“Do you remember that I asked you if you were in the palace gardens on the night of the debut ball?” she asked, deciding that there was no greater time than the present to begin her interrogation.
Robert smiled down at her, his eyes still shining with that unusual feeling that she could not quite place. “Of course I do. You were my goddess wandering in an ethereal realm. You were Artemis and I was humble Actaeon, stumbling upon the forbidden sight of your beauty.”
Isolde remembered Teresa telling her the tragic tale of Actaeon, transformed into a stag after unwittingly catching a glimpse of the goddess Artemis bathing with her nymphs. In her embarrassment and anger, the chaste goddess splashed Actaeon with water, turning him into that frightened stag. A punishment for seeing what he should not that ended with him being hunted and killed by his own hounds, who could not recognize their master.
But Robert did not seem like the Actaeon of that tale. Hewaslooking deliberately, his eyes searching her and assessing her figure in a manner that left Isolde wanting to splash the coldest, most stag-cursed water she could find on him.
“I… got lost that night,” she continued regardless, needing to know. “Rather, my mother and I got lost.”
How do I ask this without inadvertently scandalizing myself?
She paused. “What mask were you wearing that night?”
She could not believe she had not thought of that simple question sooner, for her champion’s mask had beenverydistinct.
“As if you do not remember,” Robert purred, just as the music ended, and the partners of the last dance swapped places with the new ones.
Before she knew it, Isolde was dancing with Robert: a lively, energetic country dance that reminded her far too much of her dance with Colin. Every step and hop and leap and whirl jarred in her mind, the touch of Robert’s hand on hers like being transported back to that ruined night. It did not help that as they stepped close together and turned in a circle together, their hands joined above their heads, Robert’s other hand decided to skim the curve of her waist. He immediately insisted it was an accidental touch and returned his other hand to her shoulder, but his smirk suggested otherwise.
“What mask were you wearing that night?” Isolde repeated, wishing the dance would end.
Robert’s hand became more daring, slowly slipping down from her shoulder toward her waist again. “A fox, my dear. And you, my sweet vixen.”
A fox?She was about to shove him away, not caring if it was rude to abandon a partner in the middle of a dance, when a gruff voice that was not her own spoke her angry thoughts aloud.
“Remove your hand if you wish to keep it,” the voice growled. “If you wish to make a lady into fodder for the scandal sheets, choose another. Lady Isolde will not be besmirched by the likes of you, not while I draw breath.”
Robert’s eyes flew wide in alarm, his wandering hand immediately tucked in behind his back, while his other hand released Isolde’s. Meanwhile,shecould not breathe, her heart leaping into her dry throat, a flame of hope burning brightly in her mind—had her champion come to save her again?
The voice was not quite as gruff and throaty, but it was not entirely dissimilar either. However, the fear upon Robert’s face was identical to Colin’s on that fateful night.
Robert turned a nasty glare on Isolde as he stepped back. “You might have said you were spoken for and saved me the trouble of trying to woo you.” He sniffed at the man standing behind Isolde, though she had not yet turned to see his face. “Enjoy my dance, Your Grace.”
Your Grace? My champion is a duke?Isolde’s heart thundered, her hands shaking slightly as she finally turned around to look at him.
Her flame of hope sputtered out, her excitement deflating as swiftly as it had puffed up. But before she could say a single word of protest to Edmund, standing there with his usual scowl upon his face, he took hold of her hand and pressed his palm to hers. With no enthusiasm whatsoever, he came closer to her, guiding them into a series of turns that left her surprisingly breathless.
“They are whispering about me now,” Isolde mumbled, as Edmund spun her out and back to him again, their arms crossing over each other to begin the ending promenade.
“They would have said worse if I had not stepped in,” Edmund replied tersely.
She peered up at him, her cheeks flaming. “Yes, perhaps they would.” She cleared her clogged throat, struggling between her customary irritation toward him and the embarrassment of having the entire party’s eyes upon her once more. “Thank you.”
“What?” He almost missed a step.
“You heard me,” she said quietly. “Lord Spofforth was not who I thought he was, and I am glad of it.”
Edmund frowned. “You are?”
“I ammeantto separate the good prospects from the bad,” she reminded him. “I could have dealt with him myself, but at least you will have something to tell my brother, to reassure him that you did your duty.”
His frown deepened. “You were not dealing with him by yourself. That is why I intervened.”
“Had you had some patience, I would have shown you otherwise. Now, you have broken your promise.” She sighed, no longer in the mood to bicker. “But, no matter. What is done is done, andnow I am free to find the man who has captured my ‘silly’ heart. Well, maybe not my heart, but certainly my attention.”
Edmund stared at her strangely as they parted to undertake the final bow and curtsey, while the beautiful music faded to a close and the warm wind rustled the apple trees, sounding rather like the whispers that surrounded the unlikely pair.
Did you think I would give up because Lord Spofforth was an idiot?She smiled back at him, knowing how it irked him. Of course, shewasgrateful for Edmund’s intervention, but she did not want him to think that her gratitude would continue.
