Chapter 7

She was swimming in an ocean of noise. Dazzled by the riot of light and color all around her, Lilah halted in the foyer and waited for Drake to catch up with her. He was conferring with the butler and, she suspected, tipping the old man lavishly. She saw the butler’s well-trained face slip momentarily into a broad smile before he bowed and waved Drake in.

So, Drake had been right. Whatever trials were in store for them this night, at least they had not been humiliated at his great-aunt’s door.

As he stepped past the bowing butler, Drake flashed a conspiratorial smile at her. Lilah felt her breath catch. She had not looked at him fully until now, in the glow of dozens of candles and against this glittering backdrop. He was overwhelming. The black silk domino and mask reminded her of her initial impression: again he looked more like a highwayman than an earl. The flowing cape shrouded his tall person from neck to heel, making him seem a towering figure of menace—or romance. She wasn’t sure which. But when he moved toward her and the swirling silk parted, revealing the understated elegance of his evening attire, her impression shifted again. He looked like both a highwayman and an earl. The combination should have been incongruous. In Drake, it was not.

Confusion and alarm chased each other through her thoughts. She felt much too drawn to him. It was dangerous. He was dangerous. He reached her side, overshadowing her, forcing her to look up to meet his eyes. She didn’t like it. She disliked men who dominated, men who had that hateful air of command—an attitude Drake had in abundance. She disliked feeling powerless and weak. And he definitely made her feel weak. When her eyes met his, something at the core of her being, something vital, turned to mush. She couldn’t think properly. She couldn’t breathe properly. Her knees trembled.

And she didn’t like it one bit, she told herself, fighting the sensation as his gloved hand touched her bare arm, guiding her across the foyer to the ballroom. No, she didn’t like it at all.

The din emanating from the ballroom was actually supportable, once they were in the ballroom itself. The confines of the marbled foyer had amplified the racket, but the ballroom had a high, airy ceiling and French doors open to the spring evening. From his height, Drake still had to lean in to speak to her, but she had no difficulty distinguishing his voice from the cacophony around her.

“Congratulate me.”

“For what, pray tell?”

“We arrived unscathed, we entered without hindrance, no one other than Fimber knows we are here, and Fimber is sworn to secrecy.”

She looked up at him. He was glancing around the room with an expression she recognized, even through the mask, as keen anticipation. Drake was enjoying every moment of this ordeal.

“The setup is perfect,” he said exultantly. “Why, it’s almost as good as being invisible. We shall come upon Sir Horace and Eugenia unawares, and in disguise. They’ll have no chance to brace themselves for confrontation. They will be too flustered to withstand our persuasion.”

“Yes, it is a marvelous plan,” she agreed, biting back a laugh. “But you have overlooked one important detail.”

He glanced down at her, one eyebrow raised. Lilah tucked the corners of her mouth into a demure smile. “Everyone else is in disguise, too.”

She had to suppress a giggle as she watched Drake take a second look at the crowd swirling around his great-aunt’s ballroom. His expression gradually changed from anticipation to chagrin. What she had said was true; the advantage of their being disguised was wiped out by the disadvantage of everyone else being disguised. It was all very well to speak of coming upon the couple unawares—but how would they know Sir Horace and Eugenia if they saw them?

An annoyed frown creased Drake’s forehead. “We’ll find them,” he vowed. “We have one advantage, anyhow—we know they are here. Pretend to converse with me, but look about you. It will be easier for you to recognize your father than for me to recognize Eugenia.”

“Why do you think so?”

“The ladies are thoroughly disguised. Many of the men are simply wearing dominoes, as I am. Sir Horace may be among them.”

“You are right,” she said approvingly. She may be allied with a lunatic, but at least he was an intelligent lunatic. “Papa is a modest man, so I would be surprised to see him wearing anything outlandish.” She scanned the crowd, her nose wrinkling with distaste. “At the very least, I hope he is not that idiot dressed as a pig.”

Drake led her on a slow promenade round the circumference of the room. Their progress was frequently impeded by collisions with laughing couples and knots of loudly conversing people. Lilah did not recognize a soul. It gave her a peculiar feeling to scrutinize the oddly-dressed throng and realize that she was surrounded by the haut ton. Was that woman in the monkey mask a duchess? Did the overstuffed courtier in the devil costume hold the fate of hundreds of tenants in his hoof-clad hands? “I weep for England,” she murmured, biting back a laugh.

