Ravishing Ruby (16 page)

Ruby paused at the bottom of the steps and looked back at the crestless carriage that Louisa had loaned her. Was she really going to do this? There was still time to go back, to return home. She was not normally given to such self-doubt, but neither was she given to doing things she thought were not wise. And this was definitely not wise.

She should go back. She did not belong here.

What was she hoping to gain?

And then she sucked in her stomach, pushed her shoulders back, and walked up the stairs. As long as her mask stayed on, no one would ever know who she was, what she was. And even if the mask came off, nobody would recognize her—well, nobody but Derek. Without her cosmetics it was doubtful that even her most regular patrons would recognize her pallid features. And even Derek might not know her in the long, dark ringlets of her new wig. She'd been tempted to just let her natural hair show, but what if her father were here? It was unlikely that he was, but that was one meeting she didn't feel the need for. She didn't know what her father would do, but she knew it would not be pleasant.

Reaching up, she made sure the dark silk half-mask was firmly in place, the ribbons tight beneath the red silk of her turban. Reassured, she entered through the wide-open doors, handing the invitation to a footman who did not even glance down at it before setting it aside. The majority of the guests had not bothered to bring their invitations, clearly secure in who they were, not even their costumes hiding their right to be right where they were.

Giving her hips a sway that drew every man's eye, Ruby sallied through the entryway and into the ballroom. If there was anyone who knew how to pretend to be someone else it was she. Slowing her walk, she surveyed the room, seeking that one man. Her eyes trailed over man after man in dark colors and mask, seeking one who did not wish to hide, who had the confidence to be himself.

Would she ever have that confidence? Is that what drew her to him? Derek was so comfortable in his own skin, and she wasn't always sure which skin she belonged in.

Except when she was with him. When she was with him all the pieces fit together.

No. That was not him. Right height, right build, but just not right.

Hmm. What about the man in the deep hood? She bit down on her lip. He took a step, another. No. The stride was wrong. Derek would never prance.

Man after man, she considered and rejected. Perhaps he was not here yet. She had come near the beginning of the affair, afraid to miss him.

Well, she would have to look, and perhaps enjoy herself as well. When was she ever going to get an opportunity such as this again? If life had been slightly different, this might have been her world. Could it hurt to glance around a bit, to see what it was her birth had kept her from, to give in to her girlish dreams?

She glanced down at her costume again, wanting to be sure that it fit in with the crowd. If anything it was too fine. The deep red silk of her tight skirts and the velvet of the three button vest were equal to any in the room, but the Venetian brocade that marked collar, cuffs, and waist was something else, that one thin strip of faded brocade that was finer than any fabric here. It was amazing the modiste had finished it so quickly.

Her baubles were not as fine, nobody would ever mistake their brass for gold, their paste for diamonds—only her sapphire ear bobs spoke of this world. But then many here wore paste, the gems of enormous size, the chains heavy and gaudy.

She was not out of place.

Her gaze wandered about the room, over shepherdesses and monks, over haughty queens and ancient kings, over gods and animals. There was even one man dressed as a candelabra, if she was not mistaken.

Her eye paused on a slender, young blonde across the room, a simple white dress adorned her—its loose lines barely hinting at the body beneath. Her fair locks were swept up and wrapped in pearls and flowers, a young goddess awaiting her lover. Her lips pursed and then a smile lit her face as she gazed at the slightly older man who walked toward her, a play sword swinging at his side.

For a moment Ruby could not say why she was captured by the couple, the love on the girl's face was something to see, but it caused only a momentary pang in Ruby's heart as she considered her own situation. No, it was something else that had drawn her to the girl, something…And then her breath caught and held.

Her sister. Her half-sister. She was looking at her sister, at the girl who held the place at her father's side she had never been granted. Her blood froze within her veins.

She didn't know the girl's name; she had taken care to avoid such knowledge. She barely knew of her existence, but there was no mistaking who she was. Ruby looked at those same eyes nightly in the mirror.

