Chapter Twenty-one

IN FACT, VALERIA DID NOT consent to go to Lord Kincannon’s bal masque when she danced with Daniel Everleigh the next night at Lady Mowbray’s; nor did she consent when she rode with him in Hyde Park the following day; nor did she consent when he pressed her even more urgently as they sat together in the Hylton box at Covent Garden for a superb production of Mozart’s Così Fan Tutte.

However, an idea was forming in her mind—a creative, ingenious idea for a costume, so Valeria thought, and the more she thought about it, the more enticing the idea of attending a masquerade in a daring disguise became. She thought that most likely she would never be recognized.

In considering the difficulties of getting her costume, and of attending the ball without her mother or her chaperons knowing it, Valeria solemnly promised herself that she would not tell a single lie, and that omission of the truth was not the same as lying.

The fact that she deliberately acted in a deceptive way, with full intent to deceive, never entered her mind. She was in such a glow from her success, her popularity, and indeed the increasingly adoring attentions from Daniel Everleigh that she felt invincible. She viewed herself as contrasting with the other rather insipid, timid girls; Valeria herself was fiery, audacious, and bold. Men such as Lord Stephen Tryon, Lord Kincannon, and even the haughty Beau Brummel himself regarded her as such, Daniel had assured her.

Fully aware that it would take some time for her costume to be made, she finally did tell Daniel that she would go to the bal masque with him. Delicate arrangements were made, and somehow Daniel (for now he and Valeria addressed each other by their first names, although only in private conversation) made all the secrecy and the dissimulation seem like part of a great exciting mystery, like a scavenger hunt.

Regina and Valeria had stayed late at a card party at Lord and Lady Lydgate’s, and the next day Regina was pale and wan.

“Mamma, I just now decided to go to Bond Street, but it’s really not necessary for you to accompany me,” Valeria assured her. “It’s going to be tiresome, for I have to go to Monsieur Joubert’s, the milliner, my bootmaker, and the glover’s. It will be perfectly acceptable if Joan chaperons me.”

Regina considered this for a few moments, then nodded. “Very well, dearest, to tell the truth I am feeling a bit fatigued. I thought I might rest for a while after luncheon. But do, do behave yourself, Valeria, please.”

“Oh, Joan will keep me perfectly respectable,” she said lightly.

Ewan stopped the carriage at the northern end of the street, and as all of Valeria’s stops ranged up and down the street, he agreed to meet them at the southern end. Valeria was relieved. She knew that she could make her stops without being obliged to explain anything to Joan, but Ewan Platt had known her far, far too long and well, and he would likely suspect something immediately. If Ewan and Craigie caught a whiff, she would be doomed, she thought with a wholly unconscious irony.

At Monsieur Joubert’s door, Valeria turned to Joan, who was walking meekly slightly behind her, and said, “Stay out here, Joan. I shall only be a moment.”

Joan looked taken aback, but of course she said nothing. Valeria went in, and was warmly welcomed by Monsieur Joubert. In spite of the fact that Valeria had tried and tried to think of how to tell the tailor exactly what she wanted, she’d had had very little success in coming up with some brilliant explanation. After his courteous greeting, she said with completely artificial brightness, “Monsieur Joubert, I am considering—that is, we are considering a new servants’ livery. Do you tailor that particular fashion, of the old-style coats and long waistcoats?”

He bowed. “Certainement, mademoiselle. I would be most heppy to tailor to each servant the livery.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Valeria said vaguely. “Do you—would you—perhaps we might do a trial—that is, a sample livery, on what you might call a smaller scale than a—a—full-grown man, to save, that is it would not take so much fabric—” She stopped in utter confusion, her cheeks coloring a bright pink.

Monsieur Joubert’s heavy-lidded gaze took on a knowing Gallic look, and then he resumed his customary cordial expression of polite interest. “If I may be so bold, would this perhaps be something that mademoiselle herself is interested in? Perhaps it may have to do with the bal masque, oui?”

