A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,87
vinaigrette, then seeming to give it up, only to blink a half dozen times and begin listing slightly to one side, like a ship whose cargo has unaccountably shifted.
Marguerite closed her fan and tapped it none too gently against the older woman’s wrist, momentarily rousing her. “That will be quite enough, Billie. If you cannot control yourself I suggest you retire to one of the withdrawing rooms, lie down with a cool cloth over your eyes, and indulge in a small rest. Mr. Donovan? You will do us the extreme favor of escorting us? And then, once she is settled, I believe I should enjoy a stroll around the room on your arm, just for the sport of the thing, you understand.”
Mrs. Billings allowed Thomas to assist her in rising, her movements slow and studied, as if she had to marshal all her resources into performing this simple task. “You won’t go into any dark corners in my absence, will you, Marguerite?” She lifted drooping eyes to Thomas. “We should withdraw, you know, and return to Portman Square, but I do not believe I am up to wading through the multitude of people still on the stairs awaiting their turn on the receiving line. I vow, this has to be the worst crush of the Season. Lady Jersey must be very proud.”
Thomas drew Mrs. Billings’s arm through his, leaving Marguerite to follow along as best she could as he threaded his way toward the withdrawing rooms set aside for the ladies. “I give you my word, madam. Miss Balfour will not be found in any dark corners.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Donovan!” Mrs. Billings trilled, batting her scanty eyelashes at him once more as she leaned heavily on his arm. “You are such a gentleman, no matter what they say about you.” And then she gave out another wide, vocal yawn.
He heard Marguerite’s giggle behind him and swiveled his head about to see her grinning in real enjoyment—the minx. He had wondered how they were going to be shed of her chaperone, but he had been correct not to worry overmuch about the logistics of the thing. After all, anyone who could handle Laleham and the rest couldn’t have to strain her talents in ridding herself of one missish old lady.
Once Mrs. Billings was reclining on a couch in a small alcove set away from the ballroom, her eyes already closing, he led Marguerite down a side hallway, away from the crowd, and assisted her through an opened French window and onto one of the large dark balconies.
“See? Not a corner to be found. I wouldn’t wish to shame myself with a fib. How long will Mrs. Billings stay put?” he asked without preamble, holding tightly to both of Marguerite’s hands, drinking in the beauty of her exposed shoulders as they glowed like living marble in the moonlight.
The beautiful shoulders shrugged eloquently. “I don’t know, Donovan. I’ve never dosed anyone with laudanum before tonight. Several hours, I suppose. You can’t know the bother I’ve had keeping her awake until you could bear to pull yourself away from Ralph. What was he so earnest about, anyway? For a moment, I almost believed I saw him smile.”
“Now, now, aingeal. I think we can agree we are both to keep our own secrets. I won’t tease you any more about what you’re planning for Harewood and those other Methuselahs, and you won’t ask me about my business. Besides,” he added, stepping closer, so that he could smell the scent of crushed roses emanating from her hair, “I believe we have, without speaking, already agreed on our activity for this evening. The rubies were an inspired touch, by the way. No one save myself has come near you, and no one will be surprised to find you have gone missing, although I imagine there will be more than a few wagers as to just who is tumbling the outrageous Miss Balfour in the bushes.”
Her smile faded, to be replaced by a steely glare. “Of all the cork-brained things I have attempted in my life, this one surely bears off the palm,” she said, trying to disengage her hands from his. “And it’s not as if I didn’t know this is nothing more than a game to you. Just another silly debutante with more hair than wit who is willing—nay, eager—to disgrace herself with a handsome rogue with nothing save his own pleasure on his mind. Let go of me, Donovan.”