He contemplated how the conversation between them could have evolved in an entirely different manner.
If I had asked her name, begged her to give it to me, what would have happened then? Would she have acquiesced? Or would she have fled the scene and vowed never to return to one of Lord Spencer’s soirée again?
Sebastian could not bear to think of such an outcome.
I am glad I did not ask her for her name. She might have felt that was a violation of the masquerade guidelines and then…all would’ve been lost. But now…
The carriage bounced causing an unpleasant sensation to jolt through Sebastian’s already upset stomach.
He fought the urge to pound on the rooftop and demand his driver proceed with caution.
Instead of reacting with anger, Sebastian closed his eyes and thought of the lovely fox who had shared a booth with him in the library.
Who was she?
He conjured her visage and did all he could to remember every detail about her.
Was she someone influential who had somehow known my title and name?
He quickly shook off that idea and maybe would have discarded the thought altogether had not another, more malevolent one, risen to the surface.
Had her embarrassment been a front? A distraction while she somehow tainted my drink?Did she agree to hear me read and engage in that conversation so she might distract me and drop something dreadful into my cup?
Sebastian frowned down at the opposite bench in the carriage, fighting through the fog in his brain to try to remember what really happened in that quiet room.
“Remember,” he urged himself through clenched teeth. “Remember. Could she be the culprit?”
Or am I merely paranoid?
Sebastian did not know. His head slumped back so that it rested against the velvet-covered seats. His eyes fluttered closed, blocking out the low lamplight that filtered in through the swaying set of curtain. His thoughts swam mercilessly; they swiveled and swirled and made him feel ill.
The one and only thing he did know with any certainty was that he had to find her.
“I must…” He murmured to himself. “I must… find my Thisbe.”
Chapter Five
“It really was only one night,” Phoebe whispered to herself four days after Lord Spencer’s mysterious masquerade ball.
“What was that, darling?” Her mother asked. The words she said were sweet enough, but her tone was condescending, and Phoebe waited... “You know how much I dislike it when you mumble to yourself. It is most unbecoming of a lady, and a future marchioness, at that.”
Only one night for myself.
It was not enough. And as terrified as she had been to go to the ball in the first place, she now wished she had remained there for as long as possible, more than anything.
Alas, such hopes and wishes could not be granted.
Instead of sashaying through the dark hallways of the discreet townhouse, she now stood in the ballroom of one very much in the public eye, open and inviting, even if Phoebe did not feel welcome there at all.
She felt as though she was consistently compelled to accompany her mother to every event, regardless of her own preferences. Like a bit of fabric that was caught after being snagged by the thorn of a rose, Phoebe was dragged from one affair to another most unwillingly.
If I am already engaged, why must I keep on attending these boresome events?
Oh, how did she despise the protocols of theton.
“I said nothing,” Phoebe answered belatedly.
“No, I definitely heard something,” her mother sighed.
