“As I said, it’s a pity. I do think I would have enjoyed taking you into my arms to pull you free,” the man said, before taking a puff of his cigar.
“I fear you’ve mistaken me for one of the revelers,” she began, careful to keep her face in the shadows as best as she was able. “However, I am merely a guest who lost her way and is eager to return to her chamber for the evening.”
“I’ll offer you my escort,” he was quick to say.
“That won’t be necessary. Thank you, but I prefer solitude. I’ll just be going.”
But as she made to skirt round the man, a hand shot out, boldly capturing her elbow.
“Not so quickly, my dear.”
Her heart jolted.
“It would seem I’ve caught my little bird after all,” he crooned, refusing to release her. “What shall I do with her, hmm?”
She didn’t like the tone of his voice or the barely veiled suggestion in his words. Perhaps the man thought she was a seasoned member of the wicked club in attendance and that she was playing some manner of game with him. However, she decidedly was not. All she wanted to do was get back to her room and hopefully garner some much-needed slumber without the endless temptation of hearing the Duke of Whitby at his bath. Surely he would be finished by now?
She chose to ignore the pang of disappointment deep within her at the realization, trying to keep her mind firmly upon the situation at hand.
“What you shall do is release me, sir,” she said coolly, forgetting herself and tilting up her head to frown at him with displeasure. “I have already told you that I prefer my own company to that of others and that I’m not a part of your club. I haven’t come here for the reasons you undoubtedly have. Now, please, let me go.”
“I know you,” the man said, his voice taking on a contemplative air.
Heavens, what was she thinking, exposing her face to this stranger’s scrutiny? She turned her head as fast as a whip, giving him her profile. The brilliant light of the moon rendered remaining in the shadows virtually impossible.
“You do not know me, sir,” she denied, a new sense of dread, heavy and sharp, overtaking her.
What if hedidknow her? There was something perhaps vaguely familiar about him, though hidden behind his mask, he remained very much a mystery.
“But that is where you’re wrong.” He took another lengthy puff of his cigar, his hand still clamped on her elbow, holding her where she didn’t wish to be.
The garden seemed suddenly colder than an ice cave.
“Please, sir,” she demanded. “Release me at once.”
“I do know you.” Jerking her arm, he took her by surprise with his brute force and spun her to face him, moonlight spilling over her. “You’re the Countess of Ammondale, by God.”
Her blood, seemingly boiling ever since the Duke of Whitby had first trespassed in her school, went cold. Her first instinct was to deny the truth, the shock of hearing her former title and the recognition in the man’s voice overtaking her.
“You must be mistaken, sir.”
“No.” He shook his head, eyes an indistinct shade traveling over her slowly in the moonlight. “I know precisely who you are. What a sweet delight to find you here, m’dear. I don’t recall seeing you at dinner.”
There was no point in continuing to argue the point. The full moon provided sufficient light.
“That is because I wasn’t at dinner,” she informed him, keeping her voice as frosty as possible, even as fear swept over her.
One foolish mistake, and she may have thrown her school and her future into peril.
“Off with a fellow reveler, were you?” he asked, crude insinuation in his tone. “Can’t say I blame you. Dinner was a deadly dull affair. No doubt it would have been much more interesting, however, if the Fallen Countess had been there. Unless… Christ, I should have known. Are the dukes keeping you for themselves, then? Hiding you away so that the rest of us haven’t a chance to sample your lovely charms?”
Good heavens, he believed she was dallying with all the dukes, as if she were a Cyprian at their disposal. She didn’t knowwhich she longed to do more, stomp on his foot, punch him in the nose, or box his ears.
Miranda settled for yanking her elbow free of him instead. “No one is keeping me. I keep myself. Now, I must bid you good evening, sir. The hour grows late.”
She moved past him, heart in her throat as she waited for him to waylay her again.
“Countess.”
