Suffragette in the City (22 page)

“You’re right.” I chewed on my lip as I considered the matter. “As soon as I speak he’ll know me. What I need is an accent.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” Caroline asked.

“Not at all. He had one, he most definitely had an Arab accent when he asked me to dance. Therefore, it’s only right I should have one. It’s just that I only know one other language.”

“I never did understand why your mother taught you Russian,” Aunt Caroline mused.

“She hoped that someday Mabel and I would meet her relatives. Regardless, that will do just fine. Please don’t be offended, but I’m going to move away from you now, just in case Griffin suspects something.”

Her lips curved into a gentle smile as I distanced myself from her, surprising a variety of people whom I did not know as I casually chatted my way down the room.

As the music started for the next dance, Griffin came back to claim me, escorting me out to the dance floor. I was outraged that he would profess to have strong feelings for me, and yet be inviting a strange lady to dance. Just what were his intentions toward a mysterious dark-haired Russian clad only in a scanty, although highly attractive, Arabic costume?

I stared up through my eyelashes at his face as the music started, amazed at what change a huge, fierce mustache and dark coloring had done to his appearance. He wore a blue and white burnoose, a white blouse, and full, dark blue silk trousers tucked into long black boots. A scimitar was strapped to his waist by a length of red satin, and he had put some sort of stain on his hands and face to turn them a walnut color. Although his disguise could not fool me, I was glad for the anonymity of my veil and wig.

“You are Scheherazade?” he asked in a deep voice with a heavy accent.

I smiled to myself over the accent.

“You guessed that well. Yes, I am Scheherazade,” I agreed in a close approximation of my cousin Katya’s version of English.

His eyes narrowed. “A Scheherazade that is a long way from…Russia?”

“Yes. St. Petersburg. And you, you are a sheikh? Where is your harem?”

The large mustache quivered in a manner that indicated a smile, although I could not see his mouth beneath it.

He waved a hand toward the reception rooms. “I left them outside, where they would not be in the way.”

He replaced his hand lower on my back and touched my bare skin. A jolt of electricity skimmed up my spine, setting my whole body alight. I frowned into his chest in an attempt to stop the strident clamoring of all my intimate parts, parts which very badly wanted to reacquaint themselves with his. “Indeed. Your harem must mean little to you if you keep them outside like animals.”

“They are only women.”

I looked up through my lashes into the lovely amber eyes that I would know anywhere, annoyed with his drawled words. “Is that the prevailing attitude towards women where you come from? Do they matter so little?”

“In Arabia, women do as their husbands tell them and don’t question the men’s wisdom.”

“Which is probably why Arabia is sometimes viewed as being backwards,” I retorted, fuming at his misguided perspective. “Any country with such an ancient history should have more sense than to allow a man to possess more than one wife. I have always felt the Arabs to be part of an intelligent, highly cultured society, but about this, I must admit they sadly fail to gain my admiration.”

“Could it be, Scheherazade, you would like to have more than one husband?”

“Certainly not!” I replied indignantly.

The conversation was not going at all as I had planned. I found it difficult to flirt with him when he insisted on sticking to topics that irritated me.

“In
my
country,” I continued with some heat, “women desire the love and respect of only one man. As long as they are treated as equals and respected for qualities other than the physical, they are happy.”

The mustache twitched again.

“St. Petersburg must have changed since I last visited it. I don’t remember its society being so liberal,” he commented in Russian.

I smiled at his attempt to catch me out, and sent a thank you to my mother for having taught me her native tongue as I responded in the same language. “A good deal has changed, I am sure, since you last visited. Women are taking their rightful place in societies all over the world, not only in St. Petersburg.”

He looked startled to hear Russian in reply, then the mustache twitched and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile.

We danced without speaking for a few minutes.

“What of the men in your country?” he asked finally, returning to English. “What role would you have them play? Jester to their queen, perhaps?”

The music ended. He put a hand on my elbow and we made our way through the crowd to the side of the room.

“Men play fools well enough without any help from women,” I said lightly. The conversation was moving entirely too close to home for my comfort. I tried desperately to think of a way to change the subject, but was compelled to meet his gaze when he turned me to face him before releasing my arm.

“What would you have us do, Scheherazade? Stand by quietly and watch as you women trample on our hearts?”

I wondered if my disguise had been as successful as I had previously thought. Griffin watched me with an intensity that was almost intimate, waiting for me to answer a question that had not been asked.

I dropped my gaze at last, unsure of what he wanted from me. I didn’t know whether he was making an advance to a strange woman, or whether he was asking
me
for my feelings. I was unwilling to answer until I knew which question he asked. When I looked up he was gone.

An enjoyable five minutes were spent a short time later in conversation with Helena, who was dressed as a French shepherdess complete with stuffed lamb. I recognized her at once, and waited until her sister-in-law, dressed as Mary, Queen of Scots, was engaged before I approached.

“I can’t talk to you long,” she said nervously, looking over her shoulder at Lady Sherringham. “But I do want to meet with you. Would tomorrow morning suit you? I’m supposed to return books to the library at ten.”