Drake’s hand was momentarily knocked from her wrist when a tipsy sheep caromed into her, spilling his glass of champagne down his woolly front. “Beg y’r pardon!” shouted the sheep. “Bad luck, what? A shocking crush. I say, I s’pose I’ll shrink now, eh? Ha! Ha! Wet wool, you know! Shrink!”

Lilah was saved from falling into conversation with the sheep by Drake’s firm hand reconnecting with hers. She bestowed an apologetic smile upon the jolly soul—who seemed to take no offense when Drake pulled her bodily away from him—and, clinging tightly to Drake’s hand, squeezed between two laughing ladies to catch up with him.

“I can’t see anything,” she complained. “We’ll never find them this way.”

“You’re too short,” Drake said grumpily.

“Well, you needn’t say it as if you blamed me. We can’t all be giants like you. If I describe my father, can you look for him?”

“Not unless he has some distinguishing characteristic he couldn’t possibly disguise. I don’t suppose he’s hugely fat, or one-legged, or anything like that?”

Lilah choked. “No. No such luck.”

“What a pity.” Drake was scanning the room again. Suddenly his eyes narrowed. “Ah. Come this way.”

“Do you see Eugenia?”

“No, but I see a way to make you taller.” He seized her hand and began pulling her toward the wall.

“Drake,” said Lilah warningly, trying unsuccessfully to free her hand, “if you dare put me up on stilts —”

“No, no, nothing so alarming,” he promised. Then, as they had reached the wall, he swung around and took her by the waist, chuckling wickedly. “Although I’d give a pony to see you on stilts. Especially in this costume.”

She gasped. “Dreadful man! I am wearing hoops.”

“Precisely. Stilts would provide a most entertaining view.”

Before she could formulate a reply sufficiently withering to put him in his place, someone suddenly knocked into her from behind. She stumbled forward into Drake’s chest. His hands steadied her, but did not push her away. Lilah pulled back quickly; their brief contact had not only made her forget whatever she was about to say, it had thrilled her in a terrifying way. What, oh what, was the matter with her?

“Step up,” he said. His voice sounded strangely hoarse. “On the plinth.”

He jerked his head to indicate the decorative column standing, waist-high, near the wall. It appeared designed to hold a statue or vase, but at the moment it stood empty. One of the revelers had doubtless knocked down and broken whatever decorative object it had originally held. Lilah eyed it with misgiving. “I cannot step up on that thing. It is too tall.”

“I will lift you.”

“No!” cried Lilah, panic sharpening her voice, but it was too late. His strong hands encircled her waist and she sailed up into the air. With an outraged splutter, she scrambled onto the plinth. It was the only place her dangling feet could find a purchase.

The column seemed much higher than it had looked from the ground, and too small for safety. Her feet were planted, but she was afraid to stand upright. “Are you mad?” she panted. She was bent nearly in two, clutching his shoulders as she tried to find her balance.

He did not immediately reply. To Lilah’s intense mortification, his gaze appeared riveted to what her squirming had placed directly in his line of vision: her chest. The rigid bodice of the old-fashioned gown bared the top half of her breasts and mounded them high above the neckline. When she bent at the waist, they bulged nearly to her collarbone. For an instant, she was afraid they would pop out entirely and spill right into his face. Something in his expression indicated he would not object to that.

“Lift me down,” she ordered, albeit unsteadily.

“Not on your life.” His eyes gleamed as his gaze traveled slowly up her throat, lingering briefly on her lips before continuing up to meet her eyes. A shock of heat shot through her when their eyes met, as if electricity had leaped from his eyes to hers, searing along all her nerves.

“You are blushing,” he said.

His voice was so soft it should have been inaudible, but somehow she heard every nuanced syllable. It was as if her ears were instinctively attuned to his particular pitch, and when he spoke she hummed and quivered like a piano tuner’s fork.

“Of course I am blushing,” she said, with a fair assumption of hauteur. “You are embarrassing me.”

“Why? You look beautiful up there. Like a Dresden figurine.” His teeth flashed in a brief grin. “Just strike a pose and hold still.”

“Strike a pose? You wretch, I cannot even stand.”

“Yes, you can. You are perfectly safe. I will catch you if you fall.”

“What a horrible man you are,” she observed, resigned. “For pity’s sake, at least give me your hand.”

He complied, and she rose rather shakily to an upright posture. Raucous cheering immediately broke out among a group of interested spectators nearby, all of whom seemed to be men. Since she had not noticed the small crowd their behavior was attracting, Lilah was so startled she nearly fell. Drake’s hand steadied her.

