She looked up, forcing a smile. “You win, sir. I f-fear rather l-largely. I d-didn’t play well that last game. You l-let me win the second, d-didn’t you?”
“Perhaps,” he said.
“I wish you had not. I d-don’t care to be treated like a child, sir.”
“Content you, my dear, I had never the least notion of letting you win more than one game. I have set my mind on that curl. I claim it, ma’am.”
“Of c-course,” she said proudly. Inwardly, she wondered what Rule would say if he could see her now, and quaked at her own daring. She took the scissors out of her reticule.
“R-Robert, what are you g-going to do with it?” she asked rather shyly.
“Ah, that is my affair,” he replied.
“Yes. I kn-know. But—if anyone f-found out—horrid things would be said, and R-Rule would hear of it and I d-don’t want him to, because I know I—I ought n-not to have done it!” said Horatia in a rush.
“Give me the scissors,” he said, “and perhaps I’ll tell you what I mean to do with it.”
“I c-can cut it myself,” she replied, aware of a tiny feeling of apprehensiveness.
He had risen and come round the table. “My privilege, Horry,” he said, laughing, and took the scissors out of her hand.
She felt his fingers amongst her curls, and blushed. She remarked with would-be lightness: “It will be a very p-powdery one, R-Robert!”
“And a charmingly scented one,” he agreed.
She heard the scissors cut through her hair, and at once got up. “There! For g-goodness sake don’t tell anyone, w-will you?” she said. She moved towards the window. “I think it is time you took me home. It must be d- dreadfully late.”
“In a moment,” he said, coming towards her. “You are a good loser, sweetheart.”
Before she had even a suspicion of his purpose he had her in his arms and with one deft hand nipped the mask from her face. Frightened, white with anger, she tried to break free, only to find herself held quite powerless. The hand that had untied her mask came under her chin, and forced it up; the Scarlet Domino bent and kissed her, full on her indignant mouth.
She wrenched herself away as at last he slackened his embrace. She was breathless and shaken, trembling from head to foot. “How d-dare you?” she choked, and dashed her hand across her mouth as though to wipe away the kiss. “Oh, how dare you
The Scarlet Domino made no attempt to pursue her, but stayed in the middle of the room, gently twisting a powdered curl round one finger. An odd smile hovered about his mouth; he put the curl carefully into his pocket.
A movement in the window made him look up. Lady Massey was standing there, an apple-green domino covering her gown, her mask dangling from her hand. “That was not very well Contrived, surely, Robert?” she said maliciously. “A vastly pretty scene, but I am amazed that so clever a man as you could make such a stupid mistake. Lord, couldn’t you tell the little fool was not ready for kisses? And I thinking you knew how to handle her! You’ll be glad of my help yet, my lord.”
The smile had quite vanished from the Scarlet Domino’s mouth, which had suddenly grown very stern. He put up a hand to the strings of his mask, and untied them. “Shall I?” he said, in accents utterly unlike Lord Lethbridge’s. “But are you quite sure, madam, that it is not you who have made—a very great mistake?”
Chapter Twelve
Horatia partook of breakfast in bed some six hours later. She was too young for her troubles to deprive her of sleep, but though she had certainly slept she had had horrid dreams, and awoke not very much refreshed.
When she had fled from the little card-room at Ranelagh she had been so angry that she had forgotten that her mask was off. She had run right into Lady Massey, also maskless, and for one moment they had faced each other. Lady Massey had smiled in a way that drove the blood up into Horatia’s cheeks. She had not spoken a word; and Horatia, dragging her domino closely round her, had slipped across the terrace, and down the steps into the garden.
A hackney coach had conveyed her home, and deposited her in the cold dawn in Grosvenor Square. She had half expected to find Rule sitting up for her, but to her relief there was no sign of him. She had told the tire-woman she might go to bed, and she was glad of that too. She wanted to be alone, to think over the disastrous events of the night. But when she had extricated herself from her gown, and made herself ready for bed, she was so tired that she could not think of anything, and fell asleep almost as soon as she had blown out the candle.
She awoke at about nine o’clock, and for a moment wondered why she should feel so oppressed. Then she remembered, and gave a little shudder.
She rang her silver hand-bell, and when the abigail brought in her tray of chocolate and sweet biscuits she was sitting up in bed, her curls, with the powder still clinging to them, tumbled all about her shoulders, and a deep frown on her face.
While the waiting-woman collected her scattered jewels and garments she sipped the chocolate, pondering her problem. What had seemed a mere prank twelve hours earlier had by now assumed gigantic proportions. There was first the episode of the curl. In the sane daylight Horatia was at a loss to imagine how she could ever have consented to play for such a stake. It was—yes, no use blinking facts, it was vulgar: no other word for it. And who could tell what Lethbridge might not do with it? Before that kiss she had had no fear of his discretion, but now he seemed to her monstrous, capable of boasting, even, that he had won the curl from her. As for the kiss, she supposed that she had brought that on herself; a reflection which gave her no comfort. But worst of all had been the meeting with Caroline Massey. If she had seen, and Horatia was certain that she had, the tale would be all over the town by tomorrow. And the Massey had Rule’s ear. Depend upon it, if she refrained from telling anyone else she would be bound to tell him, only too glad of the opportunity to make mischief between him and his wife.
Suddenly she pushed the tray away from her. “I’m g-going to get up!” she said.
“Yes, my lady. What gown will your ladyship wear?”
“It doesn’t m-matter,” Horatia answered curtly.
An hour later she came down the stairs, and in a resolute voice inquired of a footman whether the Earl was in the house.
His lordship, she was told, had that instant come in, and was with Mr Gisborne.
Horatia drew a breath, as though in preparation for a dive into deep waters, and walked across the hall to Mr Gisborne’s room.
The Earl was standing by the desk with his back to the door, reading a speech Mr Gisborne had prepared for him. He had evidently been riding, for he wore top-boots, a little dusty, and buckskin breeches, with a plain but excellently cut coat of blue cloth with silver buttons. He held his whip and gloves in one hand; his hat was thrown down on a chair. “Admirable, my dear boy, but far too long. I should forget the half of it, and the Lords would be shocked, quite shocked, you know,” he said, and gave the paper back to the secretary. “And Arnold—do you think —a little less impassioned? Ah yes, I thought you would agree! I am never impassioned.”
Mr Gisborne was bowing to Horatia; my lord turned his head, and saw her. “A thousand pardons, my love! I did not hear you come in,” he said.
Horatia bestowed a rather perfunctory smile on Mr Gisborne, who, accustomed to the friendliest of treatment from her, instantly wondered what could be the matter. “Are you very b-busy, sir?” she asked, raising her anxious eyes to Rule’s face.
“Arnold will tell you, my dear, that I am never busy,” he replied.
“W-well, could you spare me a m-moment of your time n-now?” Horatia said.
“As many as you desire,” he said, and held open the door for her to pass out. “Shall we go into the library, ma’am?”
“I d-don’t mind where we go,” said Horatia in a small voice. “But I want to be p-private with you.”
“My dear, this is very flattering,” he said.
