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 figure, bis 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.
Hugo scanned the room again, searching through the sea of people for Arabella. But the pink domino
was nowhere in sight. He was as thoroughly disgruntled as only someone of a generally placid nature could become. Arabella had flirted outrageously with an unknown man. Admittedly him, but she had not known that. Here he had been worrying himself into a state over her getting herself stuck in a loveless marriage for no reason and underneath she was just a heartless flirt. A jade. Where the hell was she?
A small hand on his arm made him jump. But, contrary to the conviction of his senses, it was not
Arabella but a lady in a brown domino with a brown mask fixed firmly in place. '"Ello, kind sir. You
seem strangely lonely."
Hugo blinked. The lady's accent was heavily middle European, her tone seductively low.
"I'm all alone," sighed the lady in brown. "And as you seemed also alone, I thought that maybe we
could cheer one another up, no?"
In spite of himself, Hugo's glance flickered over the lady. Her voice suggested a wealth of experience
yet her skin, what he could see of it, was as delicate as a young girl's. The heavy mask she wore covered most of her face, even shading her lips, though he could see these were full and ripe. The domino, as dominos did, concealed her figure. Exasperated, Hugo sent another searching glance about the room in vain. Then, he looked down and smiled into the lady's hazel eyes. "What a very interesting idea, my
dear. Shall we find somewhere to further develop our mutual acquaintance?"
He slipped an arm around the lady's waist and found that it was indeed very neat. She seemed for one instant to stiffen under his arm but immediately relaxed. Damn Arabella! She had driven him mad. He would forget her existence and let this lovely lady restore his sanity. "What did you say your name
was, my dear?"
The lady smiled up at him, a wickedly inviting smile. "Maria Pavlovska," she said as she allowed him
to lead her out of the ballroom.
They found a deserted anteroom without difficulty and, without waiting time in further, clearly unnecessary talk, Hugo drew Maria Pavlovska into his arms. She allowed him to kiss her and, to his surprise, raised no demur when he deepened the kiss. His senses were racing and her responses drove him wild. He let his hand wander and she merely chuckled softly, the sound suggesting that he had yet
to reach her limit. He found a convenient armchair and pulled her on to his lap and let her drive him demented. She was the most satisfyingly responsive woman he had ever found. Bewildered by his
good fortune, he smiled understandingly when she whispered she would leave him for a moment.
He sighed in anticipation and stretched his long legs in front of him as the door clicked shut.
As the minutes ticked by and Maria Pavlovska did not return, sanity slowly settled back into Hugo's fevered brain. Where the hell was she? She'd deserted him. Just like Arabella. The thought hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. Just like Arabella? No, he was imagining things. True, Maria Pavlovska
had aroused him in a way he had begun to think only Arabella could. Hell! She had even tasted like Arabella. But Arabella's domino was pink. Maria Pavlovska's domino was brown. And, now he came
to think of it, it had been a few inches too short; he had been able to see her pink slippers and the pink hem of her dress. Arabella's favourite colour was pink but pink was, after all, a very popular colour. Damn, where was she? Where were they? With a long-suffering sigh, Hugo rose and, forswearing all women, left to seek the comparative safety of White's for the rest of the night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After returning to the ballroom with Caroline, Max found his temper unconducive to remaining at the
ball. In short, he had a headache. His wards seemed to be behaving themselves, despite his premonitions, so there was little reason to remain at Penbright House. But the night was young and his interlude with Caroline had made it unlikely that sleep would come easily, so he excused himself to his eldest ward and his aunt, and left to seek entertainment of a different sort.