A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,19
for him. Oh, yes. He knew, damn him, and dared to tease her with his knowledge. “I’m not looking for anyone.”
“Now, now. Don’t be shy. Of course you’re looking for someone. Perhaps I can be of service. I have just now shamelessly deserted a most insistent dowager bent on having me squire her prune-faced daughter in the first set in order to throw myself on the mercy of the most beautiful woman in this room and beg her for the honor of a dance. In order to save me from her clutches, you understand. If I must first perform a boon, I shall do so gladly, if only to see your smile. Tell me the scoundrel’s name, and I’ll seek him out for you.”
“You have put me to the blush, Mr. Donovan,” she replied quietly, deliberately looking past him, to wave at Lady Hertford, who was passing by on the arm of a uniformed hussar. “And you force me to admit to my curiosity. I was searching the guests for a sight of you, worried for your welfare. But now I see I was silly to concern myself. You don’t look the least bit, um, singed.”
“Singed? Now you have piqued my curiosity, Miss Balfour.”
She gave up the pretense of feminine modesty and looked straight into his eyes. “Yes, Mr. Donovan. Singed. I was certain Sir Peregrine’s assessment of your character, delivered to me as we spent an enjoyable hour perusing the bookstalls, would have served to burn your ears to cinders. Tell me, however did you manage to upset him so?”
He bowed to Marguerite. “Not I, Miss Balfour, I assure you. I am the most congenial of men,” Thomas answered, straightening once it had to be obvious to him she was not about to offer him her gloved hand to kiss. “It must have been my assistant, Patrick Dooley, who set the man’s back up. A good man, Paddy, but a little rough about his edges, you understand.”
“Ah, Mr. Dooley. That would be the sweet-faced gentleman you neglected to introduce to me this afternoon, as you were so involved in maintaining your own smooth edges? Another Irishman who has adopted America as his home, I suppose. Tell me, are there any of you left in Dublin?”
“More than enough for you English to browbeat, Miss Balfour, I’m sure,” Thomas said, turning to look at Mrs. Billings, whose confused expression advertised the fact she had no notion of what was going on beneath her nose. “And you must be Mrs. Billings, the fortunate lady who has charge of the Season’s most sought after debutante? May I compliment you on your dressing of her? A prettily wrapped package goes a long way toward assuring its possible buyer he will be purchasing something worth the price.”
Marguerite dug her fingertips into her palms. Poor Billie. Donovan had cleverly delivered both a compliment to the chaperone and an insult directed at her charge, and Mrs. Billings was clearly at a loss as to how to react. “Marguerite?” she asked, beginning to fan herself with her lace-edged handkerchief, for her usually pale cheeks had become quite flushed. “Do you know this gentleman?”
“That she does, Mrs. Billings,” Thomas said before Marguerite could overcome her amusement at the woman’s confusion and reply. “Mr. Quist, a dear friend, introduced us just last evening when he became indisposed and could not continue to partner Miss Balfour for the remainder of a country dance. We chanced upon each other again today, as you may have gleaned from our conversation, in the offices of Sir Peregrine Totton, another mutual friend.”
“Your interpretation of the requirements for friendship is most unique, Mr. Donovan,” Marguerite said, watching impotently as Mrs. Billings seemed to have come to a decision as to how to react and began to bloom under Thomas’s wide smile, his ingratiating manner—and his outlandish massaging of the truth. But how could she blame the woman, when she felt the same urge to melt beneath the glow of Donovan’s charm, the heat of his masculine attraction? “But I believe you have requested a dance? I am devastated to say I do not think I have a single one free. Being well dressed has served to have many potential ‘purchasers’ petitioning to further examine the merchandise.”
“As long as they don’t attempt to unwrap it,” Thomas returned, a hint of steel, of possession, in his voice, although he was still smiling genially, revealing his straight white teeth to advantage. “Now, Miss Balfour, why don’t you consult your