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“Ah, there’s Mrs. Haraldson! I’ll sit with her.” She tugged him toward where the cheerful lady sat fanning herself, not in costume at all, with a mask dangling from one ear.

“Very well, but I shall return shortly to request a dance.” He bowed. “Mrs. Haraldson, kindly act as Miss Belair’s chaperone.”

“Gladly,” Mrs. Haraldson said, peering at Lucinda. “Is that really you, child? What an excellent mask; I swear, I wouldn’t have known you. Why are you clutching your domino closed?

“Because my gown is too revealing.”

Mrs. Haraldson tittered. “What is the point of wearing a costume if you don’t show it off?”

“I didn’t choose it,” Lucinda said. “Lady Tollister did.”

After the slightest hesitation, Mrs. Haraldson said, “She doesn’t have the best of taste, but you look lovely, I’m sure. Lady Alice isn’t here this evening?”

“No, she is unwell, so I came alone with Mr. Pearce, which perhaps wasn’t quite proper, but he’s harmless.” She took the seat next to Mrs. Haraldson. “However, I suspect many of the gentlemen here aren’t. Harmless, that is.”

“No, I daresay not. That’s the point of a masquerade. Flirtation without the usual restraints.” She indicated the dancers with a jut of her chin. “You know what that is, don’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a mating ritual. The minuet, dear. See how they come together, bit by bit, touch hands, then withdraw.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Lucinda said. “It was just one of the dances we were taught.”

“Your mother would never mention such a thing,” Mrs. Haraldson said. “She’s far too priggish. But you’re not, are you, dear?”

“No, I believe in saying what I mean,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I’m without moral values—” She hissed. “Oh, that stupid girl!”

“Which girl?”

“Alfreda Wallace. In the purple domino, underneath which is an almost transparent gown.” Who was she dancing with? At the moment, her domino was closed, but for a few seconds when she’d been opposite another man, she’d flicked it briefly open.

Which man?

“Dear me,” Mrs. Haraldson. said. “That does seem foolish.”

“It’s worse than foolish, Mrs. Haraldson. It’s downright dangerous, and—” Now she saw who the man was and clenched her fists, then got hold of herself and huffed. “She is also without a chaperone—not that it would be the least use to reason with her. God knows I tried.”

She watched, silently fuming, until the dance ended.

Alfreda swanned away, tossing a glance over her shoulder at Restive, who was costumed as a Restoration gentleman, wig and all—most likely the licentious Earl of Rochester, but not bothering to wear a mask.

He was frankly staring at Alfreda. Surely, he wouldn’t succumb!

Melrose Pearce reappeared, offering Lucinda his arm. “Shall we stroll once again, my dear?”

She stood. “Yes, but not yet. I beg your pardon, but I must run to the ladies’ retiring room. Immediately !”

Lucinda fled the ballroom, hoping Mr. Pearce wouldn’t be worried by her sudden departure, or offended by her explanation. He was their sole real clue to the plot.

Ordinarily, she would be mortified at mentioning such an urgent need to a gentleman. It simply wasn’t done, but judging by the way Restive had ogled stupid Alfreda, he was in danger. She had to do something to save him!

She caught up to Alfreda at the door the retiring room. Fortunately, no one occupied it except the maid whose job it was to fix torn hems and such. She hustled the maid out. “I must speak privately to my friend, but it won’t take long.”

The maid curtsied and left, closing the door behind her.

Lucinda pulled Alfreda as far away from the door as possible. “Listen to me, you little trollop. If you manage to seduce Lord Restive, you will be ruined.”

Alfreda struggled, pushing at her. “No, I shan’t. I’ll be married to him.”

“Over my dead body,” Lucinda snarled.

“Oho,” Alfreda said. “It’s because you want him, isn’t it? Well, too bad for you.”

“You are the stupidest girl I have ever met. No, I don’t want him.

You have some idiotic notion that going to bed with him will be heavenly, but it won’t.

It won’t be anything like your nighttime fantasies.

It will be tedious and untidy, and you’ll get no enjoyment from it, and you will bitterly regret it, but it’ll be too late. ”

Alfreda gaped at her. “You’ve—you’ve done it, haven’t you? You’re not a virgin, you sly thing. What was it like?”

“I have not done it, but I have overheard a number of frank conversations—my mother and her cronies, the housekeeper, the maids who were no better than they should be—so I know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t believe you.” She danced about. “Lucinda’s not a virgin. Lucinda’s not a—”

Lucinda grabbed her by the domino and shoved her against the wall. “Shut your mouth and listen to me. If you seduce him and cry to the world that he ruined you, I’ll say that he ruined me first .”