“Careful,” he warned under his breath. “Steady on. Remember your role.”

“What role?” she gasped, mortified. “Drake, let me down at once!”

“Excellent,” he said approvingly. “Now hit me with your fan.”

She promptly complied.

“Ouch,” he muttered, rubbing the top of his head. “Very convincing.” He looked over at the knot of hooting men and flashed a broad grin. “I told her I’d put her on a pedestal,” he called to them. “And worship at her feet.”

Laughter and applause greeted this sally. One of the men shouted, “The lady had something better in mind, my friend!”

Lilah wanted to sink through the floor. Through the haze of humiliation she felt Drake’s hand squeezing hers reassuringly. She looked down at him, almost sick with shame, and saw that he was trying to signal her with his eyes. Pompadour, he mouthed.

She understood in a flash. Lilah had forgotten, for the moment, that she was in disguise. It was not Delilah Chadwick who stood on the pedestal, vulgarly displayed for the entertainment of strangers. It was La Pompadour.

She doubted if Madame de Pompadour had ever done anything this undignified, but never mind. Whatever Lilah did this evening, her reputation—and La Pompadour’s, for that matter—would survive, for neither lady was actually present. She immediately breathed easier.

Under the cover of rude male laughter, Lilah tossed her head and frowned prettily. “Voyons!” she exclaimed, in her mother’s clear, carrying voice. “Your homage does not please me, m’sieur. I shall find another worshiper.”

The men immediately rushed the pedestal, vying, with much laughter and horseplay, for the honor of becoming her new acolyte. One of the crowd was her wine-stained sheep; she was glad, now, that she had not spoken to him. Let him think she was French. Let them all think it.

Feeling much more secure, Lilah—or, rather, this unknown coquette she had become—dropped Drake’s hand and balanced daintily on her perch. She smiled and pouted, gestured with her fan and clapped her hands, doling out encouragement to one gentleman and discouragement to another as the fancy struck her. At the same time, she spared some attention to study the room spread out before her.

It was amazing what a difference a few feet of height made. Even with a gaggle of fatwits distracting her and crowding round her knees, she could see everyone and everything in the ballroom from here. The orchestra was placed in a low balcony on the opposite side of the room, where she could see them sawing away like mad. Dancing couples swirled and bumped in the center of the room, their agility impeded by their costumes. She saw several men who might be Papa, but could be certain of nothing. There was so much movement and so many masks, it was impossible to pick one man out of the throng.

Eventually she caught Drake’s eye and gave him a tiny shake of her head. He had drifted back to the outside of her ring of new admirers, but at her signal he immediately shouldered his way through them to her side. “That’s enough,” he commanded. “None of you are worthy of my goddess.”

“Nor are you,” said Lilah pertly. The men all laughed, but parted good-naturedly to let Drake claim her. She supposed they thought him her acknowledged suitor. Perhaps some of them recognized the earl and didn’t care to annoy a man of his rank. Or bulk. At any rate, the men all took their leave of her and wandered off in search of additional sport.

Drake held up his hand. She looked down her nose at him for a moment, refusing to take it. “You, sir, are unconscionable,” she informed him. “What if those dreadful men had done me a mischief? They smelled very strongly of spirits.”

“You seemed to be holding your own,” he said dryly. “I take it you did not recognize your father?”

She shook her head. “It is impossible.”

“We should get out into the center of the room. Come down and we’ll dance.”

She frowned. “Stop ordering me about. It makes me cross.”

He chuckled. “Sorry. Force of habit. Please come down and we’ll dance.”

She cocked her head. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Ah. Please come down. May I have this dance?”

“Much better.” She placed her hand in his and hopped.

He caught her. Suddenly the music seemed to swell; it filled her head with sweet swirls of melody, deafening her to all other sounds. Drake’s impossibly strong arm held her at the waist, crushed against him, his face inches below her own. Her feet dangled, useless; she was suspended in the air with nothing between her and an ignominious fall but Drake’s solid muscles. She balanced there against his broad chest and stared into his upturned face. There was a peculiar roaring in her ears—or was it the orchestra? Dizzy, she gazed into Drake’s eyes, framed by the slits of his black silk mask. Devils danced in their depths.

“Put me down,” she said. Her voice sounded nothing like her own.

Laughter rumbled in his chest; she could feel it vibrate beneath her. “Stop ordering me about,” he said, mimicking her. “It makes me cross.”