Valeria was vastly relieved. “Oui, monsieur. I am attending a masquerade ball, and I have a particular costume in mind. I know that I may rely on your discretion, Monsieur Joubert. Also, my costume is not to be charged to my mother’s account; I shall pay for it myself, in cash.” She went on to explain exactly what she wanted, and noted that Monsieur Joubert never blinked an eye. Either he was the most self-controlled man she had ever met, or he was so accustomed to the peccadilloes of the haut ton that nothing shocked him.

Although Monsieur Joubert had extensive measurements already, some additional ones were required, and Madame Joubert and her daughters were fully as smooth-faced and professionally detached as Monsieur Joubert. They were also professionally thorough, so it took about half an hour. By the time Valeria rejoined Joan out on the boardwalk, her maid looked distinctly worried. Airily Valeria said, “Oh, we had some quibbling about measurements, and some additional ones had to be taken, that’s what took so long. Come along, my bootmaker is just up here.”

Again Valeria told Joan not to accompany her inside; and the same at the glover’s and the milliner’s. When they finally reached the carriage, Joan was looking thoroughly mystified, but with satisfaction Valeria observed that she didn’t seem suspicious at all. Joan was a sweet-natured, gentle girl, and would never think of questioning her.

As the days wore on at their usual furious pace, Valeria and Daniel spent more and more time together, and the both of them grew more and more excited about the masquerade ball. Valeria refused to tell him about her costume, and he teased and wheedled her unmercifully, but she was adamant. “All I shall say is that I think you’ll be surprised. I daresay there won’t be another one like it.”

“I’m sure there won’t,” he agreed. “Knowing you, Valeria, you’ll out-masque us all.”

*  *  *

Lord Kincannon’s bal masque at the Pantheon was set for Wednesday night, beginning at midnight. The weekly balls at Almack’s were on Wednesdays, and Valeria, Lady Hylton, and Lord and Lady Lydgate always attended them; and many times, to Valeria’s surprise, considering his disdain for the club, Alastair Hylton came with them. On this particular Wednesday night he did not. Valeria asked where he was, and none of them knew, not even Reggie. “He is that tight-lipped, y’know,” Reggie said carelessly. “I asked him if he was coming tonight, and he fairly slapped me down and told me to be mindful of my own business and leave his alone.”

Usually Lady Hylton tired by about eleven o’clock, and most of the time she went home by herself and sent the carriage back. But on this night Valeria said, “Do you know, ma’am, I’m feeling rather fatigued myself this evening. I believe I’ll return home with you.”

“Really?” Lady Hylton said with surprise. “You aren’t getting ill, are you, child?”

“Oh, no, not at all.” Then she added mischievously, “Truth to tell, Mr. Everleigh is also leaving early; he is apparently going to another party.”

“Ah, I see,” Lady Hylton said knowingly. Valeria and Daniel had been together so much that in spite of Lady Sturway’s staunch objections, speculation was that there might indeed be a match in the making.

When Valeria arrived home, she refused Joan’s offer of cocoa, hurried her through undressing, then dismissed her. As soon as her footsteps faded away, Valeria began re-dressing. She and Daniel had agreed that he would be waiting for her at the corner of the street at eleven forty-five. It was about five minutes past midnight before Valeria was finished, and she felt a moment’s anxiety. But then she realized that of course Daniel would wait for her.

A stealthy figure clothed in solid black, she stole down to the library, then slipped into the drawing room, a mere shadow. She opened the French doors and, as lightly as if she were a gazelle, sprang across a short gap to a thick branch of the elm tree growing just by the house. With her fingertips she was able to close the well-oiled door without a single squeak. Nimbly, for she had mentally rehearsed this, she stepped down onto a lower branch, then another, and then jumped three feet to the ground. Gathering her black cape around her so as to hide the glare of her white shirt, cuffs, and jabot, she furtively hurried to the walk. Down the street she could plainly see, by the streetlamps, Daniel pacing to and fro by his carriage. He wore no costume, for he was exceedingly disdainful of them for gentlemen.