“You did it with him ?”

Lucinda rolled her eyes, wishing a stray lightning bolt would strike Alfreda. “No, I did not. I will merely say I did, and that therefore I have precedence and he is obliged to marry me .”

“You bitch,” Alfreda said. “You do want him, but you’re too cowardly to admit it.”

“No, I do not want him. He would make a ghastly husband, but I do care about him. He’s my brother’s friend, and I have known him since childhood, and I will not let him be trapped by a stupid girl who refuses to behave with propriety and sense.

” She took a deep breath. “Besides, he would likely refuse to marry either of us, and rightly so.”

“We’d both be ruined.” Alfreda tore herself away and stomped toward the door. “For nothing!” She flung the door open and left.

It wasn’t for nothing. That was the problem. Restive mattered more than anything else—more, unsurprisingly, than her mother, perhaps even more than the stupid plot. Now, what was she to do about that?

~ * ~

H e would be a ghastly husband, would he? Restive pondered from the alcove next to the retiring room. He gave the maid a shilling to keep her mouth shut and walked away.

How could Lucy think he’d be seduced by that foolish girl prancing about all but naked? Alfreda Wallace would be raped by the end of the night if she didn’t take care. It would be her own damned fault, but that didn’t make it right. He had to do something about it.

And...seemingly (for he didn’t for a moment believe all her information was second-hand), Lucy wasn’t a virgin. He couldn’t help wondering who had taken her girlish fancy—and then sorely disappointed her. Some clod who knew nothing about satisfying a woman, no doubt. Restive wasn’t such a fool.

Except that she loathed him. Wanted to make him sorry, and had already succeeded. But there must be a way to change her mind...

Which turned his thoughts to satisfying her like she deserved, as a first step toward convincing her of his good intentions. However, that didn’t seem likely anytime soon, and meanwhile, he had to unmask a traitor, scotch a plot, and now save an idiotic virgin from ruin.

Well. He knew who could take on the last of those tasks. Where had he last seen Yolanda?

~ * ~

L ucinda hurried back to the ballroom, dodging two male guests who tried to accost her. Mrs. Haraldson, drat her, had gone, but her husband was there in her stead. “My wife just left to dance with your suitor, Miss Belair. Would you do me the honor? They are about to begin.”

She went willingly, for Mr. Haraldson was somewhat elderly and not intoxicated. “Thank you, sir. I don’t care to be alone in such company. I wish I hadn’t come.”

“I wish you hadn’t, too, but I understand Pearce didn’t give you much choice.”

Startled, she asked, “Who told you that?”

“My wife, and no, I don’t know who told her. Lady Delworth, perhaps, in which case I hope she gave that nephew of hers a scold.”

“He well-nigh abducted me,” Lucinda said, “but it wasn’t so very bad once I controlled my temper. Perhaps he thought it a dashing thing to do.”

They stood, moving slowly toward the dance floor. She decided to take a chance. Restive would disapprove, but she couldn’t let that concern her.

She leaned toward him and said softly, “Something about the—the mood of this party bothers me. A sort of air of expectation, which makes me feel almost...afraid.”

She waited for him to pooh-pooh this suggestion. He did just the opposite.

“You feel that too, do you?” Mr. Haraldson nodded. “I don’t wish to distress you any more than you already are, my dear, but there’s something...untoward going on here.”

“There is? Apart from the bad behavior expected at a masquerade, that is. I thought perhaps that was all that bothered me.”

“Yes, although I’m not sure precisely what.” They hastened to join the dance. “I would offer to take you home, but I can’t leave my wife.”

Good, because Lucinda couldn’t possibly go anywhere. In the first place, elderly or not, he was a gentleman she scarcely knew, and in the second place, she was here to foil a plot—if only she knew what that plot was.

Soon the figures of the dance brought her face to face with a scowling Mr. Pearce. “Why are you dancing with Haraldson?”

“Because he asked me to,” she said. “Surely you’re not jealous of an old man!”

“No,” he muttered, “but I want to dance with you and only you.”

“That would be most improper,” she said. “We shall stroll about the ballroom after this, I promise.”

When the dance brought her to Mr. Haraldson again, she asked, “Why do you think there is something untoward going on, sir?”

He eyed her, as if trying to decide what to say.

“My wife has been acting mysterious and flouting me more than usual.” He smiled slightly.

“You clever young ladies may think most gentlemen are tyrants, but I for one prefer not to be. I don’t order my wife about or restrict her activities.

She’s an intelligent woman and would be bored if she were confined to domestic matters. ”

“That’s very forward-thinking of you, Mr. Haraldson.”