The tall man led her through the steps of the dance, making no attempt at conversation. When the music ended, he escorted her from the floor. “Have you viewed the paintings of Shakespeare’s plays, my lady?”
His voice sounded familiar to Kate. She wondered if she’d met him somewhere. “No, I haven’t.”
He nodded and took her arm, guiding her through the throng to the Prince of Wales Pavilion on the west side of the Grove. The four large paintings of scenes from the bard’s plays, painted by Francis Hayman, hung in an open portico. They were well executed, tempting Kate to remove her mask for a better view. She resisted. It might be unwise to reveal her identity to this stranger.
“I enjoyed it, thank you. Would you escort me back to my party, please?”
He nodded and offered her his arm. She took it, relieved that he knew the way, for she’d lost her bearings. When they entered the empty box, she searched about for her cloak and reticule but couldn’t find them. “That’s odd.” She glanced at the painting on the wall. A different one to the artwork she remembered.
He poured wine into glasses and offered her one.
Kate refused it. “This is not Lady Moncrieff’s box, sir.”
“Isn’t it?” He grabbed the curtain and pulled it across the face of the box, to blot out the crowd and then untied the strings of his mask. It fell away to reveal his smiling face.
“Lord Southmore!”
He bowed. “At your service, my lady.”
“Why didn’t you declare yourself? Take me back to Lady Moncrieff.”
“Let’s not hurry, Kate. Surely we can enjoy a glass of wine together.”
“I don’t believe I gave you leave to use my name, sir. And no. I don’t wish for wine. I want you to take me back, now.”
“You’re safe from scandal here. Everyone is intent on their own enjoyment as you see.”
“The place is rife with scandal. And I don’t intend to contribute to it. I shall bid you goodnight, sir.” Kate moved to slip past him.
He caught her arm in his strong grip. “You are no doubt aware that your husband and I are no longer friends. But there is no reason why we cannot be. Especially here, and now. What harm can it do, Kate? A flirtation between us will be exciting. I’ve always thought so. I hope you’ll come to see the sense of it. Perhaps some wine.”
She pushed the proffered glass away, spilling wine onto the floor. “I suspect it’s revenge you hope for, Southmore.”
“You heard about our boxing match?” He clenched and unclenched his hand. “Robert was very angry that night. Regrettable. But I do like to finish what I begin.”
She backed toward the box entrance. “Things don’t always go the way one hopes. And I shouldn’t like you to suffer another injury.”
“Robert was lucky. He won’t be the next time we meet. It will be pistols and I will win.” He pounced, taking her by surprise, hauling her against him in an iron grip. His mouth came down hard on hers. Kate fought him, but he’d trapped her arms within his. Revolted by his tongue pushing against her clamped lips, Kate let her body go limp.
Southmore broke the kiss as he struggled to hold her upright. She pushed up with her knees and shoved at his chest with all her strength. Startled, he staggered and fell back over the chair behind him.
Breathless, Kate fled and ran across the grove searching for Lady Moncrieff’s box. At first glance, they all looked the same. And with everyone masked, it became impossible to recognize anyone she knew. They seemed to have all scattered and disappeared.
Finally, she located the box when she recognized the painting. Inside, Lord Wainright, leaned tipsily back in his chair with a glass in his hand. “Ah, a lady.”
As Kate gathered up her cloak and reticule, he reached over and tugged at her skirts. “C’mon and join me.”
Kate licked her sore, swollen lip and tried to keep from bursting into tears of frustration. She pulled her skirts away hearing the fragile fabric rip, the rent wide enough to expose her underpetticoat. She rushed out as her hair unraveled from its pins. The path she chose led through the gardens, hopefully in the direction of the entrance, although she wasn’t sure. She rushed headlong along the path and came up against a hard body. A hand on her arm stopped her from darting past. Fear gripped her. She raised her head and gazed into the artic blue gaze of her husband.
A sob escaped her lips. “Robert!”
“Ready to come home?” he asked in a dangerously quiet tone.
“Yes, I…that is… I am.” She gathered her scattered wits. “Indeed I am.”
Robert took her arm. “We go this way.”
“I’m so glad I met you. I was heading in the wrong direction,” Kate began. But Robert had suddenly stopped, his eyes on a retreating figure.