With sudden inspiration, stifling a giggle, Valeria hid behind the hedge and crept toward him. He was pacing directly at the end of a neighbor’s walk.

Valeria leaped, abruptly looming up in front of him, drew a pistol, pointed it at his chest, and growled, “Stand and deliver!”

Utter shock, and then a slight frisson of fear, crossed his face. Next he stared incredulously, and then he roared with laughter. “Valeria, you’re a genius! It’s truly brilliant! A highwayman!”

She wore the clothing that a highwayman of the last century might have worn, although her costume was likely much more finely made and expensive than robbers’ ever were. Her black coat was made of superfine broadcloth, and was long, as the last century’s fashion had been; and so was her waistcoat. Her shirt had long frilled cuffs, and the collar was flat, with a ruffled jabot. A wide leather belt with a silver buckle encircled her slender waist, and two fine Manton dueling pistols—her stepfather’s, stolen from a display of pistols and swords hung on the wall in the library—were stuck butt-out in her belt. She wore her specially made black leather gauntlets with long cuffs, a black tricorn hat with her hair completely tucked up into it, a black mask, and a billowing black silk cape.

Her specially made boots were also from a previous age; they were above-the-knee, with a one-inch heel and a silver buckle. And tucked into these dashing boots were Valeria’s trousers.

Daniel was babbling on, his face lit with somewhat libidinous delight: “Trousers, you look simply smashing, Valeria, it’s really quite extraordinary how enticing it is—”

“Are we going to stand out here prating all night, or are we going to a bal masque?” she demanded, her dark eyes glittering in the mask’s embroidered eyeholes. As they climbed into the carriage, Valeria was not really too surprised that instead of sitting across from her, as was customary, Daniel sat beside her and slid his arm around her shoulders.

She looked up at him and said slyly, “You’re going to try to kiss me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I certainly am.”

“But sir, won’t you find it most peculiar, to kiss a highwayman?”

“Believe me, Valeria, no matter how much you tuck your hair up and wear trousers, no one would ever mistake you for a man.” He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers; it was the first time Valeria had ever been kissed, and she found that it was quite pleasurable. She lifted her face again, and he kissed her, this time with more urgency. At first Valeria enjoyed the embrace, but then she grew disquieted; she was having trouble regulating her breathing, and Daniel was clasping her very closely. She pushed him away, at first gently, but when he resisted her she pushed harder.

Reluctantly he drew away, and he was clearly frustrated. “Why do you push me away, Valeria? You like to be kissed, I can tell, and a woman like you should be kissed, often.”

Valeria was nonplussed by this comment; somehow it made her sound…well, fast. But surely Daniel had no intention of offending her, she quickly reassured herself. Still, with some asperity, Valeria said, “I’m afraid that I have so little experience that I can hardly judge if you speak truth or not. That is the first time I have ever been kissed, and I did like it, but I prefer to give it some time before I decide whether or not I shall be kissing often.”

In spite of his ire, Daniel grinned. “You will be sure to let me know when you decide, won’t you? Happy to be of service, and all.”

The coachman pulled the carriage up to the more discreet side entrance on Poland Street, but even though it wasn’t the main entrance, still a rapidly streaming crowd of people hurried inside. Valeria felt no misgivings at all, only a mounting anticipation. When the groom opened the carriage door, with a flourish of her cape she stepped in front of Daniel and jumped down, disdaining the steps. She turned around to laugh up at him, and saw the heated admiration on his face, and knew that though she certainly looked unorthodox, she must be in very good looks indeed.

Daniel tied a mask over his eyes, a white silk one. “Let’s go, highwayman.”

