The waltz was to be the next dance. Benedict smiled to himself, leaning back against the wall, and keeping himself hidden away until the time came. After securing Miss Smith’s dances, he had not gone in search of any other, feeling his desire already satisfied.
Prior to this evening, he had not had the opportunity to ask Miss Smith whether or not she would be at the Masquerade and since he did not know her true title, he could not write her a note or the like to enquire. But he had searched for her here, believing that she might attend the Masquerade, knowing her reluctance to be in amongst societal events – although he did not know for what reason.
And now I am to dance the waltz with her.
The thrill such a realization brought had his heart leaping about as if he were already dancing. He had never once held her in his arms in such a way before, though they had walked together many a time, and he had touched her hand upon occasion – but to have her so close during the waltz was a happiness yet to be experienced. Yes, there had been the cotillion, but it did not have the same nearness as the waltz, and it was that closeness which he desired. The unmasking would come thereafter and, given that he would still be with her, he had every intention of finding out her name, one way or the other. Given that she had been close to telling him herself, previously, he could hope that she might reveal it to him of her own accord, when her mask fell away. Or, if she did not, then there were certain to be a good number of gentlemen or ladies of his acquaintance who would recognize her. To his mind, it was already a certainty that he would find out the truth, and from that, be able to further their already strong connection.
The next dance was announced, and Benedict stood tall, taking in a long breath before going directly towards Miss Smith. He had been watching her for some time, seeing her step out with various gentlemen and, in doing so, feeling his anticipation growing furiously. Now was the moment when he could take her into his arms, to have her close to him and, with any luck, be offered her name.
Then I can….
He frowned, moving slowly now. Once he discovered her name, what were his intentions? Would he seek to be introduced to her father, so that he might seek permission to court her? To betrothe himself to her? There was so much that he had not yet considered, having been driven by his emotions more than anything else. But… was that not what he had done with Miss Davenport?
“Ah, Lord Rushington. It is to be our waltz, at last.”
“It is.”
The smile which leaped to his lips had his heart going with it, and when he offered her his arm and she took it with a smile, a heaviness seemed to settle in his heart. No, this was not the same as his feelings had been with Miss Davenport. With Miss Davenport, he had barely given any time to the lady, and had declared himself in love with her before he had even had the opportunity to know anything of her true character. He had been deceived by her – and indeed, he had deceived himself. With Miss Smith, there was no such deceit, he was sure. Yes, she hid her true title from him, but she had admitted, only some days ago, that the reason she did it was simply because she enjoyed teasing him. There was a sense of mystery here, a sweetness about her which could not be mistaken for anything else. Certainly, his heart was affected and yes, his desire for her company was growing ever stronger, but it did not pull at him with the same urgency as that which he had experienced with Miss Davenport. Instead, this had begun as a flicker of interest which now had grown into something big, bright, and full of hope and expectation.
“You are smiling at me, Lord Rushington.”
“Is that so peculiar?” The music began and he bowed low before stepping forward. “I think I should always smile when I am with you, Miss Smith.”
She stepped into his arms, her chin lifted, her eyes open and fixed to his. He put one hand to her waist, the other clasping her hand, and the waltz began.
Benedict had thought that he might offer some conversation, for the waltz did allow a few words here and there. Now, however, as he looked down into her eyes, Benedict felt robbed of speech. All of his expectations had been building, to the point that they now exploded like the fireworks he had watched with her at Vauxhall Gardens. This was wonderful. To have her so near him, her hand held tightly in his, the music encouraging them ever closer as they whirled gently around, was pouring affection into his heart. It could not be denied, not when his heart was leaping around with such happiness, not when the smile on his face simply would not dim, even a little. Miss Smith was someone he could not escape from, whom he could not step back from, or leave behind. He wanted to dance every waltz with her, wanted to be even closer to her if he could. It was not as if he were about to leap into betrothal again, but what he felt was so very strong, he had no other choice but to respond to it.
I must seek to court her.
The words came to his lips, but he could not speak them. All that followed was a ragged breath. Miss Smith continued to look up at him, though her eyes were a little shadowed, a slight frown across her face. Was it that she did not understand why they were no longer speaking? Why he had danced in silence thus far? Or was it that she could see the play of emotions across his face and was wondering what each one meant?
