“Enjoy your evening, Christopher,” Percival patted him on the shoulder and walked away. “I wonder if you will have any peace now that she left because of you.”
“I don’t care; I don’t care,” Christopher muttered to himself repeatedly, trying to convince himself, but it didn’t work. He knocked back what was left in his glass and put it down on the table before moving around the ballroom.
He didn’t head straight for the door, out of fear that if people had already noticed the ‘couple dressed in gold’ together, that they might take note too of him pursuing her into the garden. He hovered by the door to the gardens, shifting his weight between his feet restlessly, and waited for the opportune moment. When the Countess of Wessex raised a glass to make a toast, and all heads swiveled toward her to listen, he opened the door and slipped out, praying he was not seen at all.
Only a few gentlemen hovered on the veranda in the garden, looking out across a patio. They were smoking pipes, taking a break from the heat of the masquerade ball. They were all so intoxicated that no one noticed him slip past them, striding out into the garden.
He headed for the flower borders at first, for they were nearest to the house, hoping that Helena had taken refuge out here somewhere. Yet she was nowhere to be seen. No glimpse of her golden dress flew past him in the moonlight or hovered in the shadows.
He could have returned to the ballroom and abandoned his endeavor to find her at all, but he threw caution to the wind and ventured deeper into the garden still. He walked past a row of oak trees and across a lawn. There seemed to be a path through the dewy gras, as if someone had trampled the wet blades only a few minutes ago. He followed the path, heading to the far corner of the lawn, and passed through a gate.
A row of Holly bushes stretched out either side of him, leading down to a rose arch. He passed under that archway, moving slowly now, for he could hear someone. Their shoes were moving fast as they paced, that repeated click echoing through the air across a paving of cobbles.
“No, no.” It was Helena’s voice, and she was murmuring to herself.
Christopher stopped on the other side of the rose arch, staring at her as she paced. She was in front of a fountain, her figure striking with her hands on her corseted waist as she marched up and down. She had discarded her mask, and it sat on the edge of the fountain bowl nearby. Her face was revealed in the moonlight with those blue eyes restless as they darted about the space.
“Helena?” he said her name. She froze sharply and turned toward him with her lips parted. He raised his hand and took the mask from his face, lowering it completely.
“You did an excellent job of disguising yourself, I must say.” She scoffed and turned away, returning to her pacing. “You look so different, even your hair.” She waved a hand at him. “Any suspicion I might have had it was you was dampened swiftly indeed. You tricked me quite expertly.”
“Is that why you are out here?”
“I’d rather ask why you are out here?” she asked, turning to face him. He stepped further beyond the rose arch, coming toward her. She shifted on her feet, as if tempted to walk away, then she thought again at the idea and stood completely still.
“I have come to speak to you, to check you are well.” He nodded his head at her. She pressed her lips together and raised a single eyebrow. “Ah, I see. You think so ill of me now that I’m not capable of checking on you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That look said it all.” He stepped toward her and pointed at her expression.
“You read things that are not there.”
“I am not so sure of that,” he shook his head. “Tell me you are completely fine and well, and I will return to the ball. I will leave you in peace out here.”
“I am well,” she insisted, holding her hands out to gesture to her body.
“And yet I do not believe you.”
“Oh, you are impossible.” She turned away and walked around the fountain, putting it between them so there was some distance. He felt aggravated at that distance and shifted his hands to his pockets. “I have told you what you wished to hear. You may rest assured you have done your gentlemanly duty in checking I am fine, and now, you can return to the ball. I beg you would.”
“Do you really wish me to?” he asked, standing tall. He’d persuaded himself inside the ballroom that she had enjoyed their dances as much as he had. Was it possible he was completely mistaken? Had he misunderstood her entirely?
“Look at our situation.” She stopped on the other side of the fountain and gestured between them. “Considering the scandal that has just passed between our siblings, and I would think you would see this situation as plain as day.”
“Ah, I see.” He smiled a little mischievously. “A lady and a gentleman out in a garden together at night, no chaperone, no other around at all.” He raised an eyebrow. “Yet you are not running from me, are you?”
“Our families need no more scandals.”
“It was not so bad.” He shook his head. “Thetonlikes to talk, yes, but there have been many worse scandals over the years. You know that as well as I. As you have been busying yourself reading of the lies about me in such scandal sheets, I imagine you have read such scandals too.”
“I didn’t go out of my way to read your stories,” she said, flicking her head toward him.
“Didn’t you?” he asked, watching her reaction carefully. She looked away from him again, busying herself fidgeting with her gown.
Christopher grew distracted, staring at her in that dress. She truly was beautiful. He’d always known her to have her charms, but it struck him over recent weeks that he noticed them much more. He even found attraction in things that hadn’t drawn him before, such as the way she smiled or the crook of her hand, something that could be really rather elegant even when she wasn’t trying.
This is bad. Bad indeed.