The Poland Street entrance led directly into the great assembly room, or the rotunda, which was topped by a massive dome that was similar to that of the Pantheon in Rome. Valeria’s first impression was of a room of such vast size that she felt dwarfed. Gradually she realized that the square footage of the room itself was not what gave her the impression; it was the soaring ceiling, at least fifty feet high, with friezes all around depicting scenes of ancient Rome. At one end was a stage holding an entire orchestra. On the east and west sides were single tiers of boxes, set twenty feet up, themselves having twenty-foot ceilings and elaborate chandeliers.

But once Valeria had taken in the room, her attention was riveted by the dancers, for to her eyes they were dancing in a bizarre manner. Instead of being arranged in long neat lines with partners facing each other, or in the orderly rectangles of the cotillion and allemande, the couples were closely clasping each other and whirling around and around in dizzying circles. “Good heavens, what are they doing?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“That is the German waltz. Ain’t it the utmost? It’s all the rage on the Continent, but you just know the bluenoses at Almack’s have not and probably never will endorse it, so you don’t see it in London.”

“No, I can see why,” Valeria murmured. However, once one recovered from the shock of seeing such public intimacy, the dance itself could be quite graceful. As always, there were those who danced elegantly and those who danced awkwardly. Valeria particularly admired a couple who turned and glided with an airy grace. The woman was dressed in the eighteenth-century French style, with a towering powdered wig, a whitened and rouged face with a pasted-on beauty mark, and a marvelous golden satin dress with a natural waistline and wide panniers. Her partner was a tall man dressed in simple black formal wear, and wearing a black mask. They glided close by Daniel and Valeria, and with extreme alarm Valeria recognized the woman as Lady Jex-Blake. Their eyes met. Valeria managed to keep her countenance, holding her breath. Lady Jex-Blake’s hard gaze swept on without a single sign of recognition. Valeria breathed a sigh of relief.

“Just look at some of these costumes,” Daniel said disdainfully. “I told you that even men who generally display good sense make themselves look ridiculous.”

Valeria looked. She saw two judges, with long thick curly wool wigs and scarlet robes; an Arabian pasha, with a turban that was coming untied and billowing trousers; no fewer than four Henry VIIIs; a king’s jester; a harlequin; and several Romans in togas, sandals, and laurel wreaths. Many other gentlemen were dressed in the style of the French court of the previous century, with satin coats of blazing jewel tones, powdered wigs, and cosmetics. One portly gentleman wearing a bright purple coat evidently was costumed as the lately beheaded King Louis XVI, for at his neck was a lurid dribbling of what Valeria hoped was red paint. “Oh, horrors, surely that’s—that’s not funny,” she said in a strangled voice, and then helplessly giggled.

“That’s old Colonel Nebbitts, he always did have a bizarre sense of humor,” Daniel said, chuckling. “His costume at least shows some imagination.”

“But surely you approve of many of the ladies’ costumes, at least. They don’t look ridiculous.”

“Oh no? Did you see that woman in the Marie Antoinette wig with the birdcage and live bird in it? Still, I do like the pretty little shepherdesses, and the ladies wearing the Grecian gowns. Oh, yes, some of those are delicious.”

Valeria looked a little closer, and she was stunned to see that several women were wearing the simple tunic gowns of the classical era…and that they were wearing nothing underneath. For the first time it occurred to her that this was not at all like the other parties she had been to, and it caused her some consternation. But then she told herself with great practicality that she hadn’t recognized anyone at all so far, except for Lady Jex-Blake, and the woman had clearly not known her. The chances of anyone’s recognizing her were slim indeed. Besides, compared to some of the more outrageous costumes she had seen, Valeria’s was relatively unobtrusive. She decided that she should just relax and have a good time, and indeed she was looking forward to waltzing.

Tugging on Daniel’s arm—he was distracted, watching one particularly curvy woman in one of the diaphanous Grecian gowns—Valeria asked, “Daniel, do you know how to do this waltz?”