Giving herself a hard shake, she turned away, fighting the tears that threatened. This was not what she had come for. Leaving seemed the only option.

Lifting her skirts, she turned toward the door and stopped, a bold Templar and fair maiden had just entered the room and stood at the top of the short flight of stairs—and she knew him instantly.

Captain Price had arrived.

She must be Anne. Ruby let her gaze fix on the woman at Derek's side. It was hard to determine her appearance beneath the costume that she wore. Long blond ringlets of an unnatural shade of yellow cascaded down below a silver diadem and a light blue veil that draped her hair. The dress was also blue, the bodice figure hugging—she had decent breasts although not as full as Ruby's—the waist of the dress coming to a point over her pelvis, the skirts loose about her hips and legs. The fabric was good, a heavy satin with panels of embroidery at hips and cuffs. Ruby appraised it and the faux jewels that ringed her neck. As a whole it was in good taste and flattering, although the color was a little off for Anne's pale skin.

Ruby's eyes came back to the pale face, to pinched lips and glaring eyes. She did not look happy despite the gallant knight whose arm she held. But perhaps that was wishful thinking. She did not like to think how her gut would have roiled if Anne had looked at Derek with the same look of adoration that Ruby's sister had displayed.

And then there was Derek. As soon as her eyes came back to him, she wondered that they'd ever left. The white vestment with the stark, red cross emphasized his broad shoulders, the belt at the waist drawing her eyes to his hips. It was hard to tell what the chain mail was made of. It was clearly not metal, knitted grey wool, perhaps? Although there was a shimmer to it. She could not imagine silver thread used in such a costume.

Her eyes skimmed up, passing over the broad chest to settle upon the hard chin. He was clean-shaven this night. He must have used a blade quite recently. He lacked even the slight shadow of dark that appeared within an hour of his shaving.

Her fingers twitched with the need to caress that smooth skin, to feel if his cheeks were as soft as they appeared. There was so little soft about this man. His lips were certainly not as he stared down at Anne, his mouth firm with displeasure.

What was she saying that caused that look to flit across his face? Ruby liked to imagine an argument, or, perhaps, endless complaints. Derek would have little patience for such foolishness. What could one possibly have to complain about here? The room was a trifle warm with the press of bodies, but that was only to be expected—and the spectacle more than outweighed any discomfort.

Perhaps they were merely troubled to be stuck in such a crush when they wished to be alone? Did Derek long to take his future bride-to-be to the dark gardens, to cover that pale throat with kisses? Was Anne counting the hours until they would be alone in the carriage, to the moment when his hands would be upon her?

No. She would not think that way. Derek's eyes did not look dark with the anticipation of passion.

Or was that wishful thinking again?

Blast and double blast. She had to stop this. She would talk with him, say her piece, and then take the consequences, be them what they may.

Even as she had the thought, his head came up, his eyes sought her out. They met hers. His brows knitted in confusion. She could see him trying to understand. He knew her and yet he did not. It was not the costume that prevented him from seeing; it was the circumstance. His mind could not place Madame Rouge here, could not imagine Ruby surrounded by the swirl of society.

She smiled back mockingly, felt his eyes drop to her lips.

Yes, he knew those lips, but was not yet ready to admit who she was.

Her tongue slipped out, trailing slowly across her lower lip. His whole body stiffened.

His gaze came back to her eyes, full of question.

Yes, even with the mask he recognized her. He was still confused, but he knew exactly who she was.

She smiled, full and soft, winked—then turned away. It was not yet time for their conversation; let the hour grow later and the wine flow longer.

What the hell was Ruby doing here? It might have taken him a moment to recognize her, although his body had known instantly. He shifted, feeling his half-erect prick press against his leg.

Why was she here? And that smile, what had she meant by that smile?

“…and the Collinses have promised that we can have the wedding breakfast at their place. I know it's traditional to have it in the bride's home, but I'd rather have it someplace with more space and grandeur. My father refuses to rent the proper house for what I need. He just moans about bills without understanding that…” Anne droned on.

