A Mistletoe Masquerade

'Yes, dreadful,' Rowan agreed, wondering if she should find Penny and stick like glue to forestall any approach by his lordship. He might have the idea of making a declaration during the evening. On the other hand Penny seemed very determined to be firm, so perhaps it would be better to get it over with while her resolution held.

A footman-James, the one with a stammer who was sweet on Edith the kitchen maid-came past with a tray of cordials. Rowan took one with an unsmiling inclination of her head and he walked on, oblivious to the fact that he had just served a woman who had teased him about his smartly powdered wig only the day before. She let out a pent-up breath and relaxed a little.

A gentleman joined them, and then another. The group began to ask her questions about Vienna and the Congress, and she relaxed even more. She could do this. She could pretend to be charming and social and gracious, and no one would guess that she was in love and pining for a man she could not have.

'Well, the shops are nothing but temptation,' she was saying to Lady Furness. 'My allowance would vanish like snow in sunshine within days of me receiving it! The tailoring is not as good as in London, of course. I still sent home for my riding habits-'

The room shifted and blurred as a dark-headed man passed across her line of sight over her ladyship's shoulder.

'Lady Rowan?'

'I am sorry-a moment's dizziness.' Of course it was not Lucas. Goodness, if she was going to have palpitations every time she saw a tall man with dark hair she would be in a decline within a week.

'Might I have the honour of a dance, Lady Rowan?' Now, which young man was this? Oh, yes-Mr Maxwell. She smiled and nodded, and agreed to the second set, while behind her Lord Furness could be heard greeting someone in his rather over-loud bray.

'Stoneley! They told me you were back from those far-flung estates of yours. Come and be introduced to my daughter and some of the other pretty young ladies and tell us all about your adventures.'

'Unless you count a hurricane, very little that would serve as an adventure I'm afraid, Furness. Not a pirate to be seen.'

The voice was deep, dark and amused. The guard stick of Rowan's fan snapped in her gloved fingers. I am losing my mind…

'Now, then-you remember my wife, I'm sure, but you won't have met my daughter Annabelle. And this is Miss Anstruther, and-ah, yes-Lady Rowan, may I present Viscount Stoneley? Stoneley-Lady Rowan Chilcourt.'

She turned, slowly, to confront the man with Lucas's voice, a social smile fixed on her lips. She had heard people say that blood drained from their faces with shock, but she had never believed it until now. It was a physical sensation, an unpleasant one, accompanied by a rushing sound in the head and-

'Wake up. Hell and damnation, Daisy-Lady Rowan- whoever you are, open your eyes.' By sheer force of will he had made them give way to his assertion that he would carry her out to a retiring room and have her dresser summoned immediately. Lady Furness had helped him, shooing the others back, telling them Lady Rowan needed air, that she had seemed faint earlier.

What she would say now, if she could see him with the unconscious woman on a sofa, no chaperon and the door locked, he could scarcely imagine. But he could not risk whatever Daisy said when she came round.

This was insane. Yet he was not delusional, as he had feared for a moment he was. Hating the noise, the social chitchat, the need to remember the tale Will had drummed into him about mistaking the evening and calling to take his friend off to a party, he had acted his way through embarrassed apologies to the Fortescues and finally a graceful acceptance of their pressing invitation to spend the evening.

'Why sit upstairs twiddling your thumbs?' Will had demanded. 'You look thoroughly blue-devilled. Come to the ball. No one will recognise you.'

And, of course, no one did. Well-trained servants did not stare at guests, let alone allow their imaginations to ran riot over a passing resemblance between a viscount and a valet. He had thought it was a good idea-that it would stop him thinking about Daisy. But of course all it did was to conjure up visions of last night, of her warm and responsive as they waltzed, hot and passionate as they loved.

And then a slender society lady had turned slowly to face him and he'd thought he had lost his mind. He still did. Perhaps he was feverish and this was all his delirium…

'Lucas?' No, that was Daisy.

'Yes.' He knelt by the sofa and took her hand in his. Under his thumb her pulse was beating wildly. 'Yes, it is me. What in heaven's name do you think you are doing? How do you expect to get away with this?'

She opened her eyes, wide and green on his. 'Me? How do you imagine… No. You really are Lord Stoneley, aren't you? Lord Furness knew you.'

'Yes. I really am Lucas Dacre, Viscount Stoneley.' Surely now she would realise why they could not be together? Why his duty demanded he break both their hearts?

But she was smiling-not bravely, but joyously. 'And I really am Lady Rowan Chilcourt. Lucas-why on earth have you been pretending to be Lord Danescroft's valet?'

'To try and persuade him not to marry Miss Maylin. And you?'

'To support her in refusing him, of course.'

Lucas sat back on his heels, trying to accept this miracle, afraid to believe it. 'You understand why I could not-'

'Of course-and why I could not. Oh, Lucas, we've been making ourselves miserable because of honour and duty and what we owe to our families, and all the time we are each other's perfect eligible match!'

'Is that a proposal Lady Rowan?'

'It most certainly is, my lord!'

Yes, it was true. No, he was not hallucinating. His irrepressible, wonderful love was smiling at him from the sofa, her hair half down and her gown disarrayed, and an expression compounded of mischief, love and desire on her face.

'Well,' he drawled, 'I suppose as I have compromised you I had better make an honest woman of you.'

'Could we, do you think, make quite sure of that?' Rowan reached out to bring his head down to hers. 'Could you perhaps completely ruin me?'

'With pleasure. But not-'

'Lord Stoneley!' The rattle of the door handle had him on his feet and six foot away from the sofa in seconds. 'Are you in there?'

'Hell! Lady Rolesby!' He ran a hand over his hair and went to unlatch the door. 'Ma'am, the door seems to have swung to and the lock engaged. Lady Rowan is much improved. I was just about to ring again for her woman. I cannot imagine what-'

'Penelope is not here?' Lady Rolesby, ignoring Rowan's attempts to straighten her hair and her gown, swept the room with her lorgnette.

'Miss Maylin? No, ma'am, I have not seen Miss Maylin all evening.' Behind him, he heard Rowan getting to her feet.

'I have not seen her at all, Lady Rolesby. Is there some problem?'

'No.' Her ladyship frowned. 'I assumed she would have come to assist you. It is just that I cannot find her.'

'Has Lord Danescroft seen her?' Rowan queried.

'I cannot find my grandson, either. Oh, I wash my hands of them! There is no helping young people these days. And you, young man-you run along at once. Doors shutting by themselves, indeed-do you think I was born yesterday?'

'No, ma' am,' Lucas said with a meekness which earned him a painful rap over the knuckles with her lorgnette.

'Humbug. Go and make yourself useful and find Danescroft. You, too, Lady Rowan. See if you can find Penelope while you are about it.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Rowan said.

She had managed to pin her hair back up with that dexterity that always amazed him in women, and now came to stand by his side, looking, he was amused to see, as if butter would not melt in her mouth.

'I shall expect to see the announcement of your nuptials very soon,' Lady Rolesby said abruptly, making them