The Masquerade (4 page)

He was clearly amused now. “You have no need to repay me, mademoiselle. And I will see you safely to your destination,” he said in such a firm manner there was no doubt he was an aristocrat of the highest order and used to being instantly obeyed.

She wet her lips, oddly wishing she could allow him to see her home. “I am on my way to St. Mary’s,” she fibbed. “It is just down the street.”

“I see. I shall see you safely indoors, nevertheless, and there will be no argument about it.”

She hesitated, but his look told her that there was no choice, so she took his arm. A new thrill began, fighting its way past her fears and insecurities. She knew she should cast her eyes demurely down, but all she could do was gaze raptly at his face. He was so handsome—she had never seen a more handsome, more alluring man. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him so—and so much more.

He spoke very softly and almost seductively. “You are staring.”

She jerked her gaze away as they strolled back toward the nunnery. “I am sorry. It’s just, you are too hand—you are too kind,” she heard herself whisper, barely catching herself before blurting out her real feelings.

He seemed surprised. “Kindness has little to do with rescuing a lady in distress. Any gentleman would behave as I have.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, daring to glance at him. “Few gentlemen would bother to leap into the mud, risking their own life, to rescue a strange woman on the street.”

“You do not hold men, then, in a very high regard? But I cannot say that I blame you, not after this day.”

She was thrilled to be conversing with him now. “I have never been so well treated, sir, by your gender before.” Lizzie hesitated and then decided to be truthful. “Frankly, most men fail to even notice my presence. I doubt anyone would have rescued me if you had not been here.”

He regarded her far too closely. “Then I am deeply sorry that you have been so ill treated in the past. It seems inexplicable to me, indeed.”

He could not sincerely mean that he would never fail to remark her presence! He was merely being chivalrous. “You are as gallant as you are kind and heroic—
and
handsome,” she heard herself cry eagerly. And then she realized what she had said and she was dismayed.

He chuckled.

Lizzie felt her cheeks burning and she looked at the ground.

They continued toward the nunnery’s front door, a brief lapse of silence falling. Lizzie wanted to kick herself for acting like a besotted child.

He broke the silence, as gallant as ever. “And you are indeed a courageous woman. Most ladies would be reduced to tears and hysterics by such an adventure,” he said, kindly pretending he hadn’t heard her overly abundant flattery.

“Crying hardly seemed the suitable response.” Lizzie swallowed. She would not mind crying now, she thought. But they had paused before the front door and she felt him staring down at her. She slowly raised her eyes.

“We have arrived,” he said quietly, his gaze holding hers.

“Yes,” Lizzie agreed, suddenly desperate to prolong the encounter. She wet her lips and said breathlessly, “Thank you for such a gallant rescue, my lord. You have saved my life. Somehow, one day, I truly wish to repay you.”

His smile faded. “No repayment is necessary. It was my duty—and my pleasure,” he said far too softly.

The fire, contained but not extinguished, flared hungrily. He stood facing her but mere inches away. The stucco-and-wood buildings lining both sides of the street faded. Lizzie shut her eyes; his hands grasped her arms as he pulled her close, taking her into his arms. She waited, all breathing suspended, as he leaned down to claim her lips in a kiss.

Above her head, the chapel bell began to chime the afternoon hour. Lizzie was jerked back to reality by its vibrant sound. She realized that she stood on the sidewalk with Tyrell, quite properly, and that once again he was regarding her very closely, as if he knew her secret thoughts.

She prayed that he knew nothing. “I must go! Thank you!” she cried, whirling and flinging open the huge courtyard door.

“Mistress! One moment,” he began.

But Lizzie was already fleeing into the safety of the cloister, almost but not quite regretting the encounter.

A
nna was already dressed for the ball when Lizzie walked into the bedroom they shared. Lizzie was in a state of extreme anxiety. She had not recovered from her encounter with Tyrell de Warenne the day before, and could barely believe what had happened. After replaying the afternoon a hundred times in her mind, at least, she was convinced that she had behaved like a besotted fool and a witless child and that he knew just how infatuated she was. She wasn’t certain she dared go to the ball now. However, she could never let Mama down.