He tried to smile down at her. If he expressed more interest would she seem happier? And why did she need a bigger house? They'd only be here for a while after the wedding before he took her back to Rhode Island. They had talked about it. She knew his plans, their plans, and yet she always talked as if she were staying in London forever, living on her father's money.

And they hadn't even become formally engaged yet. Why did she keep worrying?

She looked up at him, holding his gaze. “I do hope you like the dress I've chosen for the wedding. I wanted something special, something that would show you what you are getting.”

Derek cleared his throat. “I believe I am quite clear on what I am receiving.” Several weaving machines, an exclusive contract, a decent dowry, a wife, and his family's approval. “And shouldn't you be thinking about actually formalizing the engagement before worrying about the wedding?”

She smiled, her eyes dropping to his chest, trying to look coy. “I meant what you are getting on the wedding night,” she whispered. “I know we have not even kissed, but I do want you to know that all will be right in that respect. And I am a woman and will worry about what I will.”

How had the conversation turned from houses to wedding nights? He might have to begin to listen to her. “I am sure that everything will be quite adequate in respect to the wedding night.”

“Adequate?” Color rose on her cheeks.

Shit. He knew better than to tell a woman that anything about her was adequate and certainly not her charms. “I meant wonderful. I was merely trying not to plant any images in my brain when I cannot act upon them.”

Her eyes shifted. She was trying to decide if she should be mollified or not. “I do want a husband who wants me for a wife and not just my father's influence and money. I think that as we are going to wed it would be perfectly acceptable for you to have manly thoughts about me.”

“We are not yet engaged.” Why now? Why in the middle of a costume masquerade was she suddenly asking for more than they had ever agreed on? From the very first it had been clear that this was a business arrangement between them.

Anne leaned into him, letting her breasts casually brush his arm. “I know. And I also know that is my own foolishness. I should have agreed to the engagement in Manchester. We could simply have announced it here. It would not have made a difference.”

“I believe I said that at the time. You could also have allowed me to announce it anytime in the—”

“Oh, don't be like that.” Her lips pursed and she glanced about the room, her eyes stopping far over his shoulder. “Why don't you fetch me some refreshment? I am beginning to feel a trifle parched.”

Was she seeking a moment apart? He was probably reading too much into it. Women were far too complicated for his mind. And besides, perhaps he could take the moment to find Ruby and try to understand what she was doing here.

Ruby stood against the back wall and watched as Louisa, a tempting shepherdess, waltzed with her husband, Lord Stanton, who wore only a slim black mask across his eyes. It was apparent watching the two that the whole room could have disappeared and they would not have cared in the least. Louisa's glance was locked with her husband's and they moved about the room as one. Stanton leaned forward and whispered something in his wife's ear and she lowered her eyes, a flush of color rising on her cheeks.

Ruby doubted they would stay at the masquerade for long.

Stanton whispered something else, and Ruby felt her own breath catch at the look that crossed Louisa's face. No, she could not imagine that they would be here for more than a few more minutes. Knowing Stanton's tastes, they required far more privacy than could be found in an empty library or shaded garden.

Trying not to smile, she turned just in time to see Miss Sarah Swilp slipping into a dark corridor followed by her fiancé, Mr. Perry. The couple had been one of Ruby's other matchmaking successes and Ruby could not hold back the grin at how obvious their attraction was. If anyone else was watching, the wedding might need to be moved up.

Her smile lasted only a moment after they were out of sight. She was happy for both couples and yet a strange loneliness took hold deep in her belly. Both couples had faced obstacles and yet both had found true love. Romantic notions seldom gripped her, but as she watched them she was sure that it was true love—and that was something she would never have.

At least she hadn't seen Lady Bliss and Lord Duldon, another of her matchmaking successes. It would have been too much to see all three couples gloriously happy when she faced such…such…She didn't even have a word for what it was she felt.