I agreed to meet her and asked casually if Griffin had changed his mind about attending the ball.

“Oh, no. He wouldn’t even see me when we left. He locked himself in his study and refused to come out,” she said sadly.

The better to paint himself as an Arab, I thought. I wondered if Helena would know him when she saw him…if he was still here. I had not seen the tall Arab sheikh since our dance.

“I see your cousin is here,” she said with a giggle.

“Yes, unfortunately he is.”

“I must run, but I will meet you tomorrow morning. Au revoir!”

A short while later, as I stood at my aunt’s side, I noticed a flash of blue on the dance floor. Helena was dancing with Griffin and the look of delight on her face told me she had recognized him. I was possessed by the mad desire to know of what they were speaking, so swallowing my pride, I found Freddy and told him I would give him another dance.

“I live to please you, most beloved cousin,” he said as he led me onto the floor. To my surprise, he did not once make a reference to either the Union or marriage, but instead chatted about commonplace topics. As we passed by Griffin and Helena, her gentle laugh reached my ears. I kept my face turned away, but watched out of the corner of my eye whenever possible. Griffin paused for a moment when he spied Freddy and me, but we were soon too far away to watch him any further. Freddy was difficult to lose after that but I made my escape by pleading a headache.

A long hall ran the length of the great house with doors to the various rooms opening off it. After attending to matters of a personal nature, I came down the stairs into the hall, aware of a man’s voice floating up from below. Surprised by the name that was mentioned, I peered over the banister as I descended and noticed Freddy, tucked away behind a large palm, engaged in conversation with a man dressed as a giant white rabbit, complete with fancy waistcoat and pocket watch.

“Scheherazade? What’s that, then?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just don’t botch things up again.”

“Nothing will go wrong. Not this time. Not when I have this with me.” The man in the rabbit suit pulled out an object—what, I could not identify—from his waistcoat and showed it to Freddy.

“Make sure it doesn’t.” Freddy moved off, leaving me with a distinct sense of unease. I hesitated for a second, then followed, but quickly lost them in the crowd.

The ballroom was even more crowded than earlier, with people clustered in small groups along the walls, talking, laughing, and watching those who were dancing. As I squeezed by a large women dressed as Catherine the Great, I came face to face with an American cowboy who was laughing with a tall, amber-eyed sheikh.

Abruptly the sheikh turned, and much to the surprise of the Columbine standing near him, whirled her into the dance. My chin up, I strolled past with only the briefest of indignant glares.

“Lieutenant Angus,” I smiled, stopping as I spotted a familiar face, but unable to recall his surname, “are you enjoying the dancing?”

Excusing himself from a conversation with one of the other Yeomen, he replied to the affirmative. I batted my lashes and waited expectantly.

“Are you engaged for this dance?”

“Not in the least,” I replied, my eye on the colorful Arab who was still dancing with the Columbine.

As we stepped into the dance, the music ended.

“Shall we wait for the next one?” Angus asked politely.

Far across the room two tall white rabbit ears bobbed and headed out a door which led to a courtyard. “I—I suddenly feel the need for a little fresh air,” I replied, curious as to where Freddy’s friend was going. I took hold of Angus’ arm and tugged him toward the door. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to escort me outside for a moment or two?”

I really gave the poor man no choice, but he was nice enough to fall in with my wishes without complaint. Outside, stone steps led down to a pleasant shrub-lined path, running the length of the house. Large stone urns were interspersed between the tall shrubs, affording many choices should a person wish to avoid being seen.

One glance at Angus and I realized my mistake. He assumed I wanted to stroll outside for amorous purposes and moved closer in preparation. I considered my options and decided that an appeal to his sense of chivalry was the answer. Brushing aside my remorse at prevaricating, I spun a quick tale.

“Did you see the man in the giant white rabbit suit? No? Well, he came this way, and he has been…well, let us say, he has made himself objectionable to me. I wish to locate him to make sure he’s not doing the same thing to another woman, and I had hoped you might help me confront him.”

Angus, a typical example of his gender, puffed up importantly as I appealed to his masculinity. “Of course I will help you!”

I turned to face him as I spoke, simpering in a manner that I personally found repugnant, but which is so effective to those of the male persuasion. “I do so appreciate it, you see, there is no one else to whom I can turn.”

As the words left my lips Griffin passed by, the Columbine clinging to his arm. His glare left little doubt in my mind that he had not only guessed my identity, but had also heard me utter the puerile drivel.

 “Let’s start down there,” I pointed in the direction opposite to the one Griffin had gone, and started off towards a particularly dark corner. Annoyed with my draperies, I detached one side of the veils so I could search without encumbrances.

I instructed Angus to search along the far wall as I started down the side next to the house, examining behind and in each urn as I passed them, only to reach the far corner without success. A small metal gate led out to the street beyond. I looked out, shivering a little in the cold evening air, but could not see beyond the pavement directly in front of the gate.