He smiled, pulling her clever fingers into his grip. “Tell me you have a large dowry, and I will remedy that on the spot.”
* * * * *
Nora chided herself. She wasn’t in London, slinking around the Weatherby Ball to play games; she was here to make the riskiest wager of her life.
The game was afoot, and she’d hooked Carlow, the worst of the bunch. The one she most needed. The devil she knew. He was more of a charming devil than she’d imagined, though.
Nora! You are here to spring a trap, not step into one, she admonished herself.
He was six and twenty. His hair had gotten a little darker, but it was still that sort of blond that had multiple colors along with a tempting array of waves. She’d seen him once—the circumstances now vague and fading. He’d been some part of her memory. Carlow. It was like the memory of a dream—vivid—until one opened their eyes in the morning and it was all gone.
“Good night, Carlow,” she said. He jumped to his feet and held out his hand to assist her. He was one of those men who boxed, rode, raced and wagered with impunity. He might have specific hidden virtues, but she knew the worst of his family’s vices.
“What about that walk along the terrace? Are you afraid you might reveal something you don’t want me to know?”
“I’m afraid you will succumb to my charms. Yet that doesn’t seem like the type of scandal Lady Weatherby tries to sell the masses.”
“You don’t believe? The real secret is most of us don’t either, but people do the damnedest things on this night every year.” Curses weren’t real. Everyone knew Lady Weatherby schemed to have the room full of weak-minded fools who would drink her wine, topple her potted plants and tryst behind closed doors, just so there would be stories for next year.
“Like?”
“What? You don’t know?”
“Here’s a real secret: this is the first time I have been to this particular ball. It might be legendary, but the specifics always seem hidden in mystery. Unless one reads the London Times to discover all the gossip after the ball.”
“And where does the Times get its information? From Lady Weatherby. Dorothea has a knack for outrageous propaganda.” He drew her hand to his sleeve. “Now, walk with me and I will tell you some hair-raising tales of adultery, gaming loss and death.”
“No thievery? No missing mink stoles, diamond bracelets or silver candelabra?”
“Candelabra are much too cumbersome to hide beneath one’s skirts.”
“But under this half cape, I think it could be done.” She flipped the edge of his black wrap as they walked out of the drawing room.
“No, my dear. Skip the candelabra. Trust me.” Was he winking at her beneath his domino? Teasing her?
The din of the ball met them around the next corner. The ball was in its full glory. Music played but the underlying sound of muted conversation and the tinkling of crystal caused her heart to trip with excitement. The polished wooden floor was covered in the lively movement of the feet of dancing couples, colors flashing by, dazzling whirls of veils and masks and lace and flowers.
The waltz! She’d never learned. Yearning for a better life, the life she should have had, haunted her at moments like this.
He glanced at her. “You’ve no chaperone to whom I should make delivery? I wouldn’t want to be remise in my duty.”
“At the Weatherby Ball? I am surprised chaperones are even allowed. And as I’ve mentioned, I am twenty-three.”
“You are not like the women of London,” he said. “You are much more interesting.”
“Such compliments!”
“I have an entire repertoire. Now tell me, who are you?”
“Are you worried I don’t belong?”
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut before he executed a slight bow. “I’ve offended you. I am sorry.”
“My father was an earl.”
She was thankful for her mask. He would be sorely disappointed to see the derision in her expression; she might be smiling outwardly but she’d had practice in deception. The only way she could absolve her hatred was with proper vengeance. If she were a man, an illegal duel would suit her just fine.
“My brother is here. Somewhere. Along with the Reverend Wright. My guardians would not allow me to attend such a scandalous ball without someone to watch over me.” In actuality, her guardians, Lord and Lady Fortenay, did not know she was here. Gigi and Grandy had given their care over to Reverend Wright. The reverend had agreed to accompany Timothy and Nora on a county tour, through Dorset, Hampshire and Surry, with a slight detour through London, on their way to Kent.
“A guardian?”
“Until I am twenty-five or married. And my brother certainly isn’t experienced enough for that task.”
“You didn’t answer my question about your dowry. I can see there is a great need in your life for a man like me.”
“Hmm, I do have a few newly acquired sovereigns to my name,” she said. Along with a reticule full of coins she’d lifted from the gaming table. They’d never miss a few schillings. However, if Carlow continued to talk as a legitimate suiter might, Nora wasn’t sure she could endure such exaggerated gallantry. Nora the Avenger was determined and diabolically clever. Simple Nora Blasington bore deep scars and dreamt big dreams. And she didn’t belong in Carlow’s world no matter her current strategy.
He laughed. “You are a delight. Let’s dance together before some fribble finds you and steals you away.”
“No, I don’t think so. I may go back to the card room. If you are promised to dance with another, please, you are free.” The next
