Rose winced. “Sebastian.” At least, she believed it was their brother. Mostly due to the woman at his side. His duchess, Rebecca, was dressed as a Roman warrior, female edition. She pulled the feat off perfectly with that unwomanly height of hers.
“Sebastian is going to kill you when he sees your hair,” Gabriella said. A little too gleeful for Rose’s taste.
But her sister was right. As Duke of Ryleigh, Sebastian was even less spontaneous than Rose, but for his quick and unexpected wedding to Rebecca last year. He was as staid and proper as Gabriella was rash.
“I do believe I shall bide my time in meeting up with him and the duchess.” Rose downed the contents of her glass and melted into the crowd and away from Gabriella. Something she would never have attempted at a typical ball. The mask gave her a freedom and confidence she hadn’t anticipated. And her hair… Well, itwasscandalous.
For the life of her, Rose failed to recognize a single person, except for Shufflebottom. Possibly. Her stomach dropped. The man did not have the most stellar of reputations, as Gabriellahad so succinctly implied, and Rose had no desire in getting tangled up with that fop. The only thing in his favor was his title, and even the possibility of becoming a marchioness was not enticement enough to sway her in his direction.
Status was everything, and Rose had an opportunity to right her wrong in marrying Stanford. One she fully intended to see through.
Rose was thrilled to have made her peace with Gabriella after Stanford’s death, but it still irked that Gabriella had snagged Huntley. Something she would never say…now.
Yet how else was a woman supposed to locate an elusive title in this throng, and masked no less? It wasn’t as if the man she was looking for would be wearing a sign proclaiming his earldom across his forehead.
“Well, if it isn’t the earl himself.”
Rose jerked straight. A group of men hovered near a terrace door. Again, their costumes didn’t allow recognition, but their earnest conversation and body language were intriguing, and she edged her way closer. They slipped out open glass doors to a large terrace beyond. She found a small alcove and hung nearby in the hopes they would reveal their identities. Hallandale had to be there somewhere, and this was as good a place as any to glean some sort of information. Even it if was of the elimination variety.
“Don’t be a chucklehead. Who’s going to find out?”
Rose didn’t recognize the voice. Clearly, he was the taunt-or.
“Leave him be, Stockton.”
The earl?Surely not! But he was young, had inherited his title after leaving Cambridgeandthe country, if her memory served.
“It’s not your neck on the line. My brother—”
“Half brother,” Stockton said. “He’s nothing but a hector.”
“No argument there,” the taunt-eemuttered. “Bastard is as closefisted as Shylock.”
“Think he’s scamming those boats coming in from the East India Company?” another unrecognizable voice said.
The conversation was fascinating, and Rose edged nearer. She glanced around and froze. She may not have recognized anyone, but the tall coxcomb heading in her direction must be Shufflebottom. No one wore ruffles at his cuffs like the marquis. She was feet away from another door that led heaven knew where, but it was, truly, her only escape.
She stole through and found herself in a darkened hallway that would prove dangerous if the wrong person happened by—or caught up to her. The comfortable but horrendous shoes sounded clunky on wood planked floors. Quickly stepping out of them, Rose scooped them up and took off—apparently, she’d shed all ladylike behavior when she’d donned her maid’s uniform—and opened the first door she came to.
Silently, Rose latched the door behind her then fell against it, her head thunking on the English oak, her heart pounding.
Now what?
Through slitted eyes, she caught a movement behind a large mahogany desk situated between large bookcases. Her first thought: She’d no idea Shufflebottom could even read. Her second: The figure, clad in all black, was dark and menacing. He straightened to an impressive height and moved slowly around the desk as if fearing she would scream the house down.
His black domino cut an imposing picture aided by the form-fitting mask he wore. Her pulse spiked, but the initial panic leveled to something that didn’t suffocate her.
Fight or flight? Dark hall or bluff her way through this unfortunate encounter? “Did you find what you’re looking for?” The annoying breathlessness of her voice had her gripping the knob at her lower back.
Just in case.
Three
Emerson stopped. He should have locked the door. But if his host happened upon him—No.He was an idiot to have forgotten. “I did not.” He’d already checked the drawers of the massive desk and found nothing but a few vowels in varying amounts. The three drawers on the right-hand side? Also, nothing. The other two held account books, but certainly not any incriminating evidence he was on the hunt for.
Thankfully, he’d pulled his black mask into place when he’d searched the bookcases. He should have stopped there, of course. Instead, he’d moved to the painting on the wall behind the desk. The largest one: a pastoral scene of a dog hunt, rifles poised.
It was by sheer luck he hadn’t yet pulled it from the wall. To his relief, the woman dressed as a lady’s maid had closed the door behind her, softly.
