murmurs of anticipation, the masked-and-costumed guests fanned out, yielding the heart of the ballroom to the newcomers.
Julia’s stomach constricted into a knot. If she didn’t make a move soon, David would leave. Since they’d discussed her father’s refusal to countenance David as a suitor, he hardly ever visited the Hall any more. It was only because of the Christmas masquerade ball, to which all the tenants were invited, that he was here now. Once the mummers finished their act, everyone would unmask, go in to supper, and then go home. And he would return to Edinburgh, and it would be months and months before she could see him again.
It was her last chance. If she didn’t manage to entice David away from the other masqueraders, in her guise as Nellie, the fallen woman who exerted such fascination over every single man attending this house party—and quite a few of the married ones, too—she would have failed. And she couldn’t fail. She just couldn’t.
There had to be some way. Some way to indicate she wanted to get him alone without having to open her mouth and say it, thereby giving away her identity.
But how? How did anyone convey their intentions without speaking?
And then it hit her. She’d hated the way men had been pinching and pawing at her all evening, but it had certainly conveyed their intentions.
Her heart sped up a little more. Both because she’d come up with a plan, and because David had temporarily moved out of sight.
But then she spotted him again. She wondered that she’d lost sight of him even for those few moments, because he was half a head taller than most of the gentlemen present. Especially with that tricorne hat, worn over that long, curled wig.
He was subtly moving to the back of the crowd as they all pressed forward to get a better view. Of course the mummers were dressed up to play out the tale of St George and the dragon. And they would include a scene where a doctor was called to bind up St. George’s wounds. It was a comic scene, which always annoyed David intensely, since he was studying medicine himself and couldn’t bear to see a doctor being made a figure of fun.
Her heart in her mouth, she edged around the outskirts of the crowd until she was right behind him. Nobody was paying her any attention. Especially not now the mummers had taken up their starting positions.
The dragon let out a mighty roar, a puff of smoke billowed from his nostrils, and the heroine of the piece let out a piercing scream.
Lady Julia slid her hand between the tails of his full-skirted coat and found the curve of his bottom. His muscles clenched under the palm of her hand.
St George strode onto the scene, waving his cardboard sword.
The guests gave a rousing cheer, which drowned out the gasp Sir Isaac Newton gave when she pinched his bottom, hard.
She kept her gaze directed at the mummers, and their antics, when he turned to see who’d pinched him. It was bright enough, just here, for him to be able to see her fairly clearly, and she only bore a superficial resemblance to Nellie. She had the same soft roundness to her jaw, but anyone looking closely at the uncovered part of her face would surely notice that her mouth was not as generous, nor her lips so full. And it would be fatal to look directly into David’s eyes. Even though the upper part of her face was covered, and she was using her cleavage as a distraction, if he looked into her eyes he’d be sure to wonder why Nellie’s melting brown eyes had faded to the hue of a peeled grape. And he’d know. And be furious that she was doing something so improper.
But she was done with being proper. It hadn’t got them anywhere at all. If only he didn’t recognise her then the chances were she could get him to behave in a highly improper fashion, too, and then all their problems would be solved!
Only he still wasn’t doing anything! St George was stepping over the heroine, who’d just collapsed in an artistically terrified swoon, but Sir Isaac Newton was just standing perfectly still, apparently content to savour the sensation of her fondling his behind.
Now what?
Oh, bother the man, couldn’t he just once forget propriety, and act with a bit of dash? Well, there was nothing for it. She was just going to have to take the initiative.
She removed her hand from his bottom, and fumbled her way round the tailcoat until she discovered his hand. She got as many fingers round it as she could, considering it was bunched round the brass telescope, and gave it a little tug.
It was enough to propel him into movement. Meek as a lamb, he followed her to the nearest door, which happened to lead out onto the terrace, then all along its length, and down the steps at the end.
She didn’t dare glance over her shoulder, not even when they plunged into the pitch darkness of the path through the shrubbery. And especially not when they emerged again, round the back of the house, where some light did filter out through one or two unshuttered windows, making the glass roof of the orangery glitter as though it was sprinkled with sequins.
She’d chosen to take David to the orangery because it would be lovely and warm in there. It was tacked on to the back of the kitchens where specially designed flues kept her father’s collection of rare tropical plants frost-free throughout the winter. Gatley, the head gardener, had locked the door when the first of the house guests arrived, to prevent anyone wandering in and then carelessly leaving the door open when they wandered out again. But the lock on one of the sash windows, which could be raised or lowered during the summer months for ventilation, was broken. She’d made sure of it that very afternoon.
Julia had to let go of his hand while she pushed the sash window up, but that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have come all this way only to run away now.
She stepped over the sill, and stood to one side so he could do the same. Then she carefully lowered the sash again. Gatley would be livid if his precious plants were exposed to a draught. Anyway, she didn’t want to be exposed to a draught either. Not when there was so very little gown draping any part of her body.
Goodness but it was dark in here. Only a faint glimmer of moonlight peeked in through the roof. The massed palms at the east end of the orangery curtained the interior from any light that might have found its way this far from the house.
But the darkness seemed to make David uncharacteristically bold. He didn’t even wait for her to turn round before sliding his arms round her waist, and bending his head to kiss her cheek. As his lips brushed her skin, sending delicious shivers right down her spine, she felt his tricorne hat tangle with her feathers.
With a low growl, he pulled off his hat, and his wig, and tossed them aside. Then stooped to lay the telescope down on top. She turned round, longing to be in his arms again, but face-to-face this time, so that he could kiss her properly. On the lips. And so, as he straightened up, she flung her arms round his neck and pressed her lips to his before he could say anything, or required her to say anything that would give her away, and have him marching her back to the house, scolding her all the way.
And, oh, joy! He put his arms round her, and kissed her back.
At last. At last. And, oh, it was every bit as magical as she’d ever dreamed. Better. For now she was in his arms, he seemed taller and broader, and so very much more...muscular, and masculine, than she’d expected.
Her heart pounded, her breath shortened as though she’d been running. Actually, her feet were moving, now she came to think of it. For he’d turned her round a bit, and was steering her toward the rear wall. Against which there was a bench. Oh, clever,