“Hm? Oh. Oh, yes, certainly. If you observe, it’s really rather simple; it’s just ONE-two-three, ONE-two-three, and you keep turning.”

“Yes, I see. Can we try it?” Valeria asked eagerly.

“Of course, but I have to warn you. In the waltz, the rule is that the gentleman leads, and the lady follows. That means that I signal you how and when to turn, and so on.”

Valeria raised a sardonic eyebrow and put her right hand on the pistol butt at her left hip. “Oh, really. You’re telling me that I’m required to follow a man, and do exactly what he tells me to do? What a bizarre notion.”

Daniel grinned, his most devilish. “I know that you have even less experience at that than kissing, but I’m sure you’ll be just as good at it, if you try.”

Valeria said, “Well, then, stand and deliver.”

They were a little tentative at first; and it did go completely against Valeria’s grain to surrender herself, as it were, to Daniel’s lead. A couple of times she jerked one way when he went the other; and once she stepped square on his right foot. She apologized profusely, but he just said good-naturedly, “Highwayman, I would endure much more than a trodden foot, even by a heavy boot, to be able to hold you close and dance with you like this.”

This delighted Valeria so much that she soon found herself easily following his lead, STEP-step-step, and turning, turning, with Daniel’s arm warmly encircling her waist, pressing her close to him. Even the strangeness of wearing—dancing in—trousers was peculiarly exhilarating. From sheer excitement Valeria threw her head back and laughed.

But her laugh was choked off abruptly, and she stumbled a bit. She had looked upward toward the boxes, and as if she had directly aimed, she looked straight into Alastair Hylton’s face. He sat forward in a jerky, convulsive movement. Even from twenty feet below him, Valeria could see his eyes narrow to slits.

“Oh, no,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Daniel asked.

“Oh, it’s that blasted Lord Hylton. I’ve just seen him, and I’m sure he recognized me.”

Daniel glanced up at the box and shrugged. “Oh, yes, I recall now. Usually Hylton doesn’t attend Kincannon’s er—larger parties. But it seems that an old friend of Hylton’s is on shore leave from the navy, after having been away for a couple of years. Apparently he was grievously wounded in a set-to with a French privateer, a sword-blow to the face, and he is so disfigured that he’s shy of going into company. Kincannon and Hylton persuaded him to attend. That’s him, with the full-face mask. Anyway, what does it matter? It’s none of Hylton’s affair what you do.”

“I know, but I was rather hoping that no one would know me,” she said uncomfortably. “And it never occurred to me that he would be here.”

Daniel looked up at the box, saw Alastair staring at them, and casually nodded. “I doubt very seriously he will come down here at all, you know he would never waltz. Forget him, my sweet highwayman. I only want you to think about and pay attention to me.”

“Surely you can’t be jealous of Lord Hylton?” Valeria teased.

“Not jealous,” Daniel said carelessly, “just selfish. When I’m with a lady I like her to concentrate on me.”

Valeria started to take exception to this curiously impersonal observation, but just then the dance wound down and came to an end. “Let’s dance another, if it’s a waltz,” she said.

“We have all night to dance. I’m dry as a desert, let’s go to the supper room first and see if I can get a decent drink,” Daniel said. “And I’ll try to find you some of your boring lemonade, although I doubt if there’s a non-spiritous drink to be had here.”

They were moving very slowly, as the crowd was thick, and many people were simply standing still, waiting for the next dance. Valeria threw an ever-so-cautious look upward, and to her dismay she saw Alastair start up from his seat and duck out of the box. A few moments later he was coming down the grand staircase. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “He’s coming.”

Daniel frowned. “Val—Madam, I must insist that you forget him; he probably knows everyone in the place, so it is unlikely that he’s coming to talk to you. He’s probably going to one of the card rooms.”

“Oh, how I hope so,” she muttered under her breath.

“Here, the supper room is this—oh, hang it all. There he is, scowling like the god of thunder. I guess we can’t duck him,” Daniel said with a touch of uncertainty that belied his previous swagger.

