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Chapter 13
Olivia forced her way through the crowd, hanging onto Emma’s arm for dear life. The Carnevale Masquerade Ball was in full swing already. She could not remember ever being in such a packed house. The ballroom was teeming and every single room in the house was overflowing with people.
“We are going to be knocked over,” she said irritably, as yet another person in full costume elbowed her in the ribs. “I can barely breathe, Emma!”
Emma laughed. “It is very congested, to be sure. Just as well we made sure your mother secured a seat as soon as we walked in. I do not think she will dare leave it for fear of not getting another.”
Eventually, they made their way through the bottleneck, finding a place to stand. Olivia fanned herself vigorously, gazing around at all the splendid costumes. It looked like a pack of brightly plumed birds had descended upon the house, complete with elaborate masks. It was very difficult to recognise anyone behind them which was, of course, the whole point of it. Their hosts had deliberately kept the place in semi darkness as well to achieve the same effect. No wonder everyone was stumbling around a little.
She gazed back at Emma, thinking how perfect her costume was. Her dear friend was wearing a gown of vermillion silk and tulle with a matching red mask. A tall red feather was positioned in her hair. It was a rather outrageous colour choice, but that was the whole point. One could wear colours and styles that were outlandish to a ball such as this. Elegance was not the order of the day.
Olivia glanced down at her own gown. She had chosen a shockingly bright turquoise blue with a matching headdress. The bodice of the gown was so tight she could barely breathe. And the skirt was voluminous, spreading out around her, in the style of the old French court. It was a gown Marie Antoinette would have been proud to wear, but itdidmake life a bit difficult getting through a crowd like this.
She adjusted her mask, which was slipping slightly. It was very hot beneath it and she was not sure if she would be able to keep it on for the entire evening.
Suddenly, a tall male figure materialised in front of her. A gentleman dressed entirely in black velvet with a broad black hat pushed low over his head. His face was almost entirely covered with a sinister looking black mask. The whole effect gave him the appearance of a highwayman. It was so dark she could not see the colour of his eyes and could just make out the shape of his lips and strong jawline.
“Milady,” he whispered, bowing low. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”
Olivia felt a shiver go down the length of her spine. A thrill of anticipation. She had no idea who this gentleman was, but he had a very commanding figure indeed. She cast her eyes over his broad shoulders and muscular frame. She could not even ask who he was—it would give away the disguise. Nor could he ask who she was.
A fact which made it all the more delicious, somehow. As if she really were about to dance with a highwayman or some such thing. She turned to her mother, seeking her approval, and was gratified to see her smile and nod.
Olivia giggled. “I would be pleased, sir.”
He swept her away. Olivia giggled again, gazing back at Emma, who was smiling and waving at her. They made their way into the ballroom. It was so dark in here she wondered that the orchestra could see well enough to play their instruments. There were only a few scattered candelabras here and there, casting a pale, wan light over the room and the shadowy figures who moved within it.
It was a waltz. Olivia felt another thrill go down her spine. She loved to dance a waltz when she had the opportunity. It was such a scandalous dance—Grandpapa would not approve at all. But he was safely in the library with all the other elderly gentlemen, no doubt puffing on a cigar and enjoying a brandy or two. He would not ever be the wiser.
The tall, masked stranger put his hand around her waist, pulling her close. The action left Olivia just a little breathless. She gazed up at him, wishing she could see his face better. She was almost certain it would be devastatingly handsome beneath that mask. At least that was what she imagined as he swept her around the dancefloor, guiding her into the waltz.
She was pressed so close to him that she felt the warmth of his body. And she could discern the scent of him, which was very masculine, a combination of cologne and sweat. She felt her nipples harden pressed against his chest. A strange, almost yearning feeling was overtaking her entire body.
The highwayman, as she had dubbed him in her mind, was a good dancer, twirling her confidently around the room. She felt as if she were in another world entirely. But too soon, the music faded away. The dance had ended.
He bowed to her quickly, before striding off. Olivia squinted after him. It looked like the crowd had swallowed him up entirely. A wave of disappointment crashed over her. She wished she could dance with him again.
But before she could contemplate it anymore, another gentleman was at her elbow, asking her to dance. Olivia agreed, but her heart was not in it. All she could think about was the tall, dark highwayman and the way he had made her feel. As if her insides had turned to molten liquid. She stared longingly in the direction he had disappeared, but she could not seem him at all. It was as if the crowd had swallowed him entirely.
***
Two hours later, Olivia retreated to the coolness of the gardens, clutching a glass of champagne in her hand. She needed a respite from the crowd and the heat, and she needed air, even if she was breaking the rules by walking unchaperoned.
She had lost Emma, who was being monopolised by a gentleman who seemed rather taken with her friend. Emma had already danced with him three times and they were on the dancefloor together again now. The gentleman’s name was Lord Turnbury. Could her friend have found a potential love match?
Olivia kept walking down the garden path, relishing the feel of the breeze against her face. She ripped off her mask in irritation as she walked. She would put in on again later before she went back into the ball but she needed a respite now. The damn thing felt like it was plastered to her face. She would love to loosen her hair as well and let it blow in the breeze, but she knew she could not go that far.
She stopped walking, staring into the distance. How was it possible to feel so alone and lonely in such a crowded place, while surrounded by people? And yet, she did. Emma was busy with her paramour. Mama was enjoying talking with the other older ladies over tea and cakes in the drawing room. Even Grandpapa was preoccupied with the other gentlemen, puffing away on his cigar as he talked business.
She sighed heavily. Despite her dance card being full, no one had captured her attention like the gentleman she had first danced with this evening.The highwayman. Her breath caught in her throat at the thought of him.
Their encounter had been so dashing and romantic, the way he had swept her away to dance, with barely a word. Of course, she knew he was notreallya highwayman—he was a regular gentleman. Her heart burned with curiosity. Whowashe?
Suddenly, her heart flipped wildly, hearing a rustle behind her. Someone was here. She turned around just in time to see the man she had just been thinking about step out of the shadows towards her as if she had conjured him.
“How…how did you get here?” she asked, rather foolishly. Of course, he had walked out here just as she had. He did not have a magic carpet, did he?
He did not reply. Her eyes swept over him. How tall and commanding he was, dressed all in black like that. She squinted, but she still could not make out anything of his face. The black mask covered most of it and the rest was in shadow. Too late she realised that he now knew her identity, because she had taken off her own mask.
