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ll later that evening, Hetty lurched from the veritable euphoria she’d felt at her mother’s words to complete self-disgust. Through the slits of her mask, she drank in every detail of the well-dressed throng and for the first time didn’t find herself wanting. The mere sight of Sir Aubrey’s familiar tall, broad-shouldered form made her mouth feel dry and she longed to have it moistened by his wicked tongue.
He was dressed as a satyr with a curved cutlass angled over his emerald-green cummerbund and a patch over one eye, a contrast to Lord Debenham, who’d chosen a monk’s cassock. Sir Aubrey’s dark-brown curls were tousled and the ruffles of his white shirt were in disarray as if, Hetty thought fancifully, he’d been engaged in fierce rough- and-tumble with a dragon or a dangerous fellow satyr.
He did not hold a mask to his face as many others did. His eye patch sufficed, though of course it was the unusual streak of white hair that set him apart.
Hetty, on the other hand, was carefully inconspicuous in a damask full-skirted sacque gown adorned with bows and furbelows in the style favored the previous century. As a debutante she could not claim to style herself upon the infamous Madame du Barry, mistress to the former French king, but that’s whom she imagined herself. The costume kept her identity well hidden. Her hair was powdered and a heart-shaped beauty spot was placed to the right of her mouth.
Araminta had remarked it was a shame Hetty hadn’t lived in an era that allowed her to hide so much under layers of paint and flounces but Hetty had just laughed. That’s what she intended to do when all was said and done. Have the last laugh. Araminta would not always get what she wanted at Hetty’s expense. The difficulty would be in just how Hetty achieved it.
She ran through her plan once more. Tonight she would waylay Sir Aubrey and hint at having information he’d be glad of. She wanted to pique his interest by letting him know she was aware of the existence of the letter that Lord Debenham said revealed him a traitor and wife-beater. Of course Hetty would never dream of being alone with him again, much as she might desire it, but in masquerade it would be easier to find an opportunity of drawing him away. Just a whispered assignation in a corner with perhaps a stolen kiss and she’d be satisfied.
After that she would visit Jem and induce him to hand over the letter. If there were only some way she could slip unnoticed into Lord Debenham’s townhouse while he was safely at Lady Kilmore’s ball, she might have the matter well in hand by the morning.
Breathing heavily, she fanned herself as she relaxed against the support of the wall and closed her eyes. If she could be Sir Aubrey’s savior, who knew how he might choose to reward her?
When she opened eyes again it was to see the lithe figure of a water sprite dressed in the sheerest robe of aquamarine glide up to Sir Aubrey, tuck her hand into the crook of his arm and flutter her eyelashes at him.
Araminta.
The pain and jealousy, which Hetty had thus far successfully managed to hold at bay, took root and surged up her gullet. Indeed, it was several moments before she was in a position to rejoin the crowd and sidle up to Mrs. Monks, who was looking decidedly anxious.
“There you are, my girl,” declared her chaperone, peering at her through her lorgnette. “Your mother has charged me with your good name and I’ll not see you compromised by disappearing into any shadowed corners.”
“You mean like Araminta and Sir Aubrey?” Hetty asked innocently. “I saw them not a moment ago and came to warn you, as he’s a gentleman Mama is most concerned about. Naturally I couldn’t go after them.”
“Araminta? Why, she was just here…” Anxiously Mrs. Monks scanned the room until Hetty helpfully pointed out the pair in the process of slipping out of a side entrance.
Within a surprisingly short amount of time, Mrs. Monks had waylaid them with a frosty, “And pray tell me, Miss Araminta, what had you in mind?”
Chapter Eight
Hetty sidled into the shadows.
Now was not the time to be seen by Sir Aubrey in company with her sister, though she intended to seek him out later. She just had to bide her time and hope he was satisfied with the company in Lady Kilmore’s ballroom so he would not look for entertainment elsewhere.
Hetty’s opportunity came unexpectedly. She’d been watching Sir Aubrey all evening with half an eye, ready to disappear if he ventured too close when she was amongst her peers. Tonight she was to all intents and purposes an imposter. A cypriot breaching civilized society. That’s what Sir Aubrey must think when she made herself known to him. He would think her bold beyond belief. And she’d revel in being branded something so alien to her nature.
She picked up her skirts with one hand to glide across the room, patting her mask to ensure it was tied securely. It was strange to wear hoops and petticoats when she was used to the fine materials and narrow-skirted, high-waisted gowns she’d worn all her life.
Sir Aubrey had just issued into the corridor, once more having bowed his farewells to Araminta, who’d been borne away by Mrs. Monks, when Hetty slid into his orbit.
“Sir Aubrey, we meet again,” she said breathlessly from the shadows. She removed her mask, having positioned herself a few yards along the corridor away from the open door that led into the ballroom. She laughed at his confusion, adding happily, “It is I, Hetty.”
“Good Lord!” he exclaimed, not without pleasure. “How on earth did you slip past the gatekeeper?”
He strode forward then took her in his arms, chuckling as he stroked her cheek and contoured her curves. “You inhabit two worlds, my bold ingénue, and the mere proximity to what I have enjoyed but twice is sending me wild.” He held her away from him as he regarded her with narrow-eyed amusement. “No doubt that was your intention. What is not so clear, however, is how you thought you might profit from this secret assignation. I cannot acknowledge you…indeed, I cannot be seen publicly with you.”
He looked as if he were truly regretful.
Hetty nodded, sagging against him and sighing with pleasure as his exploring hands became bolder, slipping into her low-cut bodice to fondle her breasts. Heat flowed through her, pooling in her lower belly and making her moist at the contact. Reason left and she’d have sunk to the floor in his embrace had he wished it.
“Dear Lord, but you rob me of all reason,” he muttered into her hair as he molded her bottom. “Stop me here, for as it is I am unable to return to the ballroom.” He gave a wry chuckle and put her away from him, shaking his head. “Look at the state I’m in.”
Hetty put her hands to her mouth, embarrassed and amused to see the evidence of his arousal. “Oh, sir, did I really cause that?”
“Don’t pretend such innocence with me, you little minx.” His soft, full lips curved into a smile of fond exasperation before he pulled her into another hug. “Though that said, your innocence is my preserve. I paid handsomely for it.”
She glanced quickly at him. “You received a bill?”
