“Oh dear. I must return for it.”
Rose sighed, obviously anxious to go back to the ball. “We’ll come with you.”
Now, feeling guilty for spoiling her classmates’ fun, Sophie shook her head. “No. You two continue. I’ve spent more time at Hawthorne Park than you have. I’ll find my way back on my own.”
Georgie looked nervous. She was loyal to them all, like a dog to its master, and didn’t like when one was unaccounted for. “Are you sure?”
Sophie gave her friend a reassuring nod. “Yes. You need to return to the ballroom in case a lord requests a dance.”
At the mention of such a possibility, Georgie brightened, then looked askance at Sophie. “Yes, I can’t dance if I’m not seen.”
Sophie was well aware Georgie was making a point about not being seen. “No, you can’t. I promise I will return forthwith.” She snapped her fingers to emphasize her intention.
“Very well, we shall continue, but no hiding in the ladies’ retiring room all night, or I will personally drag you out.” Rose frowned.
“I would never—”
Rose held up her hand. “You did at the Stantons’ end-of-season ball last year.”
Sophie felt her cheeks flush. “Only until dinner, and that was because I didn’t know the way back to the ballroom.”
Rose wasn’t appeased. “Promise you will return immediately.”
“I promise.”
Georgie hooked her arm in Rose’s. “If Sophie promises, we can depend on her. Now let us make haste. I don’t wish to miss another dance.”
Sophie watched her friends continue down the corridor and turn the corner, out of sight. Quickly, she retraced her steps to the ladies’ retiring room and stepped inside, scanning the room for her crook. She didn’t see it. Hadn’t she left it leaning against the wall by the mirror? She walked around the perimeter of the room. Had she left it in the ballroom after all?
She tapped two fingers against her chin. No, she wouldn’t have done that. It had to be in the room. What had Lord Northwick said in his lecture on gravity last session? Returning to the spot where she thought she’d left the crook, she looked down at the floor and spotteda small part of the staff sticking out from behind the settee, which was set against the wall. Happy to have found it, she pulled it out and lifted it up. Now she was a shepherdess again, though without any sheep, more’s the pity. She would so enjoy sitting outside under a tree in the warm summer with sheep for companions and a book in her hand.
Smiling at her flight of fancy, she moved toward the door and left the room to return to the masquerade. Dressing as a shepherdess meant she not only could wear her favorite color dress—white—but also that no one would know who she was, since there were eight other shepherdesses. Blending in was her specialty. She’d much rather observe others than partake in the festivities. That was what she did at home, and it worked very well for her.
She was quite pleased that it was almost time for dinner, and she’d successfully avoided being asked to dance. If her family had been able to come, she would have been forced to dance at least three times, but luckily, they were celebrating her youngest brother’s return from his grand tour.
She took a right and continued down the corridor. Hearing voices ahead, she slowed to a stop. The double doors at the end were not the ballroom. She must have taken a wrong turn. Though she’d visited Hawthorne Park before, she didn’t remember the corridor she was presently in. About to retrace her steps, she froze as one of the double doors opened and a man with brown hair, dressed as a Roman soldier, stepped forward, looking back over his shoulder.
“I must celebrate this win, Harewood!” He laughed loudly before closing the door and heading toward her.
A wide smile filled his maskless face. His light-brown hair peeked out from his Roman helmet as his person seemed to fill the hallway between his broad shoulders, his height, and the energy radiating from him.
She stood frozen, unable to move as he noticed her.
“Ah, and what do we have here but my darling Lydia. I can’t thinkof a better way to celebrate than with your rosy lips.”
Before she could speak—not that she could—the man took her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers.
Stunned, she opened her mouth and his tongue slipped between her lips. At the sudden sensations flowing through her body, her heart seemed to run away. Her belly tickled, and her breasts, pressed against him, tingled with awareness. Realization burst upon her, breaking her immobile state. She wriggled against him, which felt like pushing against the walls of the Tower of London.
Yet, in an instant, he released her. She didn’t question why, nor did she hesitate. Taking advantage of her freedom, she picked up the skirts of her dress and ran down the corridor, her heart already racing far ahead of her.
As the sound of music grew louder, she felt safer, but she didn’t drop the skirts of her costume until she’d reached the ballroom. Quickly looking for the red hair of her good friend and hostess of the ball, she hurried toward Ellie, her chaperone for the weekend. Unable to stifle the panic in her breast that the Roman soldier might be following her, she looked back over her shoulder just as she reached Ellie, accidentally bumping into her. Sophie turned back in time to see Ellie’s punch spilling over her shepherdess costume.
“Oh, Sophie.”
She shook her head. “It was my fault. I’d best change.” She turned to leave, hoping she could avoid her assailant.
Ellie grabbed her hand. “Come to my room. I have a simple domino cape in my chest that you can wear.”
