“We’re happy for your recovery.” Helen said.
The dark mask made it hard to understand where he was looking, and his flat tone didn’t offer any clue about his mood. “The past months have been very difficult. Forgive my absence.”
“I told you not to apologise.” She meant it as a joke, but it came out harsher than she thought. She was giving orders to a duke. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said.
She had no idea if he meant what he’d said.
“Good evening, ladies.” Patrick broke the moment. His mask had the shape of a cat’s face and exalted his twinkling eyes. He flashed a cheeky smile and gave a pat on the shoulder to Anthony who didn’t flinch. “Isabella, would you care for a dance?”
She turned towards Anthony, but his expression didn’t offer anything.
“Has anyone else already invited you?” Patrick pointed at his brother.
Anthony clasped his hands behind his back. “No.”
“Isabella?” Patrick asked.
“Of course.” She offered her hand to Patrick, exchanging a glance with Anthony. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Isabella hesitated before following Patrick to the dance floor. He held her by the waist and launched enthusiastically into a fast-paced gallop, twirling her around with speed and energy. The room spun but in a good way. She laughed. The lights and the colours glimmered around her.
“You seem happy,” she said.
“Very. Grandmama agreed to let us have gallops, polkas, and mazurkas tonight, and my departure for Cabo Verde has a date. Three weeks from now, I’ll be sailing through the ocean. Then I’ll be heading to France.”
She struggled to contain her disappointment. “Did you set a return date?”
“Not yet. But if I fail, the trip will be quite short. Perhaps you can visit me when I’m in the Continent.” He winked. “We have a lovely townhouse in Paris right inPlace de la Concorde, and an estate in the Swiss Alps. You’d love it.”
“Tempting.”
When the gallop ended, he took her hand. “Did you promise the next dance to someone else?”
She glanced around. Anthony had vanished. Again. “No, I’m free. Do you want to dance the next one?”
He leant closer to whisper in her ear, “No. I want to slip out of the ballroom with you to show you something.”
A little quiver of anticipation went through her as she nodded. He was a master at sneaking out of a crowded room, choosing a meandering path, leading her behind the Grecian columns lining the walls and through the darkest spots. She doubted anyone realised they were leaving. The Dowager stood on the other side of the ballroom. She was the only one not wearing a mask.
Isabella giggled once out of the ballroom. “Where are you taking me?”
He paused, smiling. “Interesting choice of words.”
“You’re a scoundrel.”
“And a proud one at that.” He went downstairs and along a dark corridor.
Her skin grew goosebumps in the cold air. “The conservatory?”
“Yes.” He unlocked a door at the end of the hallway. “We have a new flower I want to show you.”
He paused to give her a quick kiss on her lips. His warmth reached her body, and his heady scent teased her senses. When Patrick wasn’t with her, she easily dismissed the heated sensations, the curiosity, and the anticipation of what might happen between them. But when he was close, his smiles and touches left her wanting more.
He led her through the aisles of the conservatory, past benches and large pots. “Look at this.”
He stopped in front of large creamy white blooms.
