Page 5 of Unmask Me My Love (The Matchmaker’s Ball #3)

The clock in Lady Atherton’s servants’ hall ticked at an annoyingly loud, steady rate. Gabriella had been staring at it for the past hour while the Atherton servants ran to and fro in a frenzy of activity. Platters of savories, trays crowded with champagne glasses, pots of tea and coffee were whisked up and down the stairs by more footmen than she could count. After she’d inadvertently almost tripped one carrying a towering bowl of sherry trifle, she’d been relegated—by a very angry housekeeper—to the cramped chamber where the shoes were shined and the silver polished.

When the pungent smells of lampblack and Bath brick became intolerable, she crept to the doorway seeking fresher air. The kitchen was steamy, the stove blazing as Cook turned out batch after batch of gooseberry tarts and meringues destined for the supper room. Gabriella’s stomach growled. There’d been no time for dinner after working for three hours on Lady Chalgrove’s toilette—her coiffure hadn’t wanted to cooperate, taking twice as long as usual. She’d even needed to start over once. Gabriella looked longingly at the parade of dishes headed upstairs and prayed there would be something left over.

Stephen, the young footman she’d almost tripped, appeared from upstairs, a plate of crumbs and two tarts with broken crusts in his hands. Gabriella eyed the flaky pastry, her mouth watering, then sent him a soulful look. The gawky boy must’ve caught it, for he turned his back to her, deftly juggling the plate until it came to rest behind him, right in front of her and shielded from the remaining staff. She grabbed the tarts, thankful she’d learned to flirt at a very early age, whispered, “ Merci , mon ami ,” and sprinted out the rear door.

The cool night breeze refreshed her after the close atmosphere of the kitchen, and she settled onto a stone bench in what appeared to be a small kitchen garden. The first bite exploded in her mouth, the tart gooseberries tempered by the sweetness of the sugar and cinnamon. Cook certainly had a light hand with pastry. She’d not tasted anything this good since she left Paris. The first tart disappeared with alarming speed. Best savor the other one. She broke it in two and nibbled the flaky crust, licked some of the sweet filling, and sighed. A good sauterne would complement it nicely. She missed Papa’s wine shop so much. Bien s?r , she must be in England if she was to continue her quest for the duke. She licked one sticky finger after another, determined not to waste a drop.

“ Mademoiselle d’Aventure.”

She spun around, almost dropping the other half of the tart.

Monsieur Carpenter, once more in shirtsleeves, beckoned to her from behind the bush enclosing the garden. His face lay in shadows, the faint light of the half-moon doing nothing to dispel them.

Excitement coiled within her.

“What are you doing here?” She wiped her fingers on the hem of her petticoat and got to her feet.

“I told you I’d meet you here.” He grinned, showing very white teeth in the dark, as he stalked toward her like a lynx. “I am a man of my word.”

“I see you are.” She could not hold back a smile. Why was she so pleased to see him? Much as she wanted to believe it was merely for the introduction she hoped he’d arranged, the rush of her heart said differently. That didn’t bear thinking about. She needed no distractions to deter her from her quest. And Monsieur Carpenter might prove a dangerous one.

“You look beautiful this evening. Très belle .”

“You cannot even see me in the darkness.” She tossed her head, though his words sent an alarming thrill through her.

“I can see enough.”

“You are very bold for a valet who has stolen away from his master.” She certainly didn’t want him to be dismissed on her account. “Shouldn’t you be cleaning the marquess’s boots?”

He laughed and motioned her back toward the bench. “They are already taken care of. My master doesn’t mind if I step out once my duties are finished. But it’s sweet of you to be concerned about me.”

“I would hate to think I caused you to get the sack.” She clutched the slats of the bench to keep from fidgeting. Lord, he made her want to fly to pieces.

“Thank you, but I will be fine.” He relaxed against the back of the bench, his presence hulking, and dangerous, and exciting. “Are you well?”

“ Oui . As well as one may be with madame calling for me every moment she is not eating, sleeping, or paying calls. Tant pis . It is my lot.” As soon as she met the duke, however, all of that would change, Dieu merci .

“You must be very skilled that she relies so heavily on you.” He never took his gaze off her, which should have made her uncomfortable but did not. Not even when it seemed to linger on her mouth.

“She is overly concerned with how the people of the ton think of her. Possibly in the past they have been unkind, and she is now determined to be above reproach in her appearance.” She shrugged. “Lady Chalgrove annoys me at times, but she has served her purpose in getting me to England.” Now it was up to her, and perhaps Monsieur Carpenter, to meet the duke.

“So, have you managed to see the Duke of Rother yet?” He shifted, and the faint moonlight blazed in his eyes.

“ Non . Yesterday, madame went for a drive with the duke, and I thought it might be my chance, but I caught a glimpse of him only.” She fisted her hands in her lap. Mon Dieu , why was a simple introduction so difficult? “I suppose you have not been able to arrange a meeting either, Monsieur Carpenter?”

He freed her hand from the folds of her gown, his grin broadening. “As a matter of fact, mademoiselle , I have.”

