confusion.

"I fear Jeremy would not agree with you there," he teased the girl whose face blanched, then turned pink, at the mention of one of her neighbors. "Could it possibly be that I stole a march on the lad?"

"Well, your Grace, he never actually asked me for the waltz. He told me." Harriet was quiet for a moment as they swirled around the floor, then gathering her nerve she looked directly at Pax. "I would rather he had asked."

"Good girl," Pax said. "I shall have to be very solicitous when I return you to your mother. Then perhaps he'll ask for the next one."

"Promise you won't be too solicitous, or my mother will be in high alt, misunderstanding your intentions," Harriet replied laughing.

"You have my word, my dear. Although it is not because you are not enchanting that I give it, but because I suspect your heart is already engaged," Pax finished gracefully.

True to his word, Pax returned the glowing girl to her mother's side, chatting amiably to the two women and ignoring Jeremy who hovered nearby. Finally with a bow, he wandered around the dance floor, stopping from time to time to be sure his guests were comfortable and enjoying themselves. With a quiet word to the orchestra leader to play another waltz after the country dance now in progress, Pax eased himself toward the doorway.

Briskly he crossed the hall to the library. A single candle burned on his desk. Leaning closer to the flickering light he reached into his sleeve, taking out a folded note he had been given a half hour earlier. The white paper was unmarked except for a smear on the corner. Opening it, Pax reread the contents.

"I will be in the gazebo at midnight."

There was no salutation and no signature, only the bald invitation. Pax had no doubt that it was an invitation. He scanned the writing again, still surprised not to see the fancy curlicues that adorned Cecily's notes. But these letters were gracefully formed, barren of any affectations and giving him absolutely no clue to the sender. Definitely not from Cecily; there was no subtlety to her approach. Curiously the note had been written on his own stationery, probably purloined from this very desk.

The footman who delivered the note said that a masked gypsy had given it to him. But when Pax searched the ballroom, he had not seen anyone wearing a gypsy costume and could not recall seeing one in the receiving line. It was certainly a most unusual situation. Who was the mysterious lady? Pax wondered with growing interest. And more to the point, after receiving such a fascinating invitation, it would be totally unchivalrous not to seek her out. Momentarily, the boredom of the evening lifted.

Pax refolded the letter, his eyes focused inward as he tapped the paper against his pursed lips. It would be unspeakably rude to abandon his guests for a moment of dalliance. A wolfish grin spread slowly across his face, and his dark eyes took on the gleam of the hunter. He straightened to attention, his eyes swiveling to the clock on the mantelpiece. Five minutes to twelve. Perhaps the evening would not be quite as tedious as he had expected. Crumpling the letter, Pax tossed it on the desk and headed for the door.

Chapter Four

A nervous giggle burst from Leslie's lips, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to smother the sound. Leaning against the rain-dampened door, she listened to the soft patter of drops falling on the roof of the gazebo. The distant rumble of thunder announced the approach of a new storm, but for now there was only the gentle misty rain to contend with. She blinked her eyes, waiting impatiently for them to become accustomed to the darkness in the room. Now shapes were beginning to be discernable as a sudden break in the cloud cover sent moonlight filtering through the shuttered windows, laying ghostly latticed patterns on the floor. An owl hooted mournfully, and a shiver coursed down Leslie's spine as she pushed away from the door.