She tried to look severe. “Please put me down.”

He did, but with obvious reluctance. She slid all down his frame. When her feet touched the floor she stepped hastily away, shaking out her skirts. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. She wished she had a bigger mask. The flimsy scrap of silk she had employed disguised her features, but did little to hide her blushes.

Drake did not comment on the pinkness of her complexion. He merely offered his arm. “Shall we? Your French accent is very good, by the way.”

“My mother was French.”

“Ah, yes. How could I forget?” His eyes had returned to the crowd around them. “Eugenia’s speech must strike your father as sadly flat, compared to his first wife’s pretty accent.”

A pang shot through Lilah at the thought. “Let us hope so. My mother did have a lovely voice.”

“You must take after her.”

Lilah glanced up at her companion in surprise. Was Drake complimenting her? Before she could decide, he seemed to catch himself, appearing vexed that he had spoken without thinking. “But Eugenia’s voice is pleasant enough, in its way,” he said gruffly. “And she has other virtues.”

They had reached the edge of the dance floor. Drake did not, however, pull her into the melee. They stood, irresolute, watching the red-faced, whooping couples. The dance in progress was some sort of country dance that involved men and women galloping about in concentric rings, trying to locate their partners among the horde. The dancers’ fields of vision were severely limited by their masks, most of them had been sipping champagne for several hours now, and many of them were wearing costumes with tails to be stepped on or protrusions that struck glancing blows to dancers in their immediate vicinity. The result was much hilarity and little actual dancing.

“I would need something stronger than champagne to enjoy this mess,” remarked Drake. “Let’s withdraw and think of another plan.”

Lilah could only be thankful. They fought their way back through the crowd to a high-arched doorway. Drake halted in it and they took their stand against the lintel. Lilah protested that they could see very little of the ballroom from here, but Drake’s superior knowledge of the house and his great-aunt’s party arrangements prevailed; he informed her that this exit led to both the ladies’s and the men’s cloakrooms. Anyone needing to visit the necessaries would pass directly in front of them. Lilah congratulated him on an excellent stratagem, and he bowed an ironic acknowledgment.

It was pleasant to have a respite from studying the crowd, a difficult task for a petite female. Lilah turned her attention to studying Drake instead. He had placed her with her back against the lintel and was leaning one hand negligently on the smooth wooden surface behind her, thus giving the impression that they were deep in a private flirtation and averse to being disturbed. His eyes were not on her, however; his gaze flicked past her to whoever approached the doorway. A chuckle rose in her as she watched the set of his jaw and the light in his eyes. She strongly suspected that he was having the time of his life.

“Are you fond of hunting, Drake?”

He glanced down at her in surprise. “Rather.” A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You’re a perceptive chit.”

Drake was not a man who smiled often. One could not help returning such a rarely-glimpsed smile. She felt an answering smile waver across her face, and devoutly hoped she did not appear too fatuous. Something about his smile made Lilah conscious of how close his body was to hers, and her attraction to this exasperating man was making her feel remarkably foolish.

“I’m perceptive enough when provided with clues,” she said lightly. “I wonder—” She stopped, biting her lip. Oh, dear. She mustn’t pry.

But Drake cocked his head as if listening, appearing approachable for once. “What do you wonder, I wonder?”

Very well. She would plunge ahead. “I wonder why you wish to marry Miss Mayhew. And why she doesn’t seem to know it.”

Drake’s approachable expression immediately vanished. He scowled at her. “Of all the deuced cheek—”

“It isn’t cheek.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I need to know. It seems very strange, to me, that a lady who—” It seems strange that a lady who could have you would marry anyone else. Lilah gulped, shocked at her wayward thoughts, but rallied. “Strange that a lady who could marry an earl would choose to marry a baronet instead.”

Drake’s scowl darkened. “And that baronet not in the first blush of youth, either.”

“Yes.” Lilah decided not to take offense. It was, after all, what she had meant. Sort of. “Is it possible that Miss Mayhew does not know your intentions?”

He appeared to be struggling with whether or not to answer her. He must have decided that the question concerned her after all, as the daughter of Miss Mayhew’s supposed fiancé. He finally gave her a grudging nod. “All right. I’ll tell you what I think.” He cast about for a moment, seeking the right words. His mouth finally twisted in a rueful look; to Lilah’s astonishment, he actually seemed embarrassed. “I think she’s playing a game with me. And I think she’s winning.”

Lilah was fascinated. “But—how can this be? A lady would not encourage another gentleman’s suit as part of a game.”