Valeria gulped and thought, Now I’ve got to stand and deliver…

*  *  *

Alastair came to stand in front of them, scowling blackly. Valeria lifted her chin in a clear challenge. “Hullo, Hylton,” Daniel said. “As you can see, I have a most charming highwayman for a companion tonight.”

“So I see,” he said tightly. The first strains of a waltz started, and Alastair said, “This is my dance, Everleigh.”

Before Daniel could say a word, Alastair grabbed Valeria’s right hand, pinned her around the waist, and whirled her off.

They danced in silence for long moments, staring at each other. Alastair kept his jaw set, his lips a thin line. Valeria looked defiant, her color high. Finally she said, “Why don’t you stop glaring at me and let me return to my partner?”

“Oh, but I’m enjoying the dance so very much.” His arm around her waist became like a vise, and he pressed her impossibly close to him.

“S-stop it,” Valeria said, trying hard but unsuccessfully to pull back.

“Why? You don’t think, do you, that this is the worst affront you’re going to suffer tonight?”

Valeria lashed out, “No, I think that the endless harangue you’re going to give me is the worst I’ll have to suffer through tonight.”

He tightened his jaw, but loosened his iron grip on her. She looked away, though his arctic gray gaze never left her face. Both maintained stony silence for long moments, and they danced. Alastair was having the mightiest internal struggle he had ever known, trying to find the words to impress upon Valeria what a deadly serious mistake she was making. It devastated him to think that she might be completely shut out of all Polite Society.

Finally he said in a bloodlessly cold tone, “You are correct, madam, I did intend to lecture you, which is ungentlemanly of me considering that you’ve made it clear that it bores you to distraction.

“I must, however, say two things, and I beg you will bear with me, however noxious you may find it. The first is that I hope that you fully understand that if you are recognized, you will be ruined. Right now I doubt that there are very many, if any, of your acquaintance here; but when Almack’s closes, there will certainly be many gentlemen who will attend. When word gets around that you are here, in this costume, the Lady Patronesses will probably void your voucher at their very next meeting, and Polite Society will shun you.

“The second thing I must say is that although I know you are thoughtless, and rash sometimes, I never thought that you were false and cruel. I never thought that you would dream of subjecting your mother to such appalling disgrace. She has suffered much already, having to put the best face on the scandal of Maledon’s death; and now this, a betrayal by her own daughter.”

Valeria’s rage seemed to fade as Alastair’s harsh words began to sink in. Slowly, very slowly, her face began to turn pale as she stared up at him. Her brow became furrowed, and her breath began to quicken as if there weren’t enough air in the room. Alastair feared she was about to faint as she sagged helplessly against him.

Quickly he half-turned her, anchored his left arm around her waist, and reached across and grabbed her left arm to steady her. His lips close to her ear, he whispered, “Valeria? Oh, no, I—just breathe, take deep breaths.” He recalled how he had thought, when he had seen her at the fair, bearing such bad news, that she was made of stronger stuff than her mother. But it seemed now that he had managed successfully to utterly shatter Valeria. Already he felt scalding regret.

Dancers whirled around them, staring curiously; but Alastair ignored them. Finally Valeria straightened up, although her shoulders were stooped. Blindly she plucked at Alastair’s hands, pulling them away. Reluctantly he let her go.

“Take me home,” she said raggedly, her head bowed.

Very gently Alastair took her hand and threaded it through his arm, then led her out the door. Lord Kincannon’s grand barouche box, with a team of six silvery white horses, was parked just at the Poland Street entrance. Alastair barked to the coachman, “I’m Hylton, I’m taking this lady home in Lord Kincannon’s carriage. Berkeley Square. You, you, sir,” he half-shouted to one of the grooms. “Go inside and find Mr. Everleigh. Tell him that I’ve escorted the lady home, then go tell Lord Kincannon that I’ve borrowed the carriage for an errand. I’ll be back shortly.”