And then she shivered, turning even before Derek could speak.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I came to see you.”

His mouth opened and then closed. He had not expected that answer. “To see me?”

“Yes, I did not think I would see you again if I did not pursue you.”

“How…?”

“It was a matter of putting together the clues and then asking a friend for an invitation. And, no, not that type of friend.”

“Why did you wish to see me?” His shoulders had drawn back and he looked defensive. His eyes dropped to her belly and then back to her face.

Surely the man knew enough to know that even if she were with child she would not know yet. And what would he do if…? She could not see him abandoning his own blood, but would he believe her? It shook her that she was not sure. He seemed so honorable, but she'd known many men to flail in the face of such a dilemma. “No. It's not that.”

He colored. “I do know better, and if it was…”

“Don't say what you are not sure of. I wished to see you. It is as simple as that. You do like things simple. The word seems to fill my life since I met you.”

“Yes, I like simple, but I have not had much of that since we met.”

“Why? I think everything between us has been very simple.” She stared up into his dark eyes trying to decide what he meant.

“I find nothing to do with you simple.”

“I am not sure if that is a compliment or not.”

“And that is just what I mean. I don't know either. All I know is that nothing in my life seems simple at the moment.” His eyes wandered over her, pausing at all the crucial places, and then back to her face. “And did you know my costume also? I did not know it myself until this afternoon.”

How had he managed to put it all together in so little time? “No, I suppose after both reading
Ivanhoe
our minds wandered in the same direction, but why be de Bois-Guilbert, the Templar? I would not have thought you the type to play the villain.”

“Anne sent the costume. I do not think she has read the book.”

Anne, the name stopped her. What she was doing was wrong. He belonged to another even if the words had not yet been said. “And she is Rowena, with those lovely blond braids.”

“I would imagine so. We did not actually discuss it.”

And Ruby was Rebecca, the heroine who did not win the hero, the Jewess whose life would never have allowed the love of Ivanhoe. The thought pained her. Had she realized it when she chose the dark wig and turban, or had she merely wanted to look different than both herself and Madame Rouge? “It sounds like you do not discuss much.”

His eyes sharpened.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to sound the cat. Perhaps it is best that I leave.” She stepped back, prepared to turn away.

He reached out and caught her arm. “You wanted to talk to me.”

“I was foolish.”

His gaze held hers, then dropped to her lips and lingered. She could feel his thoughts, feel his lips press against hers, nip at hers. And then his gaze dropped lower, lingering on the hint of bosom visible above the fabulous Venetian brocade—and she felt the heat gather low in her belly, tightening and growing, dampness forming between her legs.

She took another step back, but his fingers did not release her arm. “Don't go,” he said.

She swallowed, trying to bring moisture to her suddenly dry mouth. This was the moment she had wanted, had come here for, but now she was uncertain. “I should.”

“I still have two more days before the engagement. Do not go.”

Why was she so weak? A moment ago she had known the right path, and now at the look in his eyes, the timbre of his voice, she felt herself melting. “I was wrong to come.”

“Were you?” The question hung in the air.

One more time. One more night. Could it hurt to grab one more piece of time for herself? The world seldom granted second chances and she had one now—if only a brief one.

“Do you know this house?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “It's my first time here.”

And then Ruby saw Sarah Swilp creeping out from that corridor, her lips red and swollen. Given the brief time it was unlikely that too much had happened, but Sarah had definitely found some privacy. “Come this way,” she said, walking slowly until she saw Mr. Perry exit a moment later. There must be someplace down that corridor where they could be alone.

The corridor exited into a larger, brighter hallway and for a moment she was stumped. If she turned left, that would surely lead to the terrace and the gardens, and she did not think the house was big enough for them to afford much privacy. The bend to the right could lead anywhere, but judging from the noise echoing down the hall, it likely looped back to the card or billiard room. There was no mistaking that tone of raucous, masculine pleasure.