Lizzie had come home yesterday pleading a headache and had retired to her room without telling a soul about the encounter. She paused, holding on to the door, her intention to ask Anna for advice and reassurance. But Anna was so shockingly lovely that she forgot her own worries momentarily.

Anna stood in front of the mirror, critically eyeing herself in a low-cut red velvet gown in the Elizabethan style, a white ruff and a garnet pendant around her throat. She had never been lovelier. It had been hard to have such a stunning sister while growing up. Even as a child, everyone flattered Anna to no end, and Lizzie had always been ignored or simply patted on the head. Mama, of
course, had been so proud to have such a beautiful child, and she had praised Anna to anyone who would listen. Lizzie hadn’t been jealous—she loved her sister and was as proud of her—but she had always felt plain and, more importantly, left out.

It had been just as difficult to be Anna’s sister as a young woman, for when they strolled in town, it was quite the same. British soldiers would chase after Anna, eagerly trying to learn her name, but Lizzie was always invisible—unless one of the men wished to solicit her to gain Anna’s attention. Lizzie had played matchmaker for her sister more times than she could remember or count.

The irony was that Lizzie did resemble her older sister, just a bit, but every perfect feature Anna had been given was somehow dulled on Lizzie. Anna’s hair was honey-blond and naturally wavy, unlike Lizzie’s frizzy copper-blond tresses; her eyes were a striking blue, whereas Lizzie’s were a startling gray; her cheekbones were higher, her nose straighter and more classic, her lips fuller. And she had a perfect figure, slim yet curved. Anna caused gentlemen to turn and take a second or third look; no rake or rogue had ever looked at Lizzie even once, but then, she seemed to have the amazing ability to disappear in any crowd.

Now, with the high white ruff framing her face, her waist impossibly narrow, Anna was breathtaking. She was adjusting her bodice when Lizzie walked into the room.

Some women their age accused Anna of being vain. Lizzie knew that was untrue, but Anna could give that impression, especially when other women were already jealous of all the attention she received. Some of Mama’s friends even whispered rudely about her behind her back, calling her “the wild one.” But they were jealous, too, because Anna could attract any suitor she wished, when
their own daughters could not. That was because she was so carefree and so merry, not wild or improper.

Now Anna was frowning, clearly displeased with some feature of her costume. Lizzie could not imagine what flaw she had found. “It’s perfect, Anna,” she said.

“Do you really think so?” Anna turned and instantly her interest in her costume vanished. “Lizzie? You haven’t begun your hair! Oh, we will be so late!” she cried in dismay. Then she hesitated. “Are you upset?”

Lizzie bit her lip and somehow smiled. When she appeared at the ball, Tyrell was going to notice her. After all, they were now acquaintances. Would he laugh at her again? What
did
he think of her? “I’m fine.” She inhaled, shaking. “That costume is perfect and you are so beautiful in it, Anna. Maybe tonight Mama will get her wish and you will find a beau.” But while she wanted her sister to marry for love, not just rank and wealth, she could barely think about that now.

Anna turned back to the mirror. “Does this color make me look sallow? I think it is too dark!”

“Not at all,” Lizzie said. “You have never been more fetching.”

Anna looked at herself a moment longer, then faced Lizzie again. “I do hope you are right. Lizzie? You are very pale.”

Lizzie sighed heavily. “I don’t know if I can go to the ball—I am not that well.”

Anna stared in disbelief. “Not go? You would miss your very first ball? Lizzie! I am going to get Georgie.” Stricken, she hurried from the room.

Anna was only a year and a half older than Lizzie and the two sisters were close, but not simply because of their ages. Lizzie admired her sister because she was everything that Lizzie was not. She could not imagine what it
must be like to be so beautiful and so generally admired. And of the three sisters, Anna was the one who had been
kissed,
not once, but several times. They had stayed up many nights discussing her sister’s shocking and very bold experiences; Anna in some rapture, Georgie rather disapproving, and Lizzie wondering if she would ever be kissed, even once, before she became an old maid.

