GOOD GOD, he was nervous! Surrounded by a sea of masked guests inside Bishopswood’s ballroom, John tugged once more at the sleeves of his black kerseymere jacket.
He nearly laughed at himself. When had he ever been nervous about a woman before in his life? In his younger days, he’d bedded more women than he could remember, sharing in all kinds of pleasures with down-to-earth women from the markets, inns, and villages. In more recent years, he’d been too busy with his business to spend much time in pursuit of the women of the gentility that his new money brought him into contact with. Since he’d inherited, though, it was society ladies who vied to capture
But the woman who pinned those notes to the tree knew nothing about the title or his status as one of England’s most powerful men. He suspected that she wouldn’t care even if she did. At least he hoped she wouldn’t, preferring the true man he was. God knew how much he liked
If she were half as beautiful in person as she was in her letters, he feared that she might also capture his heart.
He snatched a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman, more so he could continue to take glances toward the top of the stairs over the rim than for the drink itself. His eyes hadn’t strayed far from the landing all night, although how he would know her when she arrived, costumed and hidden behind her mask, he had no idea. He only prayed that he would. And that she would come at all. When he’d returned to the tree to seek her response, the invitation was gone, but she’d left no reply. Nor did she write even once during the past week.
Since then, he’d kicked himself repeatedly that he’d pressed her to meet, fearing he’d gone too far. Would he ever hear from her again?
Quashing his worry, he watched as the parade of new arrivals appeared on the landing and handed their invitations to the Master of Ceremonies, who announced them based upon their costume…Lord Tiger, Lady Peacock, Lord Green, Lady Venus. Tonight was a true masquerade, with all identities hidden until the midnight unmasking. He’d insisted on it. His guests knew that he lurked somewhere within the house and would eventually join the party, but they had no idea that he was already there, hidden among them. For a few precious hours he wanted to be nothing more than one of the crowd, so that he could enjoy the party himself before they set upon him like locusts in their rush to curry his favor. Most of all, he wanted time to enjoy the company of the woman who had written all those letters.
A lady in red appeared at the top of the stairs—
His glass lowered away. No, not her.
He had no idea what his secret authoress would look like or what costume she’d wear. If she’d appear at all. But he knew he’d feel her presence when she arrived, the way old sailors felt oncoming storms.
Like some infatuated nodcock, he’d tried to catch her a few weeks ago. He’d posted a stable boy in the woods, just out of sight of the lane, to watch for whomever was leaving the notes. But the woman never came during the hours that the boy was there, only for the notes to appear as if out of the morning mist or midnight glow. Like magic.
After a few days, John called off the watch. He should have respected her wishes and trusted that she would reveal herself at the right time.
Which he prayed was tonight.
He tossed back the rest of the champagne and set the glass aside. Admittedly, though, he was also glad for the distraction the notes had presented during the past few weeks. Cora Bradley was still giving him fits over the mill, a business so small that it took in hardly any orders at all outside the fall harvest and winter season. One that was rapidly sinking so far into debt that soon he wouldn’t haven’t to worry about removing it himself to construct the lock—the creditors would do it for him, one board at a time.
Were the woman and her father mad? He simply couldn’t fathom them or why they refused to accept the offers he’d made. The only answer he’d gotten from her was a letter four weeks ago from Samuel Newhouse, flatly refusing to sell and stating her position that the new duke couldn’t buy or bully his way into upending their lives, and he hadn’t seen her since the day when she’d declared like a general that she’d never surrender.
Apparently, she’d meant it.