“What?” She squeezed his hand, shock making her grip him tighter than she should have. Her quest was at an end. Her dream would come true at last. “Why did you not tell me immédiatement ? This is wonderful.” She threw her arms around him, unable to contain the joy within her. “Oh, merci. Merci beaucoup .”

Her lips met his, and suddenly nothing else mattered. The world disappeared as she clung to him, her anchor in a turbulent sea. When, at last, loud laughter from the house brought her back to herself, she thought she might die of shame. She twisted away, her face hot as though she’d stood too close to a fire. Indeed, she had scorched herself in his flames. “ Mille pardons , Monsieur Carpenter. I should not have done that.”

“I didn’t mind, Gabriella.” He smiled, rubbing his finger over his lips. “And having done it, I insist you call me Horace.”

Her whole body like a lit match, realizing too that he had called her Gabriella, she jumped up and stumbled away from the bench. “I do not think that is wise, Monsieur Carpenter.”

“Horace,” he said firmly, following her.

“And how am I to meet the duke?” She turned to him, infusing her words with determination, willing him to allow them to continue as they had before.

“How am I to meet the duke…Horace?” His grin assumed her defeat.

Wretched man to leave her no choice. “Horace.” Having said the name, she grew warm again, from the inside out.

He took her hand, tucked it in the crook of his elbow, and led her back to the bench. “My master has a distant relation, Lady Celinda Grantham, who also happens to be the duke’s goddaughter. I once did her a kindness, so in return she has agreed to introduce you to the Duke of Rother.”

Ah, that explained it. She had wondered how a valet had managed such a thing.

He sat, not relinquishing her hand, and patted the seat beside him. “Sit. I promise not to bite.”

“I am fine to stand, merci .” She tugged and, reluctantly, he let her go. Lord, so difficult to remain true to her goal. More than anything, she would have loved to sit beside Horace, to feel his lips on hers once more. Non , she must not allow herself to be distracted. “When will Lady Celinda arrange the meeting?” She scowled. “It will not be easy to steal away from madame .”

“I will speak with her shortly and tell her when you can meet her.” He cocked his head. “Is there some impediment?”

Gabriella bit her lip. This might be the most difficult part yet. Lady Chalgrove led such an active social life, she might call upon Gabriella almost any time of the day or night to assist her. Her afternoon off moved at her mistress’s whim. Unfortunately, if she asked for a particular day off, madame might ask why. Or simply refuse. She sighed. “My time is seldom my own.”

“There is your half day on Sunday.”

“ Pardon ?” Frowning, Gabriella glanced around to assure herself they were alone. “ Qu’est-ce qu’un demi-journée ?”

“What? A half-day?” Monsieur Carpenter cocked his head. “The Sunday afternoon you have off each week or the evening during the week. When you are allowed to go out and shop for yourself, or go to an entertainment or a park?”

She gazed at him, uncomprehending.

Horace frowned. “Do you not have time to yourself at all?”

Gabriella shrugged. “ Mais non , monsieur . I work for Lady Chalgrove every day.” Her brows rose. “Does your master, the marquess, give you this half day off?”

He nodded, and her eyes widened.

“Each and every week?”

“Every servant in the marquess’s household gets a half day each Sunday, one evening off each week, and one whole day once a month.”

“Your master is trés généreux .” Her voice held a sense of awe.

“Gabriella, most servants receive this time off. As well as two weeks of leave once a year.” He spoke in a soft voice. “It is an accepted thing in England.”

Shock froze her to the seat. The miserable ogress had cheated Gabriella ever since she’d been employed by her. “So madame has been false with me.” She gritted her teeth, her mouth screwed into a pucker. “ Femme horrible !”

“Lady Chalgrove does seem to have taken advantage of you. But perhaps we can find a way to turn the tables on her.” Monsieur Carpenter’s face had a sly smile on it. “Let me see if I can prevail on Lady Celinda’s generous nature a bit more to help you. If Lady Chalgrove allows it, will you meet me in St. James’s Park on Sunday afternoon around three o’clock?”

Angry and confused, Gabriella shook her head. “Why would I need to meet with you, monsieur ? Would I not be meeting with Lady Celinda and the duke?”

“Lady Celinda hasn’t contacted the duke yet. As soon as she does, I will send word to you at Lady Hamilton’s so we can make the proper arrangements.”

“Then why do you wish to meet me on Sunday?” This meeting seemed to have nothing to do with her plight and everything to do with Monsieur Carpenter’s apparent interest in her. Of course, if she didn’t have the duke to think of, she’d actually welcome the valet’s interest. Horace Carpenter was a very kind, very handsome man.

“Because I would like to get to know you better, mademoiselle .” Horace grinned at her. “That seems like the best way for me to do so. And it will give you somewhere to go on your first half-day off.”

Gabriella’s cheeks heated under the valet’s steady gaze. She really should decline the offer. She needed to continue to plan her meeting with the duke. But the man looked so hopeful. And he was doing her an immense favor. What harm would a short meeting do? She wouldn’t mind spending a little time with the attractive servant. “Very well, monsieur . If you can arrange for me to have Sunday afternoon off, I will be happy to meet you.”