The groom opened the door, and Valeria crept in as if she were an elderly woman, then collapsed onto the plushly padded seat. Alastair sat across from her, then rapped on the ceiling to signal the coachman.

Valeria’s head was so deeply bowed that her chin touched her chest. Her tricorn hat fully shielded her face from Alastair. He did see, however, enormous tears falling onto her gauntlets. A small sob escaped her—a pitiful, wounded, helpless sound.

“Valeria,” Alastair said softly, unaware that he was using her given name, “listen to me, I—”

Without looking up she said in a muffled weak voice, “Oh, please…please, no…no more.”

“But what I want to say is that I’m so very—”

“Please,” she whispered brokenly. “Please, my lord, I can bear no more.”

The wrenching depth of sorrow in that plea, and, more obscurely, the fact that she had called him by the submissive title that servants used, made Alastair feel wretched.

During what seemed like an endless ride, Valeria cried steadily; it seemed the river of tears had no end. Once, with trembling hands, she reached behind her head, untied her mask, and let it drop to the floor. She never looked up, and that was the only time she moved. Alastair was so desperately unhappy, and felt so guilty for his outrageously harsh words to her, that he couldn’t think of a single way to begin to comfort her. He had never felt at such a loss, so utterly helpless.

When they reached the completely darkened Maledon town house, Alastair was uncertain how to proceed. “Do you have a key, Valeria?” he asked.

“No, I—no.” The groom appeared at the window, then opened the door and pulled down the steps.

Valeria rose very slowly, as if she were in pain. “No, don’t,” she said to Alastair, who made a move to follow her. “Just—just please go. Please leave me alone.”

This went against every instinct that Alastair possessed. He was loath to leave Valeria in this state. But what was he to do? Escort her in? Impossible; he could plainly see that the house was locked up for the night. He knew that Valeria must have sneaked out somehow.

Valeria stopped and turned, and for the first time, looked up. Her beautiful face was dead white, her eyes big black blotches in the dim light. “Thank you,” she said numbly. “Good-bye.”

Alastair was so deeply affected by the desolation in her voice that he couldn’t bring himself to respond. He signaled the groom to close the door, and knocked once on the ceiling, and the carriage moved off into the night. Slowly he bent and picked up the mask. It was soaked with her tears. Carefully he folded it and put it in his pocket.

And then he released his tightly controlled emotions. He was, in fact, intensely angry at himself, and not at all angry with Valeria. No, he had been completely in the wrong; he had savaged her, accused her of falseness and wanton cruelty. But Alastair knew that Valeria could never be deliberately malicious. In spite of the foolish things she had done, it had always been plain to see that she really was innocent, with an almost childlike naïveté. And he had inflicted such pain on her…

His thoughts continued in this harsh and brutal manner. As they neared the Pantheon, he began to think of Daniel Everleigh with loathing. How could he have treated Valeria so infamously? He knew very well the consequences. How could he be so careless with her reputation? Stupid, criminally thoughtless young cur…I ought to call him out.

The idea of fighting a duel with Daniel Everleigh had a particular appeal for Alastair just now. He hadn’t fought in years, but when he was younger, and much more hotheaded than he was now, he had been out twice. Unflinchingly he had taken fire—his opponents had both missed—and then he had deliberately shot into the air. Alastair didn’t know if he could be so kind with Daniel Everleigh.

Of course, it was impossible; if the two of them fought over Valeria’s honor, the story of what she’d done would surely get out.

Abruptly it struck Alastair; he was anxious, even eager, to defend her honor. How…when had that happened?

And then Alastair realized that it didn’t matter; really, nothing mattered very much. His confused feelings for Valeria Segrave were of no consequence. Probably the truest, most heartfelt, most honest thing she had said to him on this miserable night was to ask him to leave her alone.

And so he must do as she wished; and so he would.