It could be any woman who tempted him thus, for he rarely indulged in the pleasures of the flesh. And even then, it was brief and impersonal. No kissing was ever involved.
“Very well, then,” he replied, “Hatshepsut. And here we are, back to the party. I release you to your dances and your subjects, knowing that there is no longer a chance that you might be coerced into sampling the kiss of a highwayman or Romeo or some other character.”
And then, suddenly eager to be far away from the shimmery golden gown and its well-kissed occupant, Dimitri released her arm and slipped into the edge of the crowd, already tasting the blood and alcohol to come, the energy bounding beneath his skin.
Maia watched the knave ease into the crowded ballroom, both relieved and disappointed by his flight. Her knees were shaking so badly she could hardly stand, and her lips felt as though they were twice their size.
They still tingled when she slipped the tip of her tongue over them, and she felt a shaft of tingling heat when she re-imagined the kiss.
How could I have been so foolish? What is wrong with me?
But she already knew the answer, and once again, Maia was blessedly grateful for the mask that obliterated most of her features, and the other aspects of her disguise. The drink, along with the heady knowledge that no one could know who she was, had turned her into the same sort of capricious young woman who’d nearly gotten herself ruined three years ago.
Thank God that He, or Fate, or something, had intervened and brought Corvindale onto the scene before she’d made a foolish mistake with Mr. William Virgil. Only, she wished even more fervently now that it had been anyone but her new guardian who’d saved her. The details of that night were so very vague and foggy, but one thing she did recall with absolute clarity was the earl’s furious, dark eyes.
But that was three years ago…what was wrong with her tonight?
Hadn’t she learned her lesson?
Yet, while she knew part of the reason for her capriciousness was due to perhaps too much champagne punch, there was the fact that she’d been so rigid, so perfectly proper and in control for these past years that it was no wonder it had fizzled behind her cloak of anonymity tonight. If Angelica had any idea what really went on in her thoughts… She hoped that Angelica had had enough sense not to sample the fizzy punch, as well.
Wishing she could take off her mask to relieve the warmth, Maia strolled along the edge of the room in the opposite direction of the knave. She didn’t want to dance again—she wasn’t certain she trusted herself—and did her best to stay out of sight of anyone who might accost her for his partner.
The only person she should want to dance with right now was Alexander—and he was far away. And he’d been gone for so long. She ought to focus on his kisses, and where his warm hands had gone, slipping along the bodice of her gown during one of their late-afternoon rides.
And so that was what she did. Centered her thoughts on that. She would not worry about whether he’d forgotten her—and their interludes in the closed carriage. Or whether he’d changed his mind.
And she certainly would not remember the way the knave’s simple kiss had made her whole body hot and alive. Weak and trembly.
The sight of Angelica with a man wearing a curious square-shaped hat was a welcome distraction, for her sisterly annoyance sprang back to the forefront. Unlike most every one else, the lower half of his face was masked and he looked like some sort of Far Eastern brigand, like one that might have attacked the Crusaders.
Angelica was waltzing, Maia noted, pressing her lips together and resisting the urge to stalk out there and drag her off the floor. That would just draw attention and recognition to both of them. Which, if Angelica was paying any attention to her elder sister’s eagle eye, she would know—and would use to her advantage.
Maia would have a word with her later. Just because Chas wasn’t around to ride herd on them didn’t mean her sister could be so careless. Wondering where Aunt Iliana was, Maia scanned the room and noticed an angel across the way.
The angel looked as if she was having difficulty with her celestial wings, and a quick glance showed still no sign of their chaperone, so Maia tsked and started over to help Mirabella.
“Oh, thank goodness,” the young girl said when she saw Maia. “I’ve lost one of my wings, and the back of my gown caught upon the staff of a shepherd I was dancing with, and I believe it’s been torn.”
Maia only needed a quick glance to see that repair was definitely needed. Delighted with an excuse to leave the ball, as well as yet another distraction from all of her other worries, she took Mirabella’s arm and led her toward the sweeping staircase that led to the third floor of the Sterlinghouse residence. Up there, they would find a tiring room, or at least a private place to set Mirabella to rights.
As they reached the first landing of the stairs, Maia noticed a group of four men, dressed all in black, properly masked, entering through the front door. “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” announced the butler as the quartet moved into the foyer.
She paused for a moment, that uncomfortable prickle of intuition lifting the hair on her arms, and looked down at them. There was something about the four she didn’t like. Something off.
They walked into the foyer as if they knew where they were going—with purpose and speed, and without pausing to greet anyone. Suddenly nervous and not certain why—but she never ignored her instincts—she gripped Mirabella’s arm, silently directing her to climb the stairs more quickly. They were already mostly out of sight from below due to a curve in the staircase, but for some reason, Maia felt compelled to get away before one of them chanced to look up.
Once at the third floor, she felt marginally less unsettled and wondered at her odd reaction to the men. Perhaps it had simply been the fact that their costumes had seemed so men acing. Mirabella hadn’t noticed her haste, and Maia wasn’t about to mention it. Instead she peeked inside one of the rooms, knowing from her previous visits that the Sterlinghouses had several parlors and a library on this stretch of the corridor, and that the ladies’ tiring room was near the end.
The room was empty and a full moon shone through French doors, casting silvery light over several chairs and a table with a decidedly masculine feel. Not one of the ladies’ parlors, but it would do for a moment for her to see to Mirabella’s gown.
Maia didn’t expend much energy trying to find a lamp, for there was one on the desk, turned to a bare glow. She turned it up and was just kneeling behind the angel to see to the back of her gown when the door behind them burst open.
Muffling a shriek of surprise, she bolted to her feet, tangled in the frothy fabric of her gown, and went down in a heap.
When she opened her eyes, a dark figure in a white shirt loomed over her and for a moment she thought it was one of the eerie men who’d caught her attention. But at the same time as she recognized her new guardian’s features, Mirabella exclaimed, “Corvindale!”
“You,” Maia muttered as the earl literally yanked her to her feet, disregarding the fragility of her gown. “What do you mean by—”
But she never finished, for the next thing she knew, strong arms swooped around her and he lifted her bodily from the ground.
Maia was so shocked and horrified that at first she couldn’t speak. She struggled, trying to pull free, and heard Corvindale snap a command at his sister, “Outside. Now, Bella.”
“Put me—” she started, but her own direction was cut off along with her breath when he did just that, fairly tossing her onto one of the chairs. She drew in a furious gasp to lash into him, but suddenly a heavy, dark cloth wafted down over her.