Four In Hand (Regencies 2)

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Arabella’s role in the great plan was to flirt so outrageously that everyone in the entire room would be certain that it was indeed the vivacious Miss Twinning under the rose-pink domino. None of the conspirators had imagined this would prove at all difficult and, true to form, within half an hour Arabella had convinced the better part of the company of her identity. She left one group of revellers, laughing gaily, and was moving around the room, when she found she had walked into the arms of a large, black-domino-clad figure. The shock she received from the contact immediately informed her of the identity of the gentleman.

“Oh, sir! You quite overwhelm me!”

“In such a crowd as this, my dear? Surely you jest?”

“Would you contradict a lady, sir? Then you’re no gentlemen, in truth.”

“In truth, you’re quite right, sweet lady. Gentlemen lead such boring lives.”

The distinctly seductive tone brought Arabella up short. He could not know who she was, could he? As if in answer to her unspoken question, he asked, “And who might you be, my lovely?”

Arabella’s chin went up and she playfully retorted, “Why, that’s not for you to know, sir. My reputation might be at stake, simply for talking to so unconventional a gentleman as you.”

To her unease, Hugo responded with a deep and attractive chuckle. Their light banter continued, Arabella making all the customary responses, her quick ear for repartee saving her from floundering when his returns made her cheeks burn. She flirted with Hugo to the top of her bent. And hated every minute of it. He did not know who she was, yet was prepared to push an unknown lady to make an assignation with him for later in the evening. She was tempted to do so and then confront him with her identity. But her heart failed her. Instead, when she could bear it no longer, she made a weak excuse and escaped.

———

They had timed their plan carefully, to avoid any possible mishap. The unmasking was scheduled for one o’clock. At precisely half-past twelve, Sarah and Sir Ralph left the ballroom and strolled in a convincingly relaxed manner down a secluded walk which led to a little gazebo. The gazebo was placed across the path and, beyond it, the path continued to a gate giving access to the carriage drive.

Within sight of the gazebo, Sarah halted. “Arabella’s inside. I’ll wait here and ensure no one interrupts.”

Sir Ralph swallowed, nodded once and left her. He climbed the few steps and entered the gazebo. In the dimness, he beheld the rose-pink domino, her mask still in place, waiting nervously for him to approach. Reverently, he went forward and then went down on one knee.

Sarah, watching from the shadows outside, grinned in delight. The dim figures exchanged a few words, then Sir Ralph rose and kissed the lady. Sarah held her breath, but all went well. Hand in hand, the pink domino and her escort descended by the opposite door of the gazebo and headed for the gate. To make absolutely sure of their success, Sarah entered the gazebo and stood watching the couple disappear through the gate. She waited, silently, then the click of horses’ hooves came distantly on the breeze. With a quick smile, she turned to leave. And froze.

Just inside the door to the gazebo stood a tall, black-domino-clad figur

e, his shoulders propped negligently against the frame in an attitude so characteristic Sarah would have known him anywhere. “Are you perchance waiting for an assignation, my dear?”

Sarah made a grab for her fast-disappearing wits.

She drew herself up but, before she could speak, his voice came again. “Don’t run away. A chase through the bushes would be undignified at best and I would catch you all the same.”

Sarah’s brows rose haughtily. She had removed her mask which had been irritating her and it hung by its strings from her fingers. She swung it back and forth nervously. “Run? Why should I run?” Her voice, she was pleased to find, was calm.

Darcy did not answer. Instead, he pushed away from the door and crossed the floor to stand in front of her. He reached up and undid his mask. Then his eyes caught hers. “Are you still set on fleeing to a convent?”

Sarah held his gaze steadily. “I am.”

A wry smile, self-mocking, she thought, twisted his mobile mouth. “That won’t do, you know. You’re not cut out to be a bride of Christ.”

“Better a bride of Christ than the mistress of any man.” She watched the muscles in his jaw tighten.

“You think so?”

Despite the fact that she had known it would happen, had steeled herself to withstand it, her defences crumbled at his touch and she was swept headlong into abandonment, freed from restraint, knowing where the road led and no longer caring.

But when Darcy stooped and lifted her, to carry her to the wide cushioned seats at the side of the room, she shook her head violently. “Darcy, no!” Her voice caught on a sob. “Please, Darcy, let me go.”

Her tears sobered him as nothing else could have. Slowly, he let her down until her feet touched the floor. She was openly crying, as if her heart would break. “Sarah?” Darcy put out a hand to smooth her brown hair.

Sarah had found her handkerchief and was mopping her streaming eyes, her face averted. “Please go, Darcy.”

Darcy stiffened. For the first time in his adult life, he wanted to take a woman into his arms purely to comfort her. All inclinations to make love to her had vanished at the first hint of her distress. But, sensing behind her whispered words a confusion she had yet to resolve, he sighed and, with a curt bow, did as she asked.

Sarah listened to his footsteps die away. She remained in the gazebo until she had cried herself out. Then, thankful for the at least temporary protection of her mask, she returned to the ballroom to tell her sisters and their protegees of their success.