A crack of cynical laughter escaped Drake. “What an innocent you must be! Women execute these sorts of maneuvers every day. I just didn’t think Eugenia was the kind of woman who would try it. Somehow I misjudged her. The more fool I.”

“Do you love her?” Lilah blurted. She was immediately ashamed of asking such a personal question, but Drake did not seem offended by it. He was scowling, but not necessarily at her.

“Of course I love her,” he growled. “We’ve been friends since childhood. I’ve always meant to marry her one day. I never said anything, however, so she evidently grew tired of waiting and decided to teach me a lesson.” He dropped his hand from behind Lilah and thrust it through his hair, unwilling laughter shaking his shoulders. “Eugenia’s not stupid. She made a clever move. It worked, didn’t it? When I heard about some middle-aged chuff pursuing my girl, I thought it was a pretty good joke. But when I learned that she was ready to accept him, I dropped everything and ran hot-foot to London to thrust a spoke in his wheel.”

Lilah frowned. “But—does my father know that Miss Mayhew really intends to wed you, rather than him?”

Drake shrugged. “Who knows? The result will be the same, so it doesn’t matter.”

Her eyes flashed with indignation. “Possibly it matters to him! If you are right about this, Miss Mayhew is playing my father for a fool. He will look ridiculous if she jilts him to wed you. He may even suffer a heartache.”

Drake stared down at her in exasperation. “What difference does it make? Isn’t that exactly what we came here to accomplish?”

She looked daggers at him. “It seems, to me, to make a great deal of difference,” she informed him. “It is one thing to relieve my father of a commitment made half-heartedly. It is entirely a different thing, to steal from him a lady he has grown to care for.”

“I thought you were convinced that he only offered for Eugenia to give you companionship, or some such nonsense? Or to secure an heir?”

“Yes, but what if I am wrong?” cried Lilah despairingly. “I was picturing two adults, discussing their future reasonably—and now you tell me Miss Mayhew may have been enticing my poor father while secretly intending to pique your interest. If she is playing some sort of undergame—”

Drake looked fierce. “I keep telling you, Eugenia’s not capable of enticing anyone! She’s no siren. Why, she doesn’t even know how to flirt. She’s been very strictly reared—by my own mother, I’ll have you know! She lost her parents at an early age and was brought up at Drakesley. I know her like a sister. She’s a lady from top to toe.”

“A game-playing lady!” Lilah snapped. “A manipulator! Or so you just told me.”

Drake looked harassed. “Well, that’s the part I don’t understand,” he said abruptly. “But we’ll get to the bottom of it. I would have said Eugenia was the last woman on earth to set a trap for a man. Any man. Even me.” He hesitated. “Especially me! I can’t imagine her duping one man, let alone two, so perhaps your father is in on the plot.”

Lilah struggled with this for a moment. “I hope so,” she said at last. “But I must say, it sounds extraordinarily unlike him. You say you cannot imagine Eugenia setting such a trap. Well, I can’t imagine Papa helping her to set it! He’s a very upright man. Such a scheme would strike him as sly and dishonorable. I know it would.”

“Perhaps she appealed to his chivalry.”

“Perhaps.” She looked doubtful. “But Miss Mayhew has only just met him. Why would she take him so deep in her confidence? Not to mention that part of the plan must entail her jilting him—making him the target of malicious gossip. Anyone would dislike that, but Papa would hate it even more than most.”

They stared at each other as if seeking answers to the mystery in each other’s eyes. All they found was shared perplexity.

A rueful look dawned on Drake’s features. “I may have misjudged Eugenia, but I’ve got you pegged,” he said at last—softly, but with conviction. “You’re a straight arrow, just as I am. The problem is, neither of us is any good at understanding other people’s deviousness. There are those who are on the lookout for deception and expect it—and see it coming. You and I do not. It takes a gameplayer to understand another gameplayer. We’re out of our depth, Miss Chadwick.”

“I’m afraid you are right,” Lilah sighed. “Much as one hates to admit being so…so simple. But I know exactly what you mean; there are people who would look at this situation and understand in a flash what was really happening. You and I are not among them.”

They pondered this glumly.

The ferocious look slowly returned to Drake’s features. “I’ll say this for us,” he announced, righteous indignation warming his voice. “Neither you nor I would construct an elaborate plot to trick other people into doing what we want.”

“Certainly not,” said Lilah roundly. But then she added, with laughter quivering in her voice, “We would employ more direct methods.”