The music began to slow, and Benedict wanted to shout out in protest, his hands tightening a little on Miss Smith. Was it not that they had only just begun to dance? To him, it was as if the music had been played for only a few seconds, and had not given him enough time to dance with Miss Smith.
“You frown now, instead of smiling.” Miss Smith stepped back from him, the heat between them fading rapidly, and her voice somewhat quiet. “I do hope that I have not upset you.”
“No, not in the least.” Benedict bowed and then turned to her, his arm out for her to take. “I will admit to frowning, but it came from a silent disagreement with the orchestra.”
Miss Smith laughed at this, her eyes sparking with humor.
“Is that so? And what, pray tell, was your disagreement?”
“I think that they played for far too short a time,” he declared, firmly. “It was not as long as it ought to have been. Either that or I lost all sense of time during our waltz together… though that may very well have been the reason for such a feeling, I admit it.” When his gaze slid towards her, there was a pink in what he could see of her cheeks, but she was not looking at him any longer. Benedict smiled to himself but said nothing further, realizing quickly that he had no thought of where he ought to take the lady. Did she have a companion or her mother here with her?
“Miss Smith, I realize that –”
“And now comes the unmasking!” Lord Masterton, their host for the evening, cried out in his usual loud voice, and soon, a quiet hush began to fall across the room. “The orchestra will play, and when it comes to a stop, we shall all remove our masks and delight in the companions we discover!”
Before Benedict could react, Miss Smith was gone. He turned hastily, seeing her scurrying away with rapid steps. A little surprised, he hurried after her as she slipped into the shadows at the very edge of the room.
“Miss Smith?” Putting out one hand, he caught her arm, pulling her back lightly before dropping his hand again. “Are you quite well?”
“Very well, thank you.”
Benedict frowned, noting how she looked from left to right, and taking in the red in what he could see of her cheeks.
“I should take you back to whomever you arrived with. I did not know –”
“I am quite well, I thank you. It is only that, with the unmasking, I –”
“You cannot be afraid to show your face to me,” Benedict interrupted, moving a little closer. “We are already known to each other. Why would you have any fear over that?” Reaching out, he snared her hand again, but was ready to release it if she made even the slightest protest. “If there is something the matter, Miss Smith, then allow me to be of aid to you in some way. You appear a little distressed, and I want to make certain that you are well. I cannot permit you to hurry away from me, not when you have no one else with you. It would not be right.”
Miss Smith said nothing for a few moments, the only sound her brief sigh. Her fingers tightened around his and she lifted her chin, looking straight up at him as the orchestra continued to play. There was laughter and conversation all around them, an excited hubbub of noise, but all Benedict could hear was Miss Smith.
“Do you truly care for me in that regard, Lord Rushington?”
“Of course I do.” A frown flickered across his forehead. “I would not force you to remain, my dear lady, but I am a little worried, I confess it. I do not understand why you would run from me and, given that I can see no-one nearby looking for you, my concern grows even more. Surely there must be someone who –”
“And begin!”
The cry of Lord Masterton had a huge cheer erupting from the center of the ballroom. Everyone began to remove their masks and Benedict, not wishing to be the only one left with his mask still tied to his face, removed it at once.
Miss Smith did not.
Frowning, Benedict looked at her, perplexed as to her stillness. Her fingers did not lift to her head, the mask did not fall from her face.
“Miss Smith?” His heart was pounding wildly, now filled with an uncertainty that bubbled over into his voice. “What is the matter?” His fingers pressed hers. “If I can be of aid to you, if I can help you in any way, then I beg of you only to ask me. I am your willing servant, I assure you.”
Miss Smith dropped her head forward, hiding her face from him. Her other hand lifted to the back of her head and, after only a few seconds, the mask on her face fell away, caught by one nimble hand. Then she lifted her head and looked directly at him, her eyes suddenly piercing his. There was a sheen in her eyes which he could not understand, and her cheeks were still a soft pink.
“Oh, Lord Rushington.” Closing her eyes, Miss Smith took in a shaky breath, then let it out again as she looked at him. “Whatever am I to do?”
There was a hint of agony in her words and Benedict blinked, his chest tightening with confusion as Miss Smith stepped forward and boldly put her free hand to his shoulder. He glanced at it, opening his mouth to say something only for her to push herself up on tiptoe, look deeply into his eyes for a long moment, and then press her mouth to his.