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eighteen

B y the time the ball to celebrate Anthony’s recovery—a masquerade—arrived, Isabella had changed her mind about Patrick’s proposal a dozen times.

He was charming, but the kiss in the park and his daring words had muddled her judgement. Using cold logic, she understood his proposal was madness.

Having a tumble with a gentleman just for the pleasure of it, without the prospect of a courtship, was against everything her mother had taught her. But exactly for that reason, a voice inside her head whispered, ‘ So what? ’

Why couldn’t she have some fun?

Gentlemen waltzed their lives from one bed to another, having mistresses before and during their marriages, frequenting brothels, sometimes taking advantage of the maids and governesses, and having affairs with other married women. No one was in the least outraged by their behaviour.

Why couldn’t a lady do the same?

Well, she didn’t enjoy the idea of having tumbles with every man she met, but Patrick was a friend. She trusted him. He wouldn’t blabber about her with his friends and ruin her.

Lady Mary’s story had taught her to be more daring instead of more coy, especially after Father’s cruel words. The way Mary was treated was unfair and brutal, and the more Isabella thought about her, the more she wanted to be a rebel and defy all the rules. Because if she cowered in front of the injustice, it would continue.

Besides, she had no suitors. Anthony had never mentioned his intention to pursue her ever again. The fact he’d agreed to the ball was encouraging for his health, but he wasn’t interested in her anymore. Not his fault, but Patrick’s proposal was too exciting. Patrick offered her the chance to be a true rebel. She needed only a bit of courage.

Armed with a new resolution, she adjusted her pink silk mask matching her gown. Helen wore a lovely blue gown with a blue mask that didn’t hide her sorrow. With all the bright lights and the sparkling chandeliers, her sadness was on full display.

The ballroom in Gloucester House was like a giant diamond made of light and sweet music.

“Why are you so forlorn?” she asked Helen.

“I didn’t want to come, but Mother insisted. She said I couldn’t refuse. As usual.”

“You should stand up for yourself more. If you don’t want to do something, you ought to tell her.”

Helen trapped her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t have anything else aside from a good marriage. Nothing to look forward to. No other option.”

“Poppycock. You’re clever and educated. You can do whatever you want.”

Helen didn’t cheer up. “And to be honest, I’m upset with the duke. He didn’t say a word about our engagement. He didn’t send me any messages. He shut himself in his house and forgot about me. But I have to come to his house when he orders so.”

“He was shot, for goodness’ sake, and we were in touch with his family. His life changed completely.” As his face.

Helen tilted her chin up. “I understand, but I had to move on and search for other opportunities although Mother said I failed.”

Isabella was glad the mask hid her frustration. “You failed at what?”

“At marrying a duke.”

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

Helen didn’t have time to answer. The master of ceremonies beat his baton on the floor, attracting everyone’s attention. The music stopped. “His Grace the Duke of Gloucester.”

The chatter and laughter died down as Anthony entered, looking strong and healthy in an evening dress. His silk mask left only his lips visible, and his long auburn hair covered the sides of his face.

Not an inch of his scarred skin was in sight. If one didn’t know Anthony had been shot in the face, it would be impossible to guess.

He greeted and bowed to his guests before heading to Isabella and Helen. The ladies talked behind their fans as he crossed the room.

She smiled, but her smile faltered when she thought about Patrick and their kiss, feeling vaguely guilty. If Patrick had talked to Anthony about it, she would burst into flames on the spot. Patrick had promised not to tell anyone, and she trusted him.

“Lady Helen, Lady Isabella.” Anthony bowed.

“We’re glad to see you well, Your Grace,” Isabella said, as she and Helen both dipped into a curtsy.”

“We’re happy for your recovery.” Helen said.

The dark mask made it hard to understand where he was looking, and his flat tone didn’t offer any clue about his mood. “The past months have been very difficult. Forgive my absence.”

“I told you not to apologise.” She meant it as a joke, but it came out harsher than she thought. She was giving orders to a duke. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said.

She had no idea if he meant what he’d said.

“Good evening, ladies.” Patrick broke the moment. His mask had the shape of a cat’s face and exalted his twinkling eyes. He flashed a cheeky smile and gave a pat on the shoulder to Anthony who didn’t flinch. “Isabella, would you care for a dance?”

She turned towards Anthony, but his expression didn’t offer anything.

