There was a moment’s silence.
‘Did you…? Was it you who…? Thank you,’ she faltered, her mind in a new whirl.
She looked into his unsettled eyes, feeling her world contract. All this time, she’d believed Sir Weston had sent the mask so he would know her, and they could slip away before anyone noticed. But if Lord Rotherby had sent the mask, not only had she created entirely the wrong impression, she had little means of being identifiable to Weston amongst hundreds of guests.
She closed her eyes and tried to steady her thumping heart, aware that even Lu Lu seemed to have disappeared.
‘You’re welcome,’ Lord Rotherby replied, eyeing her intently. ‘I was hoping that by wearing it… that perhaps… it might indicate a change of?—’
‘Rotherby? I’d know that jaw anywhere.’ The tone was jovial and came out of nowhere. ‘What the deuce ails you, sir? Heard you had to skip London because of some damned faro nonsense. Refused to believe any of it, of course, yet no one knew where you were, and then you turn up here like the devil himself. Well, sir, I’m delighted to see you and no mistake!’
To Sophie’s utter astonishment, Rotherby paled beneath his mask before turning to greet the newcomer, a large hook-nosed gentleman with dancing eyes and a kindly face.
‘O’Reilly!’ Rotherby exclaimed, though Sophie could sense his instant guard. ‘Thank you, old friend. It’s good to see you too. Tis a pity a few others aren’t so ready with their belief, but I’m confident I’ll clear the air soon. Anyway, what of Mrs O’Reilly?’ His tone warmed a little. ‘I trust you are both enjoying the continent? Versailles is quite the spectacle, is it not?’
Suddenly, and as if on cue, the windows overlooking the gardens lit up as though a thousand stars had fallen, while an orchestra far below burst into life. Sophie watched as the waterfall of light reached across Lord Rotherby’s face, accentuating its contours, and in that moment he’d never looked less assured. His lips were pressed and white, his dark eyes wary, while a tiny muscle in his jaw pulsed with strain. Her gaze narrowed as fresh rivulets of doubt invaded her thoughts.
Then another burst of fireworks followed the first, once again lighting the crowd, but this time he was smiling again, as though he had not a care in the world.
‘Aye, that it is, though give me Burgundy over champagne any day of the week!’ O’Reilly bellowed, earning a reproving look from one of the footmen. ‘I’m glad to hear you’re making progress though,’ he added in a lower tone. ‘Never did like that other fellow, a shade too smooth for me! Do me a favour and give him a trouncing when you’ve cleared the cloud, eh?’
He turned to smile benevolently at Sophie.
‘Your pardon, miss, I didn’t mean to interrupt, and my Flo will be givingmea trouncing if I leave her much longer. A pleasure to meet you, and look after the boy, eh? Turns out he needs it.’
Then he wrung her hand with such a broad grin that Sophie decided she liked him twice as much as she already did, before he disappeared into the crowd. She drew a deep breath and looked at Lord Rotherby, who regarded her warily.
‘Did you leave London because of some kind ofgamblingscandal?’ she ventured, recalling his feverish words when she nursed him.
‘Roseby and O’Sullivan are JPs… Sir Giles and Weston too strait-laced… it’s a damnable matter… marked during the game… it has to be one of us.’
She stared at his inscrutable expression, and knew at once she was right. It was just the sort of scandal that could destroy a nobleman’s life, let alone his pride. And she wasn’t naive when it came to matters of honour– her own father had gambled Phoebe’s hand in marriage and left the instruction in his will– but this was worse. Marking cards during a game was cheating, and gentlemen shot each other for far less.
For a moment Lord Rotherby said nothing, then when he spoke, it was as though they were strangers again.
‘As I have said before,’ he replied tautly, ‘my reason for leaving London are private, and I’d thank you not to inquire into matters that don’t concern you. O’Reilly is a very old and loyal friend who knows me well. Unfortunately, as is often the way in life, not everyone shares the same degree of faith?—’
‘With good reason, sir! And I’d thank you to unhand my sister-in-law while your name is steeped in scandal!’
Sophie glanced up in sharp disbelief, certain her straining nerves had to be mistaken, but her flickers of hope expired instantly. The new gentleman was masked, but she would know his tall, distinctive profile anywhere, and he was glowering.
‘Viscount Damerel!’ she whispered, flushing to the roots of her ringlets. ‘How… fortunate to see you! But pray, where is my sister?’
‘Phoebe awaits you at Madame Dupres’s residence,’ he replied tersely, ‘because we were not informed of this excursion– as we have not been informed of many things, it appears. As a result, it has taken time to find you, and I am only here because half of Paris is in attendance at this debauched affair.’ He turned to level a brooding glare at Rotherby. ‘But now I can see, sir, that the rumours surrounding your departure must be correct, for not content with ruining yourself, it seems you must also drag my innocent sister into your scandal! Have you no honour at all?’
His tone was low but condemning, and any hope of a reasonable discussion died instantly. Sophie knew her brother-in-law well and every line of his body was taut with hostility, while his eyes glittered in a way she’d only ever seen once before… when duelling with his brother.
‘I beg your pardon, Damerel?’ Lord Rotherby challenged in an ugly tone.
He stepped towards the viscount, his hand moving to his sword hilt, threateningly.
‘I have in no way disgraced my name nor have I dragged your sister into anything– though Lord knows she has provoked me beyond all endurance!’ he added, his eyes glittering.
‘Charmed, I’m sure, when you’re forever trying to coerce me,’ Sophie shot back.
‘If that’s true I ought to cut your liver out right here!’ Viscount Damerel growled.
‘No, what I meant was?—’
