Rescued By The Earl's Vows. Ann Lethbridge

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      Something he would not encourage.

      ‘Is not the whole idea of a masked ball to be someone else for an hour or two?’ he murmured in teasing tones.

      ‘Death?’ She made a scoffing sound. ‘Is that not a strange choice? Most men like to play some sort of heroic figure. You prefer to remind us of something unpleasant, yet something we must all face at some future time. I wonder what that says about you as a person?’

      Her light clear voice held amusement and her brown eyes twinkled gold. She released his hand and moved into the next figure of the dance.

      What did his choice of costume say about him? He pushed the thought aside. It was a disguise, that was all. A way of remaining anonymous. Of ensuring no tongues would start wagging about his first appearance at a ball in years, or his invitation to her to dance.

      He found himself wishing it was a waltz he’d secured rather than a country dance. Only because it would have afforded more opportunity for conversation, not because he wanted that lovely, lithe, deliciously curved body floating along beside his and responding to his touch.

      ‘Am I to understand you dislike masquerades?’ he asked as he walked her down the set. ‘That you find them beneath you, perhaps?’

      The fulminating look she gave him took him by surprise. ‘Masquerades are very well in their way. It is—’

      ‘It is?’

      Another glance came his way. This one puzzled. Then she smiled and he felt as if something had struck him behind the ribs. ‘I think if one could attend under the right circumstances, it might be fun. If one could really do as one wished for once.’ She glanced over to where her cousin stood chatting and fanning her face. ‘One cannot have everything one wishes, can one?’

      ‘One cannot,’ he agreed.

      Instinct told him that, despite her calm demeanour, there was an underlying worry behind the light words. The anxiety he’d sensed in his office seemed to have increased.

      He’d deliberately led her into a set with an uneven number of couples and when once more they were standing out, he bowed. ‘It is uncommonly hot in here, my lady, may I offer you some refreshment before I return you to Queen Elizabeth’s side?’

      ‘As long as you don’t suggest we go bag a rabbit or two in the garden, I would like that.’

      He laughed. Couldn’t help it. ‘Really? That was the best one of your swains could do?’

      ‘I should have known better than to have explained my costume to him or to have expected him to behave like anything but a fool.’

      Startled by her vehemence, he led her out of the set.

      ‘A gentleman you know, I presume?’ he enquired.

      ‘Indeed. He thought he was being amusing. He actually suggested that the costume would serve me better without the bow. Fat lot he knows about Artemis,’ she muttered.

      Jaimie took two glasses of the non-alcoholic punch which he knew without a doubt would be horrible. While the champagne would have been more fun, self-defence prevented him from being the cause of anything untoward. It is a gentleman’s duty to protect a lady, his father’s voice reminded. On that occasion, he had guided his mother around a puddle. Sort of. Only a little bit of her hem had trailed through it. It was one of the few mental images he had of his parents.

      He guided Lady Tess towards the French doors. ‘Let us avail ourselves of the terrace. There are tables out there and waiters.’

      For a moment he thought she might baulk. Again, she glanced over at her cousin, who was not looking their way. ‘We can ask her permission,’ he suggested. He was after all a wolf in sheep’s clothing and seeking permission was what a sheep would do.

      She squared her shoulders. ‘No. I was out there once already. My cousin did not object.’

      Her voice sounded grim. Who was the idiot who had annoyed her? Whoever he was, Jaimie could only thank him for sparking her spirit.

      He ushered her to one of the tables on the terrace, seating her where the light from the nearby lantern would fall on her face while leaving him in shadow. He set her drink in front of her before sitting down.

      ‘Warm enough?’

      ‘Yes, thank you.’

      Too bad. He’d had a notion to put his cape around her shoulders and let it absorb some of her perfume. The scent of lavender had lingered in his office all day. Serenity, grace and calmness in the language of flowers, along with that disturbing underlying meaning of distrust. All but the last seemed too milk and water for this spirited lady, though she had certainly shown calmness when she visited his office. Dianthus, for boldness, would suit her better. Though she had been veiled, so perhaps lemon flowers should be in the mix... His mother had made a great study of the language of flowers and her notes were one of the few items he treasured.

      She sipped at the punch and made a face.

      ‘Terrible as usual?’ he asked, amused.

      ‘Awful.’ A smile curved those full lush lips. ‘It is all right at first and then...’ She gave a little shudder.

      The movement did something to his blood. Made it run faster. Hotter. Not something he wanted in regard to this particular female. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Putting her at her ease so he could extract the information he wanted.

      ‘How are you enjoying the Season?’ A safe topic when it came to young ladies on the town. He sat back and waited to hear about all her conquests and gowns.

      ‘It is as bad as the previous one,’ she said with a small laugh.

      How devastatingly honest. The hairs on his nape stood up. It was the same feeling he got when he started to get close to a criminal he was chasing. A sense of anticipation. It didn’t make any sense that he should feel it now, with her. ‘Why is that?’

      ‘I beg your pardon. You will think I am an ungrateful wretch after my cousin’s kindness in giving me this opportunity.’

      ‘Speaking the truth is not always a bad thing.’

      She chuckled, a small rather painful sound. ‘It is if you are seeking a husband. Men expect a woman to be biddable and modest and not speak out of turn.’

      ‘I see.’

      She twisted the stem of her glass, gazing down into the liquid. ‘My father encouraged me to offer my opinion, but to some I am ill-schooled.’ She pursed her lips thoughtfully and he experienced an urgent need to see if they tasted as exotic as they looked. ‘And here I am doing it again. If I’m not careful I’ll find myself packed off to Yorkshire.’

      ‘Why Yorkshire?’

      ‘My cousin has an aunt who lives there. She’s a—’ She stopped and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. ‘Why on earth am I telling you this?’

      ‘Because I’m a good listener? She is a...?’

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