“Has anyone else already invited you?” Patrick pointed at his brother.

Anthony clasped his hands behind his back. “No.”

“Isabella?” Patrick asked.

“Of course.” She offered her hand to Patrick, exchanging a glance with Anthony. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Isabella hesitated before following Patrick to the dance floor. He held her by the waist and launched enthusiastically into a fast-paced gallop, twirling her around with speed and energy. The room spun but in a good way. She laughed. The lights and the colours glimmered around her.

“You seem happy,” she said.

“Very. Grandmama agreed to let us have gallops, polkas, and mazurkas tonight, and my departure for Cabo Verde has a date. Three weeks from now, I’ll be sailing through the ocean. Then I’ll be heading to France.”

She struggled to contain her disappointment. “Did you set a return date?”

“Not yet. But if I fail, the trip will be quite short. Perhaps you can visit me when I’m in the Continent.” He winked. “We have a lovely townhouse in Paris right in Place de la Concorde , and an estate in the Swiss Alps. You’d love it.”

“Tempting.”

When the gallop ended, he took her hand. “Did you promise the next dance to someone else?”

She glanced around. Anthony had vanished. Again. “No, I’m free. Do you want to dance the next one?”

He leant closer to whisper in her ear, “No. I want to slip out of the ballroom with you to show you something.”

A little quiver of anticipation went through her as she nodded. He was a master at sneaking out of a crowded room, choosing a meandering path, leading her behind the Grecian columns lining the walls and through the darkest spots. She doubted anyone realised they were leaving. The Dowager stood on the other side of the ballroom. She was the only one not wearing a mask.

Isabella giggled once out of the ballroom. “Where are you taking me?”

He paused, smiling. “Interesting choice of words.”

“You’re a scoundrel.”

“And a proud one at that.” He went downstairs and along a dark corridor.

Her skin grew goosebumps in the cold air. “The conservatory?”

“Yes.” He unlocked a door at the end of the hallway. “We have a new flower I want to show you.”

He paused to give her a quick kiss on her lips. His warmth reached her body, and his heady scent teased her senses. When Patrick wasn’t with her, she easily dismissed the heated sensations, the curiosity, and the anticipation of what might happen between them. But when he was close, his smiles and touches left her wanting more.

He led her through the aisles of the conservatory, past benches and large pots. “Look at this.”

He stopped in front of large creamy white blooms.

He touched the petals. “They’re called?—”

“Moonflowers,” she said with reverence. “They bloom at night.” She edged closer to touch the spectacular flowers. “Stunning.”

“Our gardeners work hard to ensure the moonflowers flourish.”

“I would love to have them in my glasshouse.”

“You can have some.” He walked around the large plant, holding her hand. “Ask the gardener. And you can come here any time you want after I leave.”

“I’m going to miss you. You’re a good friend.”

“And you’re sweet and beautiful.” His voice lowered as he removed her mask and then his.

He caressed her cheek gently, and she wilted under his touch. Before she knew it, they were kissing. Deep, desperate kisses that made her head dizzy and caused her heart to gallop. All that heat and pleasure gathered in her lower belly, driving her mad with a desire she didn’t know she could produce.

She moaned when he slid his hands under her skirts and touched her. She had no idea his touch could be so good. All her body came alive with new sensations. Some of her friends had experienced tumbles and talked about the pleasure in wicked tones. Now she understood why so many people risked being ruined. And she wanted something exciting in her life.

He broke the kiss to search her face. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“You know the rules.”

She nodded, impatient to feel his hand rubbing her again.

“I need to hear you saying them.” His fingers brushed her intimately, making her dizzy with need.

“No courting. No wedding. No gossip. Only pleasure.”

“Do you agree with them?”

“Yes.”

“There’s no going back from this?—”

“Please.”

“No, listen. There are methods to make your future husband believe you’re a virgin. I’ll tell you about them, but you do realise you’re going to lose your virginity, don’t you?”

“Yes, and I don’t care. It’s overrated anyway.”

“I agree.” He kissed her, starting to rub her. “And I’ll be careful, don’t worry.”

She wanted to touch him as well, so she unbuttoned his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt and unfastened the falls of his trousers. He groaned deep in his chest.

“One last time. Are you sure?” he asked, kissing a sensitive spot on her neck.

“Absolutely. I want this. I want you.”

And she meant it.