Lizzie looked at the emerald-green velvet gown on her bed that was her costume. It was a beautiful but simple dress, with long bell sleeves and a square, modest neckline. Still, it clung to her figure rather provocatively. Lizzie sat down beside it. She pulled a freshly laundered linen handkerchief from her bodice and stared at the boldly embroidered initials on it:
TDW
. Gripping the kerchief, she closed her eyes, wishing she could redo their encounter of the day before. But no amount of wishing would change anything, she thought dismally. She had been given a single chance to impress Tyrell de Warenne and she did not need any experience at all to know she had not succeeded.

Anna returned to the bedroom with Georgie. Dressed as a woman from Norman times, Georgie wore a long purple tunic with a gold sash, her hair in a single braid. She faced Lizzie, her stare direct and searching. “Anna says you are behaving oddly. But then, you have been acting strangely since you came back from St. Mary’s yesterday. What is it? I do not believe you are ill!”

Lizzie slipped the kerchief back into her bodice. “He rescued me yesterday outside of St. Mary’s,” she whispered.

“Who rescued you?” Georgie demanded. “And from what?”

Anna sat down beside her as Lizzie spoke. “I was almost run down by a coach. Tyrell de Warenne rescued me,” she said.

Both sisters gaped.

Georgie cried, “And you are telling us this
now?
”

Anna was as stunned. “Tyrell de Warenne rescued
you?
”

Lizzie nodded. “He rescued me—and he was so kind! He swore he’d chase those scoundrels down and give them his mind. He wanted to see me
home.
” Lizzie looked up at her incredulous siblings. “I acted like a child. I told him he was kind, heroic and handsome!”

Georgie seemed amazed, and Anna remained quite disbelieving. Georgie finally said, carefully, “So what, exactly, is wrong? Haven’t you been waiting for a genuine encounter with him your entire life?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Lizzie cried. “He must know exactly how I feel!”

“Well, you could have been more discreet,” Georgie agreed sensibly.

Anna stood with a little laugh. “Men love to be told that they are strong and brave and handsome. I can’t believe he rescued you. Lizzie, you must tell us
everything!
”

“You could tell a gentleman that the sky is falling on his head and he would swear you are right.” Lizzie refuted. “You could tell a man that his pockmarks are adorable and I feel certain he would get down on one knee! I am sure I did not flatter Tyrell de Warenne in a sophisticated manner. In fact, I saw him start to laugh at me. I acted like a child.”

“He laughed at you?” Anna asked. Then, “He must have realized you are only sixteen!”

Georgie came to the rescue. She sat down on Lizzie’s other side and put her arm around her. “I am sure you are grossly exaggerating, Lizzie. I am sure he did not mind being told that he was handsome. As Anna has said, men love to be admired. Just think of it! He
rescued
you—why, that is the stuff of the novels you read!”

Lizzie moaned. “I have yet to tell you the worst part! I was a muddy mess, Georgie. I had mud all over my dress and even in my hair.” She did not add the very worst part—that she had been thinking about being in his arms and that she suspected he had guessed. “He is a gentleman and he played the role perfectly, but I feel certain he does not think highly of me at all.”

“No gentleman would fault a woman for her appearance, not in such a circumstance, Lizzie,” Georgie said calmly.

Lizzie looked at her. “I was as foolish as Mama, prattling on. Maybe I am a foolish woman—after all, I am her daughter.”

“Liz! You are nothing like Mama,” Georgie said with some small horror.

Lizzie wiped her eyes. “I am sorry for being such a ninny. But he was
so
heroic. He saved my
life.
What am I going to do when I see him tonight? If only I had the courage to tell Mama I am not going, but I can’t possibly let her down.”

“Are you telling us everything?” Anna asked.

“Of course I am!” Lizzie hugged herself. She would not admit to either sister just how shameful her thoughts had been.

“Did he kiss you?” Anna asked, apparently sensing all was not quite revealed.

Lizzie gave her an incredulous look. “He is a gentleman!”

Anna studied her. “I don’t understand why you are so upset,” she finally said.

