Page 51

“No, it wouldn’t.” Frederick pushed open the door. “ ‘Come in,’ said the spider to the fly.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

WARDROBES ARE NOT JUST FOR NARNIA

After dancing with Regina, Joshua was dismayed to find that he was unable to continue searching for Lady Macbeth. The opening dance, together with the butler’s announcement, had allowed most guests to not only identify him but also come to the conclusion that he would inherit his father’s new title.

Young women kept popping up in front of him with glowing smiles, pretending they had met before. Only by muttering excuses about finding his next dance partner was he able to shake them off.

By the time he felt someone jerk his sleeve, his nerves were frayed from dodging debutantes. Before he could stop himself, he whipped about and caught the person’s arm with all the mistrust of a spy under cover of darkness.

“Ouch!” his brother squealed, shaking his wrist as if it were sprained. “I use this hand to throw dice!”

“Did you find her?” Joshua demanded.

Frederick grinned at him. “I stowed your beloved away, so you’ll need to rescue her before she expires from lack of air.”

Joshua rolled his eyes, but his heart lifted. His brother led him out of the ballroom, through the wide entrance hall, and down the corridor that led to the back of the house.

Toward the end, Frederick stopped. “The duchess’s sitting room—not the public one for receptions, but the one that Merry actually uses.” He bowed low, gesturing to the door with a flourish. As Joshua stepped forward, Frederick straightened with a mad grin. “I have delivered my Adam to his Eve,” he said, turning to walk back down the corridor with his hands in the air, “and thus, I’m off!”

Joshua opened the door and entered the room, which was small and messy.

To one side was a large, pale-blue wardrobe, the top worked with elegant scrolls in the French style. To the other, a table beside a lavish sofa held a stack of gardening books, although the sofa itself was piled so high with clothing that no reader could seat themselves. The single window had a velvet curtain on one side but not the other, so the candles burning on the mantelpiece reflected against the dark glass like far-off torches.

He frowned. Could she be hiding behind the sofa?

“Hello?” he called.

The door to the wardrobe swung open, and a slender hand beckoned.

Joshua, pushed the door closed behind him, walked across the room, and peered inside. The wardrobe was very deep, and empty but for a masked lady in a red domino and a masquerade hat, seated on the floor in a puddle of green velvet.

“Joshua?” she whispered.

He pulled the wardrobe doors wide-open, smiling down at her. “Indeed. What on earth are you doing?”

“Hiding, obviously.” She patted the velvet. “Join me?”

Joshua crouched down just outside the wardrobe frame. “Hello, darling,” he said. “Why are you hiding in the wardrobe?”

“I pretended to be Lady Regina’s friend Petunia, so she is undoubtedly looking for me,” she explained, a smile flickering at the edge of her generous mouth. “You ought to hide as well, given that she is considering marrying you.”

“I can fight her off,” he said wryly. “I’m trained in hand-to-hand combat.” Joshua’s heart was beating so fast that he could scarcely breathe, but even so, he could smell apple blossoms.

“Please join me?”

How was he ever going to control his body if one wide-eyed glance made him stiffen to the point of scandalizing onlookers? He cleared his throat again. “Might you remove your hat and veil, Lady Macbeth?”

She pulled off the hat, then untied her mask and put that to the side as well, lifting her chin and meeting his eyes.

Joshua had to swallow hard, seeing her face for the first time: the sum was so much greater than its parts. She had high cheekbones, hazel eyes fringed with dark lashes, and plump lips. It was a face he wanted to look at every day of his life. She was everything he ever wanted, with all the genuine sweetness that men on the battlefield dream about.

“Now come inside,” she commanded.

If he joined her in the small space of that wardrobe, surrounded by her scent and her smile and the glow in her eyes, he might lose control: ease her backward onto velvet and ravish her. He stayed where he was. “I would very much like to learn your name, if I might.”

“Livie,” she answered. “Actually, Olive, but I prefer the diminutive.”