Horace beamed at her. “I will consult with Lady Celinda and send a note to you to arrange the outing. Now, what day does your lady receive callers?” He rose to stand beside her.

“Thursdays, the same as Lady Hamilton.”

“Then I believe Lady Celinda and her mother will be paying them a call this Thursday to set in motion your freedom on Sunday.” He smiled, though his eyes searched hers. “Lady Celinda asked me why you wished to meet the duke. I told her about your mother’s experience when she was young and that that has made you eager to meet one as well.” He took both her hands then thrust his head forward, peering at her so intently that she looked away. “You are simply meeting the duke to fulfill your lifelong dream, true?”

“Why would it not be true?” She couldn’t bear his scrutiny and dropped her gaze to the ground. “For a poor girl like me to meet such a great man should be the dream of a lifetime, vous ne pensez pas ?” His close presence distracted her thoughts.

When his arms slid around her, she stiffened, fighting the longing she couldn’t deny then gave in and relaxed against him. She had dreamed of him last night and awakened to find her pillow damp with tears of longing. Why would she feel so about a valet she had just met when nothing could come of it? After she spoke to the duke, she could no longer dally with this man.

“Horace, we should not—”

“Shhh.” He turned her in his arms. “Why not? You are a very beautiful woman, Gabriella, more beautiful than any woman I have ever seen.” He smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear, and she shivered with desire.

“ Merci, mon ami .” She cupped his face, so handsome and strong. Why would fate tempt her with him at this moment? “ Vous êtes très beau, et très cher .” She swept her lips across his, a fleeting kiss that thrilled even as it tortured. “I must go , mon cher . I dare not stay here longer.” She broke through his grip, though his touch still lingered.

“You but trifle with me.” The bitterness in his voice smote her heart. “If I were instead my master, the marquess, you would not run from me.”

“ Oui, non, oh sacrebleu . You cannot understand,” she wailed then dropped her voice.

They must not be discovered.

He grabbed her hand. “Then tell me.” He twined his fingers with hers, and her willpower failed. “I would swear you feel something for me beyond your little flirting smiles. When we kiss, there is something wonderful between us, I will swear to it.” He pulled her back down onto the bench. “Do you deny it?”

“I…I…” Mon Dieu , but she wanted, non , needed to deny it, to tell him instead she flirted only and felt nothing.

He gazed at her, his sharply shadowed face yearning toward her. “Gabriella, please.”

Madness seized her. She grasped his face and pressed her mouth to his, tingling from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Before she knew it, she had her arms around him, pulling him closer, never wanting to let him go.

He put his arms around her, his warmth like a blessing, and she reveled in it. Too soon, however, he broke the kiss to rest his forehead against hers, a touch almost as intimate. “Does that mean I’m right?”

“ Oui , you are correct, mon chéri .” She sighed and leaned back. “Much as I wish to deny it, I cannot.”

He drew her back to him, leaning her head onto his broad shoulder, capturing her hand in his. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, each stroke a whisper of a caress. “Why would you wish to deny your feelings for me, Gabriella? Do I displease you in some way? Are you ashamed of me?”

“ Non, non , that is not it at all.” She stopped his mouth with her hand. “Never think that, Horace.” She blushed, the heat in her cheeks as hot as the burn in her breast. “It is not you, mon chéri .”

“Then what is it, my love?”

She thrilled at the word. If only it could be true. They had known each other a matter of days, yet something in this man called to her as no other ever had. Even had he not been handsome as sin, the kindness in his nature would have drawn her to him. Such kindness was rare in the world, rarer still in the highest echelons of the English ton they served. Perhaps that made the difference, although servants in other grand houses, of lower rank than herself, had snubbed her because she was French. To find a man so different verged on a miracle; that she must reject him seemed too cruel a fate. She would wait until she spoke to the duke before rejecting this kind man. Slowly, she sat up. “I mean that we have only just met, Horace. It is trés difficile to persuade myself that you could care for me so quickly. Perhaps we need to see one another, talk to one another more, before deciding there is… quelque chose de spécial between us.”

“Then we will walk in the park together on Sunday, Gabriella.” Gazing into her face, he took her hand. “And we will learn everything there is to know about each other.”

Gabriella swallowed hard. There were things she knew she could not tell Horace, but she would let them have this Sunday afternoon at least. After she met the duke, what she felt for Horace would not matter quite so much, perhaps. She was not in the habit of lying to herself, but in this instance, she would indulge herself just a bit. Monsieur Carpenter had made much more of an impression on her than she would like to admit.

“It will be as you say, mon cher .” She rose quickly. “But now I must return inside to be ready if madame needs my assistance.” Smiling, she blew him a kiss. “I will send you a note if I am able to meet you on Sunday. Au revoir .”

Deliberately turning her back on Horace, Gabriella scurried through the kitchen doorway, half convinced that everything would go as Horace had planned and on Sunday, she would meet him for another rendezvous. Something about the valet’s determined mien told her he had some canny trick up his sleeve to pull on madame . She only prayed it would work as well as his charms had worked on her.