A frown puckered Heather’s brows beneath her mask. “What happened last night?”
“No,” Maria said with a smirk, sending a sideways glance at the slowly advancing earl, then at her husband, and Juliana’s, who were in deep conversation but a few steps away. “I mean that you ought tohavea last night. Lord knows you deserve it, dearest; your bravery is unparallelled. Find a man”—she lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned closer—“with whom to have a tryst before you leave on the morrow. Experience some of the life and excitement that you so desire. Do not let your sojourn to the Americas and potential spinsterhood dampen what mightvery well be a fine evening. It shall provide you with a boost of courage.”
“A man?” Heather scoffed. She hadn’t considered the option, but it did appeal. “As much as I might like the notion of having some man—anyman—before my perilous assignment and impending ruination, how am I to find such a someone? I’m a wallflower, Maria. Or have you forgotten? No man has so much as glanced at me in years.”
“I daresay any man would fall into your bed with little to no provocation, Heather,” Juliana put in. “Men are…predictable in that way. All you must do is show them a little interest?—”
“And some bosom.” Maria nodded.
“And then, with a flirt and a smile, I’m certain you’ll have your man.”
Itwasher last night in England, for Lord knew how long. Perhaps if she skirted the card room, she could catch a man’s eye. Another droplet of perspiration tickled the space between her breasts, and she resisted the urge to scratch at it. Mayhap she ought to seek solace on the terrace and cool down.
“There you are, my dear,” the earl boomed with false joviality. He shoved his elbow toward her. “I believe this dance is ours.”
With an internal squaring of her shoulders, Heather nodded to her friends, pasted a false smile on her lips, and accepted his proffered arm. The strains of a waltz filled the ballroom, and determination swelled in her chest.
They took up their positions among the other dancers, and she allowed him to lead her in a perfectly dreary waltz. His hot, fetid breath wafted over to her and, in an effort to avert her nose from the offending odour, she tilted her face toward the other dancers.
As distressing as the evening was, the ballroom was rather splendid. The floor and columns were swirled white-and-greymarble, the walls white-painted wood panelling, the ceiling artfully arched and trimmed with gilt that spread to every column and balustrade, including the orchestra’s balcony. It was marvellous. But bloody hot. And overwhelming with offending odours.And fire.
Her gaze slipped over the delicate chandeliers—and the candles gracing them—and she suppressed a shiver.
The earl spun her in a turn and squeezed her hand tighter, diverting her attention back to her assignment. She pasted a vapid smile on her lips. The man believed her to be capitulating to a marriage due to his threat of ruination—which would occur regardless—while in actuality,shewas the one in control. She was, in a very real sense, acting as a spy.
“Would that you had chosen something brighter to don than…this,” he muttered. “You look like a widow.”
“This is a masquerade,” she returned, though she fully acknowledged that she’d chosen black as an act of protest against her engagement to the dreadful man. “I am a raven.”
“I know what you’re doing.” His voice dipped to an angry murmur, his breath hot on her cheek. “But I shan’t be deterred. You are now mine, regardless of your little rebellion. Tomorrow, our adventure begins. I’ve paid handsomely for our passage. We shall both have officers’ cabins?—”
“Are those not meant for the officers?” she asked pertly.
His hand tightened again, and his blue eyes hardened behind his domino. “You’re welcome to sleep in a hammock among the crew.”
Bastard. “I’ll take the cabin, thank you.”
“Ah.” He forced a wide smile. “Excellent choice.”
Heather feigned idle curiosity and boldly inquired, “Why are we to journey upon a navy frigate and not?—”
He scoffed, his shoulders drawing back to puff out his chest in arrogance. “As an orphan of no means, I forgiveyour ignorance.I, however, am an earl with high connections. I spoke to oneexceedinglyprominent royal on the matter of our journey, and he most generously offered his support. The captain of the frigate will do anything I demand.”
Curiosity piqued, Heather feigned only mild interest as the earl continued to boast. What royal could have agreed to align himself with the Earl of Shite? And was that royal aware of this man’s potentially traitorous dealings?
The earl’s grip on her tightened painfully as the last notes of the waltz hung in the air, effectively drawing her attention back to him.
His jaw tightened in a maniacal smile as he leaned close to press his lips to her ear. “You’ll do as you’re told on this journey, Calluna, or you shall face my wrath.”
Heather hid a cringe at his use of her given name. Her parents had been devoted in their study of horticulture—very much like Heather herself—and had named their only child after their favourite flower:Calluna Vulgaris—Heather.
She could only surmise the Earl of Shite chose to useCallunaover her preferred name,Heather, because he knew it bothered her. And it did. Though likely not for the reason he presumed. Indeed, she adored her name—when her parents had used it. This blackguard was defiling it.
She nodded, and he retreated, his malevolent gaze locking onto hers with intended meaning. Heather lowered her gaze in an effort to appear sufficiently cowed. The man, however, had only served to strengthen her resolve.
Her friends were correct: she couldn’t leave on the morrow without first experiencing something that would behers. It was precisely the boost of confidence she required.
But how to choose a man? And, her friends’ advice aside, how could she be certain that the man would be interested?
