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L ucinda stumbled—fortunately, because otherwise she might have forgotten to limp. “Ouch!” Stop pulling me!”

“What were you talking to Mr. Haraldson about?” Mr. Pearce demanded furiously. “Why did you leave the dance?”

“Because I turned my ankle. How dare you drag me away?”

He glared at her. “I want to promenade about the ballroom with you.”

She put her nose in the air. “You needn’t have dragged me away from Mr. Haraldson to do so.”

Chagrin flitted across his features. “I beg your pardon. I, ah feared for your safety.”

She huffed. “Don’t be foolish. He’s tired and wants to go home, but his wife insists on staying.” She steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder and pretended to try putting weight on her foot. “It’s not too bad; I believe I can walk, but slowly .”

They made their stately way around the ballroom, while Lucinda kept her eyes open for anything unexpected. Restive strolled about, making flourishing bows, seeming completely at ease. So much for hoping he would get Alfreda out of the way.

Unless—there was Alfreda, looking mulish, escorted by a simpering female in a pink gown, whilst Mr. Haraldson sent a footman running on an errand. She frowned, and as if the female felt her scrutiny, she glanced at Lucinda and winked.

Heavens, that was Davis! She couldn’t suppress a smile. Perhaps Restive had come to the rescue, more or less.

“You’re acquainted with that shepherdess?” Mr. Pearce demanded, for all the world like an affronted dowager. “She doesn’t look respectable. I’m sure she wasn’t invited.”

“Yolanda? Yes, she’s my friend, and don’t you dare disparage her. She may not be strictly respectable, but she has a heart of gold. I hope she drums some sense into Miss Wallace.”

She and Mr. Pearce circled the ballroom again.

And again, while he grew steadily more agitated and kept glancing at the doors leading to the entrance hall.

Lucinda tried to guess who might be a player in whatever game was afoot.

She spied a Harlequin in a rather rumpled, baggy costume…

Something in his stance was familiar. And where might his lady be?

It took another turn, until she spotted a lady dressed as Columbine, checking a watch on a fob which hung from her sash, and impatiently tapping one foot.

What time was it? What time would moonrise be?

On the next turn around the room, she scrutinized the Harlequin again. Something about him… Could it be…Monsieur Fortin? The height was correct, and the dark hair. Harlequin working with Columbine? Or might these two people be unacquainted and their costumes mere coincidence?

She sighed. Something nagged at her, something she needed to remember, something she must tell Restive—if he would deign to give her a chance to do so. For all she knew, he believed she would do her best to hamper him. He’d been willing to suspect her of treason once; why not again?

R estive spotted Monsieur Fortin from the beginning, possibly because Fortin wished him to. Fortin was almost as much of a loose cannon as Davis, but his allegiance was obscure and quite possibly personal. Restive was almost certain Fortin was one of the whisperers he’d heard at Lady Tollister’s.

The other whisperer, he thought, had been female and English.

Lady Tollister? It was her house, therefore easier for her to skulk out of sight.

Mrs. Haraldson was too large to do so easily.

Mrs. Spence, he thought, was too forthright.

Various other ladies had been there, but not directly connected with Mrs. Haraldson’s salon, or at least not recently.

Briefly, he wondered if Fortin’s friend Beaudry was present at the masquerade. How long had he been in England and to whom had Fortin introduced him? He was certainly a presentable man—more so than Fortin, actually.

What, he wondered, was Fortin wearing under that loose Harlequin costume?

And if Fortin wasn’t one of the plotters, who was?

What was to happen at moonrise? Did it depend on seeing the moon come over the horizon? Unlikely, given the unpredictability of the weather and various obstructions in the line of sight, but something, apart from a Beltane celebration, was about to happen tonight—likely outdoors.

Maybe that was the point. Covert work was easier in the dark. On the other hand, the bonfire would shed a great deal of useful light on activities in the garden. Would whatever was to happen take place before or after the bonfire was lit?

It wasn’t long now till moonrise; less than an hour until something should happen, unless the messenger’s information was incorrect. Lucinda’s decoding was perfect; he had, somewhat shamefacedly, redone it just to be sure.

There she was, walking with the poet but watching the Harlequin. Seemingly, she had recognized Fortin; now he had to warn her. He turned to ambush her in mid-promenade, but she was tugging the poet toward the terrace.

