He glanced back down at her, intending to draw her close in case she felt threatened by the surge of other guests surrounding them. But when his gaze fell to the spot where she had been standing only a moment ago, the lady was no longer there.
His first impulse was to call her name at the top of his lungs, but that was impossible since he did not know it. Instead he scanned the gardens, searching desperately for a glimpse of pink skirts or golden curls. In more than one direction his view was blocked by clusters of guests, staring skyward and exclaiming over each new burst of color. Rupert no longer cared about the fireworks. They were nothing but a loud, gaudy distraction from his search.
He pushed his way through one knot of spectators, ignoring their indignant protests. He scarcely thought of them as people—neighbors, political allies, perhaps even relatives. To him they were only animated statues that got in the way of what he was trying to do. Surrounded by people he’d never felt more alone—just as his companion had observed.
He latched onto someone’s arm. “Have you seen a lady in a pink gown? She was here just a moment ago.”
The owner of the arm pushed him away roughly with a curse he probably deserved.
“Please,” Rupert tried someone else, forcing himself to show better manners. He repeated his question.
“She brushed past me,” came the reply, shouted to carry over the noise of the fireworks and the crowd. “Headed back toward the house, I think.”
Rupert shouted his thanks and plunged off through the press of revelers craning his neck and hoping for a glimpse of the lady.
With one final ear-splitting flare the fireworks display ended and guests began removing their masks. Rupert threw off his hat, whipped back his cowl and tore the white mask from his face.
Where was the lady in pink and why had she disappeared so abruptly?
He ran through the house, which was now nearly deserted. He peered into every room, but with no more success than he’d had out in the garden.
She must be there somewhere. Rupert plowed his fingers through his hair. He must find her to make certain she was not in any difficulty and to demand an explanation for her sudden disappearance. Did she think he would not notice her absence or not care that she had abandoned him without a word? If so, she was wrong on both counts.
He had noticed and he did care. He cared far more than he had expected—far more than he wanted to. Especially in light of the manner in which she’d disappeared. One moment she’d been there by his side with everything ahead of them. The next, she was gone without an explanation or even a proper goodbye.
Was he thinking of his mysterious companion or his late wife? Rupert wondered as anger and a sense of abandonment warred within him. Though he knew Annabelle had never intended to desert him, he could not deny her death had affected him that way. Tonight’s events echoed it far too closely for his peace of mind.
Determined to get some answers, he stationed himself outside the front entrance of Lord Maidenhead’s country house and kept watch for the lady. By the time the last stragglers departed in the early hours of the morning, it was clear to him that she had long since gone. If he had not been such a practical man, Rupert might have questioned whether he had imagined his whole encounter with the masked lady.
Now he could only wonder what had made her take flight. The timing suggested she did not want him to discover her identity. What reason could she have for that unless there was something more than her face she wished to hide? Could she have been a married woman dallying with his affections for an evening’s amusement?
In the midst of so many unanswered questions, there were two things he knew for certain. The first was that he’d been a fool to throw his accustomed caution to the winds and pursue a deceitful stranger. The other was that he had been right in seeking to choose a wife with his sensible head rather than his foolish heart. This incident renewed his intention to propose to Barbara Cadmore at the earliest opportunity.
Chapter Thirteen
GRACE STOOD IN a moon-dappled garden with Rupert Kendrick. He had removed his white mask, allowing her to look into his eyes. There she glimpsed a soft glow of admiration and a tantalizing glimmer of attraction. They echoed the very feelings that swelled in her heart for him. He raised his hand to caress her cheek... or so she expected. Instead his fingers clutched the corner of her mask and tore it from her face. Recognition dawned upon him, extinguishing all the light and warmth with which he had regarded her only a moment before. Cold disdain and suspicion glittered in their place.
With a rough jolt, Grace woke from her distressing dream. Her eyes flew open and she gasped to find a pair of round blue eyes staring at her.
“Good morning, Miss Ella,” Sophie chirped. “Did you have a nice time at the ball last night? I hope you didn’t lose a slipper.”
For a moment Grace was too disoriented to make sense of what was clearly intended as a jest. Then she understood. “Like Cinderella, you mean? I am happy to report I returned home with both of the slippers Lady Benedict was kind enough to loan me.”
She had fled the ball at midnight, but Grace did not intend to mention that to her imaginative young pupil.
The sound of their conversation drew Charlotte and Phoebe from the nursery.
“What happened last night, Miss Ella?” asked Charlotte. “Did Papa try to propose to Mrs. Cadmore? Were you able to stop him?”
“I was not obliged to.” Grace sat up, stretched and yawned. “Mrs. Cadmore was not able to attend the masquerade after all.”
The girls gave a cheer and clambered onto her bed. Though Grace knew it might be a mistake to encourage such familiarity, she could not bring herself to order them off. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Sophie’s shoulders and cast a smile at the older girls. It was good to see them all looking so relieved and happy.
Grace could not decide how she felt about the events of the previous night. Though she feared she had taken a terrible risk for nothing, she could not bring herself to be sorry she had shared a moonlit evening of chaste intimacy with Rupert. It was an encounter she would remember and treasure always.
“Did Papa go to the masquerade?” Phoebe’s nose wrinkled in a doubtful frown. “Perhaps he went to Dungrove instead and proposed to Mrs. Cadmore there.”
Grace shook her head emphatically. “Your father was at the masquerade all evening. I spoke with him.”
“And he didn’t know you?” asked Charlotte. “Or recognize your dress from the painting? I told you men never notice clothes.”
“What did the two of you talk about?” Sophie demanded.
“This and that.” Not eager to dwell on the subject, Grace scrambled out of bed. “He said I looked familiar, but he could not think who I might be. Now we all need to get dressed and you must help me put that pink gown back in its trunk before anyone else sees it. We don’t want your father to know I was there keeping watch on him.”