Page 6 of Unmask Me My Love

He’d not declared himself the marquess for fear she would run away from him. To have found a nobleman in shirtsleeves would’ve been enough to send any respectable woman scurrying away, scandalized. Celinda had been right about that. And the moment he’d seen Miss d’Aventure, he’d decided he must meet the lovely creature, have one conversation without the ton dictating his behavior. Have her meet the man, rather than the blasted title so many women sought.

He hadn’t imagined he’d want to continue the acquaintance, yet now he could not countenance the idea of not seeing her again. He’d been so disillusioned with the young ladies he’d met so far this Season. Most were exactly what one would expect an English maiden of good family to be like: skilled in dancing, singing, drawing, and playing the pianoforte, but not a jot of interesting conversation in their heads. Young ladies his father would love him to marry. Yet he wanted at least a little something more. The wit of a Celinda or the contrariness of a Miss Locke, although that lady had a bit too much spirit for him. Now this lady’s maid had come along and turned his head.

He liked Mademoiselle d’Aventure—God, even her name set his pulse to pounding—on a level much deeper than he’d have thought possible in the fifteen minutes they’d been together. Smart, funny, beautiful. Stubborn. That he liked most of all. That she could become his mistress had crossed his mind more than once. Their kiss and her lovely figure pressed close to him had incited a riot in every part of his body.

If only she weren’t a lady’s maid, he could make her his marchioness.

Now that was a sobering thought. Of course, men took all manner of women to wife, from prostitutes to princesses these days. The ton was full of such tales. It loved nothing more. And he’d wager his inheritance she could hold her own in any drawing room in London. His father, on the other hand, detested scandal. Hal’s scrapes in the past had been enough of a disgrace to elicit the threat of being cut off without a farthing. Not a pleasant prospect when his father had the constitution of a horse. The man might live another twenty years or more.

Was the game worth the candle? He’d only just met the woman. She might not be at all what she seemed. But when compared to the ladies from whom he was supposed to choose a wife, she towered above even the best of them. Perhaps he needed to make himself better acquainted with the little demoiselle. See if she’d captured more than just his fancy.

Which might be a tricky proposition. He couldn’t very well reveal himself as the Marquess of Halford now without making her terribly angry about his deception. She’d find out eventually, of course. No one who knew him would ever mistake him for his valet, the real Horace Carpenter. But if he was careful, he might be able to woo her and win her regard before she discovered his deception. By that time, quite likely, she’d be more than willing to forgive his subterfuge.

Especially if he’d been able to give her the one thing her heart desired: an introduction to the Duke of Rother. So how could he accomplish it? He swung around and strode to the railing, staring out at the dancing figures. Who could he get to help him?

Below, Celinda stood beside a young lady in blue. Ah, that must be Miss Locke. Their heads drew together in deep conversation, most likely about the newly come Lord Finley. Hal had yet to meet the man, but if level-headed Lady Celinda Grantham was taken with him, he’d better take his measure and quickly. Of course, her father would…

The flicker of a memory, a connection to the Granthams surfaced in his giddy mind. He needed to go to Celinda now, before she left or did something rash, like compromise herself with his lordship. Hal grabbed his jacket from behind a potted palm and slung it on. At the very least she’d have another partner out on the dance floor if he didn’t move quickly. The black superfine material settled uncomfortably over his shoulders—it always felt too confining, no matter what his tailor did to it. He adjusted it as best he could and rushed out the door and down the stairs.

His height proved a boon, as usual. He spied Lady Celinda and Miss Locke in conversation on the other side of the ballroom. He skirted the dance floor as swiftly as he dared without being rude to the guests who stopped him, wishing to chat or introduce him to their daughters. The very reason he hated these affairs.

He made each conversation as quick as he could, but by the time he finally reached Celinda, she was deeply engaged with a man he didn’t recognize—obviously the excellent Lord Finley. She would not be pleased with him for interrupting, but, still, he was not inclined to wait.

“Lady Celinda, Miss Locke. How do you do? So lovely to see you this evening.” He bowed to them then raised his eyebrows while staring pointedly at the well-dressed gentleman beside them.

“Good evening, Lord Halford.” Miss Locke dropped a curtsy.

“Good evening, my lord.” Celinda pursed her lips and curtsied as well. Her eyes shot daggers at him, but she smiled and nodded to the man on her right. “May I present Lord Finley, my lord? He is just returned to London from America. Lord Finley, my very distant cousin, Lord Halford.”

“My lord.” Hal bowed, taking the man’s measure at a glance. Tall, with a rugged build and sharply defined face, the man was surely a gentleman, although with an indefinable edginess to him. Hal scented danger, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what gave him that impression. He would make inquiries. Not that Celinda’s father wouldn’t do the same; Lord Ivor was no fool where his daughter was concerned. Still, Hal liked her enough that even had they not been related, he would’ve been loath to see her hurt.

“Lady Celinda, I believe you are promised to me for the next set.” He stared at her, willing her to understand his silent plea.

She glanced from Miss Locke to Lord Finley then smiled at him though she clutched her fan so tightly the ribs creaked. “Yes, I believe I am, my lord.” Celinda turned to the others. “Will you excuse us?”

He bowed to Lord Finley, who nodded and moved closer to Miss Locke. That lady’s eyes had widened, and her smile reached almost the width of her face, as though someone had given her a delightful present.

Hal led Celinda to the floor as a waltz started.

“You had better have an excellent reason for this, Hal.” Celinda squeezed his hand unmercifully. “I had almost secured another dance with Lord Finley when you snatched me away. Now he’ll likely ask Kate, and who knows where that will lead.” Her mouth was set in pleasant lines, though her tone was anything but.

“It is of the utmost importance to my happiness, in fact.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to propose again.” The pressure on his hand increased.

“No, but I do need your help.” His gaze swept the ballroom and the balcony above. No enchanting French damoiselle, thank goodness. He didn’t think Mademoiselle d’Aventure would recognize him if she saw him like this, but he didn’t want to take a chance. “Can you arrange a meeting with the Duke of Rother?” Hal started them around the room without waiting for Celinda to answer.

“Rother?”

“Don’t I remember he’s your godfather?”

Celinda’s brows had puckered. “Yes, although sending a silver cup for my christening was apparently the extent of his godfatherly duties.” Her frown deepened. “Are you telling me you’re not acquainted with him? I can’t believe you’ve not been introduced. But he’s here tonight.” She peered into the crowd. “I’d be happy to—”

“It’s not for me.” He kept scanning the crowd as well but not for the duke.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The introduction is not for me. I am well acquainted with the duke.” He glimpsed a brown skirt and spun Celinda around to shield him.