“L et’s go outdoors,” Lucinda said. “I’m dying for some fresh air.” More importantly, she now had a fair notion of the layout of the interior of the house, but she wanted to have a good look at the garden, in case the fireworks and bonfire were significant somehow.

“I mustn’t,” Mr. Pearce said. “What if Cousin James arrives while I’m out there?” Cousin James, she recalled, was the equerry of whom he was so proud.

“We shan’t be long. You’ll see him when we return,” Lucinda said. “I want to look at the moon. It’s so beautiful. Perhaps you can compose a poem about it.”

He shuddered. “I daresay I could, but not tonight. In any event, it’s not up yet, although it will be very soon.”

“Oh, do you keep track of the phases of the moon? I never bother when in town.”

“Er, yes, because—because it helps me to know when to turn to it for poetic inspiration.”

“How charming, but you needn’t come with me,” she said.

“Yes, I must,” he said, looking toward the entryway doors once again. “We’ll go out there later, I promise. It’s part of the plan.”

Aha . “What plan?”

“The plans for an enjoyable evening.” He swallowed convulsively. “There will be a bonfire, and hot beverages, and it will be delightful.”

“Fine, but I would enjoy it more if I could go onto the terrace now and later.”

“No, you may not go out on the terrace,” said a smooth, annoying voice right behind Lucinda’s ear.

She started and gave a tiny shriek. “Oh, it’s you,” she snapped. A flush rose from her bosom to her crown. “Must you sneak up on me like that?”

“My dear child,” Restive said languidly, “I need a word with you. You came to the masquerade unchaperoned, and since my aunt is ill, I am responsible for you.” He flicked her domino open. “Most improper.”

She flushed even more; how could she help it when he eyed her bosom? She snatched the domino closed. “It wasn’t my choice, but Lady Tollister’s, not that it’s any business of yours.”

“It is indeed my business,” Restive said. “Perhaps I should take you home before you get into real trouble.”

“And deprive yourself of the opportunity to swan about dressed as a famed libertine?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m Prince Rupert of the Rhine, and therefore quite respectable, as royalty goes.” He smirked, but his eyes told a different story. He really did want a word with her—good, because she needed to talk to him.

Mr. Pearce’s mouth flapped open and closed. “No, no, please don’t take her away, my lord,” he babbled. “I shan’t take her outdoors, and the domino will remain closed. She simply must meet my cousin. He is sure to arrive any minute, or it will—will be too late.”

Restive glowered. “Very well. Give me a moment alone with Miss Belair, and then you may have her again, with my goodwill.”

“If you’re planning to scold me, don’t waste your time,” Lucinda said loudly enough to be overheard. “I don’t give a fig for your opinion.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Restive said, but lowered his voice. “I suggest we set aside our differences for the moment.”

“I’m trying to work with you,” she hissed, putting her hands on her hips and glaring. “Being annoyed with you is part of my role.”

“Are you saying you’re not annoyed with me?” His voice conveyed his complete disbelief.

“I don’t know what I am with you,” she retorted, “and it doesn’t matter right now!”

“It will always matter,” he said softly, appropriating her hand and placing it firmly on his arm. “Shall we walk a little?”

For a long moment, she didn’t know what to think. Was he implying that he actually cared for her?

No, that was foolishness. Perhaps he cared a little because of her brother, but that was all.

She pulled herself together and tossed her head, hoping it looked genuine. She had never behaved so childishly in her life. “If we must.”

They began to circle the room. “Too late for what?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but it has something to do with his cousin the equerry. He keeps watching for him, and he’s more anxious by the minute.”

“And he doesn’t want you to go onto the terrace,” he said. “I have men outdoors, but so far it seems to be nothing but preparations for fireworks, a bonfire, and a table for refreshments.”

“Perhaps he’s obliged to stay close to me and also watch for his cousin,” she said. “I’ll continue to play my role with Mr. Pearce.” She glanced up at him. “In case you don’t know, I was brought here by force.”’

He nodded. “My man saw you taken. I shall try to keep my eye on you in case of danger, but in the meantime, stay away from Fortin. Whatever he does, don’t interfere.”

“You mean, he’s…?”

“It’s complicated,” Restive said ruefully, then suddenly loomed over her like a grim guardian. “I mean it, just leave him be .”

He looked so worried that she whispered, “Very well,” and wished she could reassure him properly. But that was impossible without giving the game away, so instead, she stamped her foot like a child in a tantrum. “I don’t need you to watch over me!”