He gave a cheerful shrug. “For your sake, I am sorry we were not able to locate your friends. For myself, I have no such regrets. Our search passed the time much more agreeably than I would have done if left to my own devices.”
Rupert doffed his oversized hat and waved it to fan himself. He longed to venture outside for a breath of cooler air but he could not bring himself to abandon the lady.
She seemed to divine his thoughts. “Does your earlier invitation to stroll in the garden still hold, sir? After wading through such a crush of humanity, a little peace and coolness would be most welcome.”
“To me as well.” The only boon more welcome at that moment was the opportunity to savor more of her company in quiet and privacy.
After her disagreeable encounter with the sultan, Rupert would have understood if the lady shrank from being alone with any man. He was flattered by her demonstration of trust in his honor, especially after so brief an acquaintance in which they had not even exchanged names. This mysterious lady, whom he’d known less than an hour, engaged his interest far more than his prospective bride.
Did she also suspect a previous acquaintance between them? Rupert could not escape the sense of familiarity. But the harder he strove to place her, the more her identity eluded him. Besides, part of him resented any thought that distracted him from the enjoyment of her company.
As they wandered out into the moonlit garden together, Rupert fancied his disguise somehow hid him from his old heartache and fear of future hurt. Suddenly he wanted to live again. Not just for the sake of his children and Nethercross, but to experience the divine gifts of life—and perhaps love—to their richest depths. Perhaps he had been wrong to sacrifice all his hope for future happiness upon the altar of safety.
Someone else had tried to tell him that, but he had not been able to understand until tonight.
The gentleman in the black garb and strange white mask was the very one Grace had set out to find. When he first strode to her rescue, she had been too surprised and grateful to notice he was wearing the very costume Charlotte had described. In any case, he appeared to be alone. Only after the gentleman explained how he had come to be at the masquerade by himself did she realize his true identity.
Knowing there was no fear of his lordship proposing to Mrs. Cadmore that evening, Grace had meant to return home at once and share her good news with his daughters. But to do that she must first find her friends while trying to avoid that beastly sultan and others like him. Against her better judgment, she’d accepted Lord Steadwell’s offer of assistance.
But as they searched in vain for the Benedicts and his lordship showed no sign of recognizing her, Grace began to wonder if she ought to take advantage of this incognito meeting. Since her previous efforts to suppress her feelings for the gentleman had only intensified them, perhaps indulging those feelings might break the dangerous hold they had gained over her heart. Tonight might be her only opportunity to find out without risking the life she had made for herself at Nethercross.
Plucking up her courage, she asked if he might accompany her on a stroll in the garden.
His swift acceptance made her heart flutter, like a butterfly emerging from its drab, safe cocoon to spread its glorious wings for the very first time. Was she truly seeking to purge her feelings, as prudence demanded, or was she only using that as an excuse to indulge her forbidden fancy? Her rebellious heart refused to consider the question.
Once outside, the frantic clamor of the ball gave way to the whisper of fresh night breezes subtly sweetened with the aroma of country flowers. A welcome sense of ease stole over Grace as she inhaled a deep draft of that cool, flower-scented air. “I am in your debt, sir. First you came to my rescue then you gave me your protection and assistance. How can I ever repay you?”
He dismissed her suggestion with an airy wave of his hand. “What need is there for repayment of services you never requested? Do they not say virtue is its own reward?”
Before Grace could answer he continued, “Not that I claim my actions were virtuous. That sounds insufferably self-righteous. I only mean to say I acted of my own accord. Even if you did owe me a debt, the pleasure of your company would be more than sufficient payment.”
The music and raised voices from the party had muted to a pleasant backdrop for the soft rustle of her skirts and their unhurried footsteps on the brickwork path that wound through the flowerbeds and herbaceous borders. The pleasure of his company was worth more to Grace than she dared reckon.
“That is high praise, for the assistance you provided was invaluable to me. All the more so because none of the other guests seemed disposed to intervene on my behalf.”
“That is to their shame, not to my credit.” His tone took on a sharp edge of scorn. “I do not approve of the way some people cast off their principles when they put on a mask. I doubt that scoundrel in the purple turban would have dared accost you in so reprehensible a manner if you had met at an assembly where his face and name were known.”
“Perhaps I share some of the blame,” Grace ventured. It was a secret fear that had hounded her ever since Captain Townsend had offered to make her his mistress rather than his wife. “If I had only dressed more modestly, rather than in a manner likely to attract attention...”
“Nonsense!” His retort cut through the night air like a switch, yet it did not alarm Grace, for she knew his vexation was not directed at her. “No woman should be obliged to conceal her beauty to prevent men from taking liberties. Part of the reason I came to your aid was that I wanted to show you we men are not all like him.”
“I know that,” she murmured without true conviction.
For years she had regarded all men as alike in that respect and she’d treated them accordingly. But since coming to Nethercross, she had begun to realize some men were different. He was different. His actions this evening only proved what she’d believed about him for some time. His declaration about women not hiding their beauty helped ease her feeling of responsibility for the harassment she had suffered.
“But let us not dwell on that unpleasantness,” he suggested. “I do not wish to oppress your spirits.”
“Nor do I,” Grace agreed. “Let us enjoy this quiet time together in our unsociable way.”
“I would not call myself unsociable.” He tempered his protest with a wry chuckle. “I quite like good company in small doses and familiar surroundings.”
“How small a dose do you favor?” She teased him in a flirtatious way mousy Miss Ellerby would never dare.
“Usually more than one,” he quipped back. Then his voice softened. “But tonight I reckon it is a perfect number.”