Page 55 of The Wallflower Ruse
“Yes, they took her captive by—by a foul trick! If you see her, you’ll understand how important it was to me to bring you here as well.”
“Surely she won’t want to see me,” Lucinda protested. “She may even blame me for what happened to her. In any case, aren’t they guarding her?”
“No, they’ve given her something to make her sleep.” They turned the corner into another corridor. Mr. Pearce opened a door and Lucinda peered into the room. A low lamp showed a white-haired lady lying on her back, fully clothed, on top of the coverlet. She snored in a soft, gentle rhythm.
Well, at least they didn’t drug me, thought Lucinda. Because they needed her to be awake for something else—but for what and for how long?
“It will kill me if they harm her,” he said miserably, and then, almost as an afterthought, “I don’t make a practice of abducting innocent maidens, I swear.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Lucinda said, feeling sorry for him. “But if you must know, looking back on it, it was rather exciting, for me at least.” Which was mostly untrue, but perhaps it would comfort him a little. “How many young ladies get the chance to be abducted by a handsome poet? And I would have come anyway, only a bit later.”
“True. Either way, you would be here now, wouldn’t you?” He sighed, unhappy, she thought, but resigned.
~ * ~
Lady Delworth was just coming out of the ballroom, whence floated strains of music, when Restive entered the house. He’d waved his aunt’s invitation at the footman manning the door, but her ladyship wasn’t as easy to deceive—which is why he didn’t bother donning his mask. Best to find out now what her involvement might be.
She pursed her lips. “You were not invited, my lord. This is a respectable masquerade.”
“I come in the guise of a chaperone,” he said, “that is, in place of my aunt, who is unwell this evening. I am to keep an eye on her protegée, Miss Belair.”
“You don’t look much like a chaperone,” she retorted. “Who are you meant to be, Charles the Second or the Earl of Rochester? Either way, you’re not at all respectable. Why, they call you Stallion, of all horrid names.”
“Given to me in my boyhood by idiotic friends,” Restive said. “I can’t help it if my name invites such folly.”
“Perhaps, but you can help it by not acting on it. By what I’ve heard—”
“Not everything one hears is the truth,” Restive said, beginning to be impatient. “Tonight, I’m Prince Rupert of the Rhine, Charles II’s soldier cousin. He was a much more responsible sort of man—as am I this evening.”
“I daresay, but you’re not even wearing your mask!” She fluttered her hands. “Everyone will know who you are. It will give my masquerade a bad name.”
“I wished to greet you first, my lady, and reassure you as to my good intentions before donning my mask.” Obediently, he went to the mirror in the entryway and slipped the plain black mask on—not that he would leave it there. As himself, he could prowl without being suspected of anything but lust. “And to reassure myself as well. Is Miss Belair here? She feared that her mother would forbid her at the last moment, so she may have made her way on her own.”
“My nephew brought her. He is very much enamored of her, but he is a perfect gentleman, so you need not fear for her safety.”
“How kind of him,” Restive said. “However, she is a disobedient chit and my responsibility. If I may not stay, I shall have to remove her now—and she will not take that well.” He gave an artistic shudder.
Lady Delworth threw up her hands. “Oh, very well, you may stay. But you must promise not to importune anyone—innocent or otherwise.”
“I shall be as perfect a gentleman as Mr. Pearce.” So far, so good. Seemingly, Lucinda was well, but what was she planning to do, apart from never forgiving him? She was a blasted nuisance, preventing him from concentrating on his real reason for being here.