Georgie spoke, her tone brisk. “Lizzie, I can understand why this has been a huge crisis for you, but as the adage goes, there is no use crying over spilt milk. Whatever you said, there is no taking it back. I am sure he is not thinking about your words.”

“I hope you are right,” Lizzie muttered.

Anna stood. “We should help Lizzie with her hair. Georgie, is this costume too dark for my complexion?”

“It’s fine,” Georgie returned. “Lizzie, as exciting as his rescue must have been, he is a de Warenne and you are only a Fitzgerald.” Her tone was gentle.

Anna put her hands on her hips. “And sixteen,” she added. She flashed a smile. “We are not trying to be mean, Lizzie, but if a man like that is thinking about anyone, why, it is some beautiful courtesan that he is currently courting.” Anna stood. “We are all going to be late!”

Lizzie stiffened. Anna’s words were like a splash of ice water. And suddenly she realized that all of her anxiety had been in vain. Her sisters were right. He was a de Warenne and she was an impoverished Irish gentlewoman—not to mention sixteen to his twenty-four years. He had undoubtedly forgotten all about their encounter the moment he had left her at St. Mary’s. If he saw her again, it was unlikely he would even recognize her. He would be chasing some terribly beautiful noblewoman—or a notoriously seductive courtesan.

Oddly, she felt far more dismayed than before.

“Are you all right?” Georgie asked, seeing her distress.

“Of course,” Lizzie said, eyes downcast. “I am doubly the fool, to think he would even think about me for a moment.” The thought hurt, very much, but then she pulled herself together, standing and smiling. “I am sorry. Because of my lapse into hysteria, you will have to wait for me and we will all be late.”

“Don’t apologize,” Georgie said, also rising. “You have loved him from afar forever. Of course such an encounter would distress you. In any case, we can help you dress and we will hardly be late at all.”

Anna had gone to the bureau. “I will curl your hair,” she said, “as I am the best at it. Let me heat the tongs.”

Lizzie managed another smile, turning her back to Georgie so she could be helped out of her dress. But she wasn’t fine, she was on a whirlwind of emotion, first thrust high, then dragged low and lower still. But it was best this way, wasn’t it? It was best that he would never recall her again. It was best that he should remain her secret fantasy lover.

And then she gave up. Whirling, she seized Anna’s hands, knowing she must be mad. “Make me beautiful,” she cried.

Anna regarded her with obvious surprise.

“Do something special with my hair—I want to wear rouge—and coal on my eyes!”

“I can try,” Anna began hesitantly with a glance at an equally surprised Georgie. “Lizzie? What are you thinking?”

Lizzie swallowed and prayed. “I am thinking that tonight I have a second chance and I must try to win his admiration, even if only for a single night.”

As they went up the wide limestone steps in front of the house, a mansion the size of the grandest homes in southern Ireland, Mama prattled on. Clad as a Georgian lady from just a few decades ago, she cried, “I have never been more pleased! Lizzie, seeing you dressed so, why, you can stand up proudly with your sisters now. You have given me so much hope! I would not be surprised if you did not find a husband tonight!”

They followed several other guests inside, all beautifully garbed in costumes of silk and velvet. Lizzie could not respond and she could not smile. She was breathless and almost in a daze, as she still did not quite know how
this had happened. The velvet dress was the most exquisite garment to ever touch her body—and the most sensual, as well. Her sisters had insisted that she stand before the mirror, once she had pulled the costume on. The dark green velvet enhanced her fair complexion, the color of her hair and her eyes, which had never been more striking. Rouge highlighted her lips, which seemed oddly full, but not her cheeks; her sisters had insisted she didn’t need more color, as she was rather flushed from excitement. Even her figure had somehow improved. The gown’s bodice was lower than Lizzie had expected, drawing the eye upward to her bare décolletage, her long neck and face. Anna had spent almost an hour curling her hair. Lizzie had expected to wear it up, but instead, she wore it hanging to her waist. Lush strawberry waves framed her face, etching into her cheekbones and accentuating them. Lizzie had been stunned to realize that she was, for the first time in her life, rather pretty. And more important, she even felt attractive, as if she had somehow become Robin Hood’s fair lady.