A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,17
the most delicious little bookstall in Haymarket and need your discerning eye to tell me if I have unearthed a heretofore unknown original manuscript or if the owner is attempting to gull me with a brilliant copy.”
She turned to Thomas and blighted him with her smile—a smile that told him she had only been ignoring him thus far because it suited her to do so and she had been aware of his presence all along. “Oh—hello, Mr. Donovan, what a pleasant surprise to see you again. Am I barging in on some dreadfully important conference? Forgive me, please. I’ll just take myself off, and you may continue uninterrupted. There you are, Perry, dear friend and mentor. I’ll just see myself out and then wait downstairs in my carriage with dearest Maisie.”
Marguerite had been beautiful last evening in her demure white gown. This afternoon she was glorious, dressed in a lemon yellow walking dress, a deeply green velvet Spencer flattering her narrow waist as well as her flushed cheeks. Her bonnet, a silly confection of straw and flowers and ribbons, a large bow tied fetchingly close below her left ear, was truly a crowning touch, perched as it was atop her glorious coppery curls.
Her bewitching green eyes were dancing with mischief, as if she had found amusement in some joke the rest of them had somehow failed to comprehend, and Thomas didn’t know if her obvious intelligence intrigued or infuriated him. He did know, either way, he was attracted to this fiery minx, and if it were to turn out she was his enemy, that knowledge would most certainly prove to quite ruin his day.
“No, no, Miss Balfour,” he said hastily, realizing he had been silent too long and quickly bowing over her offered hand. “Sir Peregrine and I have just now completed our meeting, and I was at the point of retiring to my rooms at the Pulteney Hotel to lick my wounds, as he is a most formidable adversary in this business of diplomatic fencing. You are right to seek his counsel on the manuscript you have unearthed, for I’m convinced Sir Peregrine’s opinion on any subject will be invaluable. God knows it certainly will be offered. Good day to you, Miss Balfour—Sir Peregrine. Come, Paddy. Introductions must wait for another day. We must be off and leave Sir Peregrine to his charming visitor.”
So saying, he bowed once more to Sir Peregrine and left the room, Dooley trailing in his wake. The door had barely closed behind them before the portly Irishman piped up, “So that’s the one with the Frenchie name, is it—the girl you were melting over last night? I take it all back, boyo, you were right to wonder about her. What’s she doing here, do you suppose?”
Thomas retrieved his hat and gloves from a small table in the antechamber and strode long-leggedly toward the staircase, his mind whirling as he attempted to make some sense of Marguerite’s unexpected appearance. “I don’t suppose to understand anything at all concerning Miss Balfour, save that she’s English to her toes—and the most delectable morsel I’ve ever seen,” he said, jamming the hat onto his head as he stepped out into the sunshine. “Tell me, Paddy—has my new suit of evening clothes arrived as yet? I believe I’ll be attending Lady Sefton’s ball this evening after all.”
“Feel a seduction coming over you, do you, m’fine boyo?” Dooley asked, hailing a passing hackney cab.
“Ah, Paddy, old friend, how well you know me.” Thomas’s teeth flashed white beneath his mustache as he bent his long frame and slid across the greasy leather seat in front of his friend. “Whoever said serving one’s country should be unremittingly serious work?”
CHAPTER 3
Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no fibs.
—Oliver Goldsmith
Marguerite knew she looked her best as she stood just outside the ballroom, yet wondered why she had felt the need to tend to her toilette with such care, as if she were arming herself for battle and not simply dressing for another exceedingly silly ball. The evening at Lady Sefton’s promised to be no different than any other since she had come to London—no more or less important.
No, that wasn’t true. It was one thing to lie to others, but it would be foolhardy—even dangerous—to lie to herself. Tonight would be very different. She knew perfectly well why she had lingered so long over her selection of the ivory silk gown she had finally chosen and why she had dared instruct the