“Very well.” Phoebe forced herself to sit up. “Lord Owen proved a bit to persist, following mew about. His lordship quite literally chased me from the ball, and I wound up fleeing into the garden, then climbed a tree to escape his attention.”
Daphne’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Phoebe’s words tumbled out in a frantic rush. She wrung her hands together, trying to release the tension as she recounted the events of last night. “I was afraid he would find me if I came down too quickly, so I waited until I could be certain he had given up his pursuit before sneaking back into the house and seeking refuge in my room.”
“My goodness,” Daphne said, twisting Phoebe’s ruined gown in her hands. “That is quite an adventure.”
“Indeed.” Phoebe relaxed a measure, as Daphne did not seem to be cross with her. She gave a weak smile. “I am grateful for all you and Alex have done for me, but I very much want to return to the country. I fear that city life is not at all suited to me.”
Daphne turned away, then dropped the once elegant gown onto the dressing table bench before meeting phoebe’s gaze. “Of course, if that is your wish, we will see to the arrangements. I am certain your mother would like to have you home as well.”
Phoebe exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank you for understanding,” she said, as her tension in her muscles eased. She relaxed back against the soft mattress and plush pillows, grateful to be putting London and the season behind her.
Daphne’s footsteps echoed on the floor as she made her way back to Phoebe’s bedside. Her fingers intertwined with Phoebe’s, offering a warm and reassuring touch. “Phoebe?” she asked softly.
Phoebe turned to meet her gaze, the lines of worry on her face deepening.
With a gentle smile, Daphne said, “You know you can always confide in me, right?”
Phoebe nodded, the throbbing in her head intensified with each passing second. She regretted not sharing everything that had happened, her silence about her meeting the rogue feeling like a lie. However, she could not bring herself to speak of it.
“And you can always trust myself, as well as Alex, to help keep you safe,” Daphne continued, giving Phoebe’s hand a comforting squeeze.
Phoebe’s stomach churned, her insides twisting into knots. She tried to maintain a calm facade as she looked at Daphne, but it felt like her sister-in-law could see right through her. The way Daphne’s gaze bore into her, it was as if she could read Phoebe’s thoughts.
Still, Phoebe could not bring herself to share everything. Instead, she simply said, “Yes, of course I do.”
Daphne’s hand was warm, and comforting as she squeezed Phoebe’s in reassurance. “Very well. I will have a headache tonic sent up straight away,” she promised.
Four
Graham leaned against the polished oak railing, blending in seamlessly with the opulent decor of the Breckenridge’s ballroom. His gaze swept over the crowd of lords and ladies, searching for a familiar face. He had spent every evening since his cousin’s masquerade ball doing the same, hoping to find the mystery lady who had captured his attention that night. Her image was burned into his mind, her voice echoing in his thoughts. He couldn’t shake off the desire to know her better, no matter how hard he tried.
He had circled nearly every ballroom in London, drink in hand, scanning the crowds for her dark locks and mesmerizing hazel eyes. The exhausting cycle of society events had taken its toll, but he still held onto the hope of seeing her again. The cursed mask she wore and the dim lighting of their first meeting made it impossible for him to get a clear look at her face. He wondered if they had crossed paths before, but dismissed the thought as unlikely. Still, it was possible that she had been right in front of him all this time, hidden in plain sight or lost in the sea of guests.
He pulled a silver flask from his jacket pocket and brought it to his lips, savoring the fiery liquid that coursed through him.
Even if he did not recognize her, she had gotten an eyeful of him. The minx could surely pick him out of a crowd. But then, she had also made it clear that she detested him. Her sharp tongue would have shredded a lesser man to ribbons. She was not likely to approach him, even if she recognized him. Or was she? The way she’d kissed him, and her hesitation in fleeing from him, belied her words. The woman had desired him, even if she had found his behavior distasteful.
Graham chased the musings with another long pull of whisky. If he kept this up, he would surely go mad. And yet, he found himself powerless to stop looking for her. It was as if he was under a spell, unable to resist her pull, even though he knew it could lead to madness. Yet, he could not help but keep searching for her, hoping to be captivated by her once again.
Bloody hell, a woman he did not even know had wrapped him around her finger. The sheer absurdity of the situation made Graham laugh out loud, causing curious gazes to turn toward him. He averted his gaze to the fern as his cousins, Camden and Alex, approached.
Camden’s hand connected with Graham’s shoulder, jostling him out of his laughter-induced daze. “Dare I ask what is so diverting?” he arched an eyebrow in amusement.
Alex’s face lit up with a mischievous grin. “It would appear that you and the fern are sharing a private jest?”
Camden’s hand darted forward, snatching Graham’s flask. “Perhaps you have had too much whisky,” he said.
“Never,” Graham said, as he retrieved his flask, then shoved it into his jacket, the scent of whiskey lingering in the air between them. “If anything, I have not had enough.”
“In that case, shall we rectify the situation?” Alex asked with a wink.
Camden pivoted on his heel, sweeping his hand toward the grand double doors that led to the ballroom exit. “Let us adjourn to the smoking room,” he said, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
With a small nod, Graham strode beside his boisterous cousins as they made their way toward the hall. Much to his dismay and amusement, his eyes darted from one elegant lady to another, searching for his mystery woman.
Graham strolled into the smoking room, his eyes immediately drawn to the crystal decanter of whisky on a mahogany side table. He poured himself a generous tumbler and made his way to the large window overlooking the estate’s entrance. As he sipped on the golden liquid, he surveyed the line of carriages parked below. His mind wandered to thoughts of her—had she arrived in one of those carriages for the evening’s festivities?
