“She is not in the refreshment room,” Julianna, Dowager Countess of Grayling cried, frustration in her words. “She has hidden herself away again, and I have Lord Liddell waiting for her! If she cannot be found before the next set begins, he will not want to dance with her at all.”
Teresa did not know who her mother was talking to, but they were close. Far too close for her comfort. And though she had just intimated that she might like to fall in love, she did not want to partake in another of her mother’s mortifying introduction schemes. Julianna had a habit of choosing the most awful gentlemen, certainly none that Teresa could ever dream of falling in love with.
It hardly helped Teresa’s confidence, seeing the men that her mother thought were worthy of her.
“Bea, I—” she whispered, her heart in her throat.
“Say no more,” Beatrice interjected, seizing her friend by the hand and pulling her to her feet.
A moment later, Beatrice stood in front of a narrow door on the opposite side of the annex. Sliding a pin from her hair, she jammed it into the lock, wiggled it with a confidence that made Teresa’s heart beat a little slower, and flashed a grin as a faintclicksounded.
“You are putting me in the cupboard?” Teresa gaped at her friend.
Beatrice eased the door open and peeked inside, her grin widening until she appeared quite mad. “Not at all, dear Tess. Rather, I have just facilitated your daring escape, with more than a little luck.” She grabbed Teresa and shoved her through. “Now, go. I have some diversion to do.”
There was no time for Teresa to protest as she found herself in a narrow corridor, the door closing upon her. Fortunately, someone had thought to leave a few lanterns in the passageway, the flickering flames revealing the small space for what it was: a servants’ corridor.
Oh, to be born as lucky as you, Bea.Teresa took a relieved breath, smiling to herself as she pressed on, hoping the corridor would eventually spit her out somewhere quiet. Somewhere far from her mother.
At each illuminated interval stood another thin doorway, presumably to allow the servants to come and go unseen, disappearing into the walls as if they had never been there at all. There were also narrow, rectangular grates, covered with some kind of thin fabric, which unnerved her somewhat: the idea that someone could spy on a room or a person, unseen.
No, she did not like that at all.
Hurrying on, she had barely made it to the third lantern, which cast its glow upon one of those strange doors, when something brought her to a sudden, gasping halt.
“Teresa Wilds?” a deep, masculine voice rumbled, her body freezing.
Is he… talking to me? Does he know I am here?
The same speaker made an odd grunt, tinged with some of the derision she faced at each and every ball she attended, thanks to Lady Juliet.
“Tell me,” he said, Teresa’s heart beating out of her chest, certain that he had somehow noticed her creeping along behind the walls, “is she anything like her name?”
CHAPTER TWO
“Is there nowhere in this wretched place for a man to hear himself think?” Cyrus Deverell, Duke of Darnley, growled, wondering for the hundredth time how his friend had managed to convince him to attend a ball. A masquerade, no less: the most ridiculous of balls, in his opinion.
Anthony Everard, his supposed best friend, laughed heartily. “That is the spirit, Darnley!Bethe roaring lion of your mask. Really sink your fangs into the role you have chosen.”
“Then, you ought to be a chicken, for you are hen-pecking me more than usual tonight,” Cyrus replied, readjusting the ludicrous mask.
It was heavy and, given the crowds and the heat of the manor, it felt as if it were slowly melding to his face. As for choosing it: Anthony had given him the mask and demanded no protest, though it did not suit Cyrus at all. A gentleman with fair hair anda golden complexion should have been wearing a lion’s mask, not a gentleman with pale skin and a mane of black hair.
The only benefit, as far as Cyrus could see, was that the mask was large enough to hide his scars. For one night, no one would have any reason to look at him in fear or horror.
Perhaps that was worth the discomfort.
Anthony arched an eyebrow. “Need I remind you thatyouare the one who asked for a reintroduction into society. Indeed, it may come as a shock to you, Darnley, but one cannot gain a wife by never leaving one’s residence.”
“I know,” Cyrus conceded, puffing out a breath to try and ease the tight feeling in his chest.
“You have been a recluse for far too long,” Anthony continued. “It is time for people other than myself and Silas to become acquainted with you, even if it is only until you have a bride and can steal her away to your castle. Though, I hope you will develop a taste for wider company.”
Cyrus managed a small smirk. “After all these years, have you finally grown tired of me?”
“Never.” Anthony grinned. “I am only thinking of you. Of course, I am happy to bear the heavy burden of being your closest friend on these fine shoulders of mine, but I will share it gladly if you feel inclined to make some other dear friends.”
Cyrus readjusted the weighty mask. “I have come for a bride, nothing more, so you may have to be disappointed in that regard.” He paused, glancing around the hallway of the elegant, crowded manor. “Surely, there must be somewhere quieter. Just for a moment, so I can take this mask off and breathe.”
