“Of course.” She waved her free hand as if doing such a thing were a paltry feat. Perhaps it was where she was concerned. “Now, don’t dawdle. If we’re to make a go of it, you’ll need to don evening clothes. Preferably a tailcoat, and if you own one, a cloak and domino mask.”
This is insane!And the height of scandalous. “That assumes I’m going to accompany you.” He crossed his arms at his chest. “We cannot simply saunter into a ball without someone recognizing us as frauds.”
“Oh, my dear doctor, you have much to learn.” She crossed the room and once she reached his location, she gave him a little push toward the door. “Go on, now. You did promise to land in my company again, so here we are.”
“But—”
“No excuses and no thinking about if it’s proper. You need fun and excitement in your life to tear you away from all things medical.” Again, she gave him a little shove. “Besides, there will be dancing, and I do so adore it.”
“Ah.” How could he pass on the opportunity to potentially hold her in his arms during a dance? “Very well. Give me twenty minutes to change clothes and I’ll be back down.”
Amusement filled her eyes. “I thought you might agree.”
Never had he exited a room so quickly or at such a run. This stunt was extremely improper and had the power to see them tossed out on their respective arses with gossip in their wake, but damn if he wasn’t looking forward to it.
*
Three quarters ofan hour later, he and Isobel stood surveying the Brandenshire’s ballroom at the posh St. James Place address. Because they’d arrived so late, there was no longer a reception line to pass through nor had there been any questions regarding their invitations. For that matter, a butler hadn’t answered their knock, and a footman had shown them in while clearly worried about other duties.
“How did you know we wouldn’t have difficulties?” Royce whispered to her as he watched the dancing, swirling couples. The variety of colors put him in mind of a wildflower meadow even though the bulk of the costuming leaned toward Grecian-inspired attire, which played into the Midsummer Night’s Dream theming throughout the ballroom.
Her eyes sparkled like sapphire gems behind her mask. “This isn’t the first time I’ve slipped in somewhere I haven’t been invited.” An elusive smile flirted with her lips, and Royce’s gaze dropped to her mouth. Damn his eyes but he wanted another kiss, and badly. “Shall we wait for the next set, or should we seek out the refreshment tables?”
“Since you were the one who dragged me here, I’d imagine you already have plans for how we spend the evening.” And he wouldn’t put it past her to include inappropriate things in that repertoire. Again, he wondered why she continued to hide behind that façade and what it was she continued to run from.
“Ah, you’re still reluctant to grasp your full potential.” For a handful of seconds, a frown pulled down her perfect lips. “Well, that simply won’t do at all.” She lowered her voice even further so that he had to lean close to hear. “I want you to be a willing participant in whatever we chose to indulge in tonight.”
Oh, dear God!He shuddered to contemplate what that meant even as inappropriate desire shot down his spine. With a healthy dose of wariness mixed with a smidge of anticipation, Royce sighed. “Let’s mingle first and then we can dance.”
She nodded. “Are we giving our real names if asked?”
And run the risk of being found out? “I shouldn’t think so. As long as we’re spinning this fiction, we might as well see it through to the end.” There was a certain comfort in secrecy though, and he certainly didn’t want the Earl of Hadleigh ringing a peal over his head for encouraging Isobel’s behavior. As long as they stuck to docile things like dancing, there was no reason for wind of this stunt to reach Andrew’s ears.
“I’d hoped you’d agree.” Isobel gestured with her head. “Let’s test the theory that people don’t look too closely and only see what they expect to see.”
Please, please don’t let anyone recognize me.
There was every chance the guests here were too high on the instep to move in the same circles he did, but with his red hair and his profession, the risks of being known were high enough to cause knots to form in his belly. But he docilely followed after the lady as if he didn’t have a brain in his head.
So easily she drifted over to a knot of women and just as easily outshone them. “Good evening.” Then he noticed her voice had changed, as had her accent. No longer was she the Isobel Storme he’d come to know. Now she possessed tones that had a smokey quality and by Jove, she’d somehow adopted an American accent. “I’m Miss Cassandra FitzHerbert of the New York FitzHerberts.” She gestured to Royce. “This is the Duke of Thistlewaite, in Town from the Lake District.”
How had she managed to assume a whole different persona with such impromptu grace that everyone around her seemed to believe it as truth? Not only that but she’d effortlessly included him in the farce so that it was too late to back out.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ladies,” he said, hoping to God he didn’t sound like an utter fool in the attempt to use the correct accent from the region. Good thing he had a close mate in medical school who’d hailed from the area.
Young and old alike tittered and ogled him as if he were a piece of meat to their lionesses. This was the part of being out within society he detested. Most of the time women only paid him attention because he was an eligible bachelor, the son of an earl, which is why he chose to bury himself in his clinic. He wanted a lady to show an interest in him as a man aside from the soon-to-have title.
Isobel shot him a sweet smile that was as powerful as her wicked one. “My father has made his fortunes in coal and textiles, and he graciously sent me to London to visit his aunt. But I’m frightfully bored and in need of entertainment. Thank goodness His Grace came along this evening.” A thin rope of pearls and diamonds glittered from her gloved wrist as Royce stared in wonder and a tiny bit of horror. “Might you give some advice on what to do while in London?”
For the next few minutes, the ladies happily chatted with Isobel as if she were suddenly a long-lost sister and they were ever so grateful to have found her again. She was quite animated as she chatted, with sparkling eyes and high color on her cheeks, as if she found amusement at their expense and relished in it.
Then the crowd on the dance floor shifted and string quartet did experimental notes for what sounded like a waltz. Royce’s pulse increased. “Terribly sorry to interrupt, Miss FitzHerbert, but they’re setting up for a waltz and I believe I’ve reserved this set from you.”
When she glanced at him, the sweetness in her expression had vanished only to be replaced by scandal and sin that had unexpected heat rushing through his blood to concentrate in his shaft. “Of course. How silly of me to forget, Your Grace.” She waved a hand to her new friends. “If you’ll excuse me? We shall talk later.” Then Isobel laid her fingers upon his sleeve and allowed him to lead her to an empty spot on the parquet dance floor. “It’s going swimmingly, don’t you think?” she asked in a whisper.
“Honestly, I don’t know what to think. You’ve managed to flummox me in many ways this evening.” If he weren’t careful, he’d be at sixes and sevens because of her, and become lost to her allure. “At least while dancing you can’t get up to creating a sensation.”
“Oh, you know me not at all, Royce.” Her tinkling laughter heightened the awareness he already had for her. “I’m only just starting my evening.”