Page 9

“Of course not,” he said. “Situations like these were made for anonymity.”

She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it, nonplussed.

“What made you call down a plague on mankind?”

The frustration bubbled up inside her chest again at once, and recklessly she gave in to the urge to vent it. He couldn’t know who she was, after all, out here in the Stygian darkness. Perhaps it would make her feel better to tell someone.

“Because they are dull.” Goodness, it did feel good to say that aloud. “Or stupid, or greedy, or vain. I’ve not met one interesting gentleman tonight.”

“Hmm, that is a risk one takes at parties like these,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “Still, there are a great many men who could not attend tonight. Perhaps one among them would satisfy your requirements.”

Mariah sighed. “Of course there are more gentlemen in London society than those here tonight. But my mother—” She caught herself. “My mother assured me the gentlemen here are the finest in English society.”

“Ah, there’s the rub.” He sounded amused. “If the finest are insufferable, how much worse must be the rest?”

Mariah found herself nodding. That was exactly what she feared, even though she’d not put it into words.

“Perhaps it’s your fault. Perhaps you have such an effect that sane, sensible men turn into stammering idiots in your presence,” her companion went on.

She almost snorted. Without being vain—well, not too vain—Mariah knew her own advantages. She was pretty, even in her own eyes. She was reasonably accomplished in the usual repertoire of maidenly skills: playing the pianoforte, dancing, embroidery. She rode well, spoke French and a modest bit of German, and wrote a very lovely hand.

But she wasn’t slow-witted, and she knew very well the gentlemen in the ballroom hadn’t been drawn to her embroidery talents. What drew them to her was nothing to do with her at all, and that was what she hated most of all.

“Then they are even bigger fools than I take them for.” Mariah folded her arms and raised her chin. “What sort of man would be reduced to a babbling fool by any young lady, particularly a young lady he’s never met before?”

“More than you might expect,” he murmured.

“Then they have injured only themselves. They look at me as some thing, a prize to win. I am more than just my father’s daughter, and yet I could clearly see each one of them thinking, as he looked at me, ‘what an advantageous match she would be,’” she finished in a mocking tone.

It was a great deal of confidence for a complete stranger. Her mother would be appalled if she knew. But she didn’t care, even though she had probably said enough to give away her identity.

“What a terrible cross it must be, to be the daughter of wealth and privilege. Terribly sought after, and never certain of the reason why.” The man in the shadows nodded—at least, she imagined him nodding sagely. Mariah didn’t know whether to be glad or upset that he understood.

But perhaps it was something all young ladies of high birth suffered. Perhaps this man had a sister who was one. She glanced sideways toward him under her lashes. Perhaps he had even married such a lady.

“There is only one thing to do, in cases such as these,” he continued.

“Really?” she asked, surprised and a bit hopeful. “What is it?”

“Take off your shoes.”

Her mouth fell open. “How will that help?”

“First, you’ll feel better. A cool breeze on the feet is terribly refreshing. Second, I’ve already gone and taken mine off, which is unpardonably rude, and if I can persuade you to do the same, I shan’t feel so guilty.”

She looked down even though she couldn’t see his feet any better than his face. “Why did you take off your shoes?”

He heaved a sigh. “They pinched. Dreadfully. And I feel much better without them—why do you think I hid out on the balcony? Here—” And before she could protest, he put his hands at her waist and swung her into the air.

Mariah let out a small squeak as she landed on the balustrade. “Oh, no! I’ll fall!”

“You won’t. It’s quite wide.” She could hear the amusement in his voice as she snatched her hands from his shoulders. She hadn’t even been aware she’d grabbed onto him. But as she sat up, she felt the truth of his statement: the carved stone balustrade was very wide, and she was in no danger of falling.

“Now the shoes, miss.” Before she could react, he had taken her ankle in his hands and flipped off her slipper.

“Oh, stop!” she gasped. “You mustn’t!”

“Too late. I’ve already done it.” He released her foot, his fingers sliding over her stocking. With the same deliberate care he took her other foot and removed her other slipper and let it fall to the floor of the balcony.