A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,66
Please don’t tell me I’ve kept such a lovely, eager young lady waiting.”
Marguerite whirled in the direction of the sound of his voice, her cloak swirling around her ankles. “Lower your voice, you mutton-witted idiot,” she gritted out, advancing toward him. “Or does the thought your bellowing could rouse the watch send you into imbecilic ecstasies? And, no, I have not been waiting for you. I just arrived, not a moment ago, and only so that I could tell you I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to talk with you. Frankly, I would be eminently pleased if I never saw you again.”
“Which explains why you’re here,” Thomas countered, taking hold of her elbow and steering her closer to the tall shrubbery lining the narrow drive.
She yanked her elbow free of his grasp. “Don’t be thick. I would have sent a note to your hotel, but you never did tell me if you can read. And I couldn’t take the chance that the notion of my not appearing would penetrate your shallow brain. For all I knew, you could have set up a caterwauling outside my grandfather’s window, like some misdirected Romeo.”
“One of my least favorite of Shakespeare’s works, aingeal. Everyone dies, and for no good reason. But you can’t cry craven and run from me now. I come bearing news.”
She peered up at him through the dim light, instantly attentive. “News of what, Donovan? Are you leaving England on the morning tide?” She clasped her hands dramatically at the level of her breasts. “I vow, I shall be devastated —utterly devastated—by such sad news. Why, I’d have to rush right out tomorrow morning and buy myself a new bonnet, just to ease my heartache.”
Thomas smiled, truly enjoying her wit. “Don’t fight it so, Marguerite. You’d pine terribly were I to leave—at least if you hadn’t been able to satisfy more of your curiosity about why you feel as you do when I’m near.”
Marguerite shook her head, so that the moonlight licked the deep copper of her hair into golden fire. “You’re very impressed with yourself, aren’t you, Donovan? It isn’t as if I haven’t been kissed before.”
“Of course you have. Dozens of times. Hundreds of times. You are a true woman of the world.”
“Oh, shut up,” Marguerite countered, her eyes, her lovely emerald eyes shifting away from his. “Tell me your news and let me get back into the mansion. It’s turning cool.”
He leaned down so that he could whisper into her ear, so that he could deliberately put himself closer to her, to smell the perfume of her hair, to allow his lips the luxury of brushing lightly against the skin of her temple. “Lord Mappleton told me something very interesting earlier this evening. He is entertaining the thought of marriage.”
Her eyes snapped to the left, toward him, quickly followed by a swift turn of her head even as a triumphant smile lit her features, betraying her utterly. He knew, because his own head was only inches from hers, and he was watching her closely. “You’re not bamming me, are you?” she asked, then sobered, her expression troubled. “Oh, dear! You can’t mean he’s betrothed to Miss Rollins, can you? Why, they just met. And she is totally unsuitable. What a terrible, fast, encroaching female. Something must be done. I—”
“Cut line, aingeal,” Thomas interrupted when he had heard enough, his heart inexplicably heavy to have his suspicions confirmed once and for all. “That outraged air might work with some, but not with me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, staring straight into his eyes without blinking. She was very good at lying, and would probably fool anyone else with her sincere expression and sorrowful voice. “Why, I made great pains just this morning to tell Sir Ralph I was not best pleased to find Miss Rollins had fibbed about her origins in order to broach an introduction to my grandfather and myself.”
“I’ll just wager you did.” Thomas tipped his curly brimmed beaver back on his head, wondering how much he could say without scaring her off entirely, then decided that with Marguerite, it was impossible to go too far. “Do you think that’s enough to cover your tracks? Or will you hie yourself off to Mappleton himself to beg him to reconsider marrying beneath him? If you do, make sure you have an audience, for I wouldn’t count on the money-mad fool even remembering you’d come to visit.”
Marguerite drew herself up to her full height, her