The cowboy hummed. “And since it’s such anicemask, I wouldn’t want to do anything to offend it. That mask…I’ve never seen anything like it. Are those gears?”
“Yes, sir.” One corner of her lips tugged upward, and she realized, despite the high stakes, she was thoroughly enjoying herself. “I have somewhat of a mechanical bent.”
“Really? Me too.”
“Yes, I know, Mr. DeVille.”
“You know my name, but I don’t get to know yours?”
“You are the guest of honor,” she pointed out. “Everyone on Oliphant Lands is abuzz with the news of the laird’s new son, who has come to run Oliphant Engraving.” And although she knew many ofthem, they only knew her as her stepmother’s drudge, not as a lady in an intriguing silver gown. “And I have been hoping to meet you.”
“Really? Because of my charm?”
She had to chuckle at that. “Because of your position. I have a business idea—a proposition—now that you hold such an important role.”
“Oh.”
He seemed disappointed, and she opened her mouth to reassure him, althoughhow, she didn’t know. But at that moment, the waltz ended, leaving them both a little surprised. She lowered her arm a few moments too late to join in the applause, and saw him shake himself, as if he’d been in a stupor.
Movement off to the side of the ballroom caught her eye. There, near the potted tree she’d hid behind, stood Machara, and Ember recognized her body language well enough to know the older woman was livid about something.
It didn’t take long to understand, as Machara’s hand shot out and closed around Tiffany’s arm, pulling her out from behind the pillar. Ember’s stepsister was looking a little rumpled, but the knight, who stepped out of the shadows after her, was grinning.
Oh dear. There clearlyhadbeen some hanking and panking, and Machara wasn’t pleased. Ember knew her well enough to know that it wasn’t Tiffany’s reputation—she would gladly ruin it for her own goals—but the fact that this beautiful daughter of hers had beenwastingher time with the second Oliphant brother, instead of the heir.
Ember’s stepmother raised her hand to gesture to Bonnie, who looked almost relieved when her mother motioned her toward the front entrance. As Tiffany was pulled away, she glanced over her shoulder at the knight, who still seemed amused by the whole thing.
Were…were they leaving? Ember’s heart began to pound in her chest. If they were leaving, that meant they would be back at the inn soon, and her stepmother would discover she wasn’t there!
Her mind already frantically calculating, she stepped away from the cowboy, who was still watching the musicians. If Machara and her daughters had to wait for the carriage to be brought around—and their cloaks, although it was warm outside—then they’d be here a bit longer.
Embermighthave a chance of beating them home.
But only if she ran!
Mr. DeVille turned to her. “I’d like to dance with you again, if you don’t—” He cut himself off abruptly when he got a good look at her. “Why are you shaking your head at me?”
“I am sorry,” Ember said quickly, genuinely meaning it. “I have to go!”
“But—”
She didn’t have time to hear him out. Instead, her heart already frantic, she turned and hurried for the back entrance, hoping she wasn’t making too much of a commotion. Once out of the ballroom, she gathered her skirts in her hands—thank goodness they were cut high in the front, so she didn’t have to worry about tripping—and began to run.
Taking the back stairs two at a time, she almost didn’t hear the footsteps behind her.
“Wait! Please! What’s the rush? Miss?Miss!”
It was the cowboy, following her!
Blast!
She didn’t have time to explain to him her hurry, much less who she was and why she wasn’t supposed to be at the ball in the first place. Rounding the corner to the kitchens, she ducked her head and flew past the cook and her helpers.
And Mr. DeVille still followed. “Miss! Can I help you?”
Such a gentleman!
Her cloak was still hanging by the back door, and she snagged it on her way past. But the steps leading into the kitchen garden were shrouded in darkness, and she had to slow her descent. In doing so, her left shoe slid from her foot.
She was already three steps down when she realized it and was turning to pick it up when Mr. DeVille burst out of the backdoor. “Miss!”
Double blast!
No time to explain, and no time to go back for the shoe. Besides, she’d be faster without it. Without stopping, Ember bent and slipped the other shoe from her right foot, then grasping it tightly in her hand, bolted into the darkness on stockinged feet.
Shehadto be home before Machara discovered where she’d been, or she’d be scrubbing the privy for weeks, or worse!
Only once during her flight did she glance over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of Mr. DeVille, in his outrageous cowboy hat, standing silhouetted on the back steps, holding her other shoe in his hand.
