Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

G enevieve slumped against the front door, heart racing a million beats a breath. She played over and over again what had just occurred in the carriage. She had argued with Lord Tyndall, nothing uncommon about that, but what had happened just before she jumped out? Or a better question was, what on earth had almost happened between them.

She bit her lip and pushed away from the door, heading for her room.

The house was quiet, save for the footman, who sat near the entrance and did not question where she had been or with whom. He would not dare, but still, she attempted to look nonplussed as she started up the stairs, as if coming back from a ball without the chaperonage of her mama was commonplace.

When she entered her room, her maid Louise was waiting for her. Quickly undressing and slipping on a clean shift, she climbed into bed. Sleep would be elusive until she sorted out what had transpired between her and Tyndall in her mind.

Beckett...

Never in her life, not even when she had made a fool of herself in front of Lord Tyndall all those years ago, had her body craved a kiss as much as it did but moments ago. Something in Tyndall's eyes told her his thoughts had strayed to that consideration, too.

A first for her and a situation she was entirely at sea how to proceed with.

Her maid bustled about the room as Genevieve's mind fussed about Tyndall—what to do about that man? He was her brother's best friend and family friend, too. Her parents were very fond of the earl. He was a charming flirt to everyone except her. Many ladies adored Tyndall, seeking him out at balls and parties. He certainly never was at a loss for dance partners.

But then, she had never been on the receiving end of what she could only term as… desire .

Had he wanted her in that carriage? Her body said yes, but her mind could not comprehend such an outcome. If he did desire her in a romantic sense, maybe she could use that power to her advantage and drag Tyndall about society like an obedient puppy. Do as she planned and keep her family out of her way while she tried to secure Mr. Venzellons.

Genevieve shook her head at the fanciful thought. It would never come to fruition. Tyndall would have no part in her seeking a husband.

No, she would have to avoid him somehow, find out what entertainment he was to attend, and ensure she was not. How else was she to enjoy the Season with her friends without his interruptions?

Tomorrow evening was the Fraser masque ball, and she was determined to attend with her best friends so she would not have to endure Tyndall's aggravating reminders of what she wasn't allowed to do.

The night was all planned. Each of her friends had been given approval to stay at each other's homes, yet none of them were staying where they said.

Charlotte had stolen the key from her brother's room to the small lodging house he rented when he wished for privacy. Since he was away in Scotland attending their highland estate, he wasn't in town to do anything about their plan.

Their one night in London would be the best of times and perhaps their only chance to gain a little freedom in the otherwise strict lifestyle that they endured, especially now that Tyndall was aware of her ventures.

T yndall attended three balls this evening and still had not seen the The Graces anywhere. He did another loop of the Southcott ballroom and decided they were not in attendance.

The sight of Viscount Anson caught his attention, and he joined him, glad he was alone. "Good evening, Anson. Are you enjoying the ball?" he asked, knowing Anson had an infatuation with Lady Charlotte that he refused to act on being that he was shy and she was not.

"Tyndall, good evening to you. I have been enjoying the ball, but am about to head off. Another function to attend."

"Really? I've been to three already. Surely, there cannot be more on this evening."

"Oh, but there is. The Fraser masque ball. Did you not receive an invite?"

No, he had not, and he knew the reason why. It was being hosted by Dowager Lady Fraser, a woman he had refused a liaison with since her husband, much older than himself, was his friend. He may be a rogue, but still, he had some morals.

Was that where Genevieve was this evening? Surely, after his warning last night, she would not be so brazen as to attend a masque without the chaperonage of her family.

The chit was a danger to herself.

"I did not." Beckett frowned, wondering how he could attend.

"I have an invitation, and it allows me to bring a friend if you want to accompany me. I'm leaving now if you're happy to go."

Beckett slapped Anson on the shoulder and gestured for him to lead the way. "Let us go. A masque sounds an enjoyable way to end the night."

It didn't take long for the carriage to drop them off before the Fraser Georgian town house just shy of Mayfair. Upon entering, they saw the rooms were full of guests. Their masks, wigs, and gowns enabled many to attend without anyone knowing whom they were speaking to. Anson had procured a mask, but Beckett, having no invite, had not. Not that it mattered too much. A few did not wear much at all, nevertheless a mask.

"I'm going to do a turn about the rooms."

"Right, you are." Anson headed off in the opposite direction to him.

Beckett took in the room, but after moving through the many spaces open for the ball, ease came over him. Confident Lady Genevieve wasn't in attendance here either.

Mayhap, the troubling chit, had taken heed of his threat and remained home. That was always a possibility.

The house was dark. Only a few candles burned in each room, giving the ball an air of mystery and seduction. Beckett stood beside the ballroom floor and sighed, exacerbated but hopeful that Genevieve wasn't here. The mask did look amusing, and he would hate to have to babysit his friend's little sister or escort her back to Mayfair and miss the party. The last thing he wished to do was be alone with her in a carriage again.

Beckett strolled the room's edges, smiling at several women who noted his attendance, not that he knew who they were, their masks kept their identity a secret.

His steps faltered. His mouth dried at seeing a woman he had never noticed before. She wore a mask over her eyes that covered her nose. Her black hair was straight and slipped over her shoulders and sat upon two perfect breasts that made his mouth water. He moved toward her, glad she was alone. He clasped her gloveless hand, bowing and kissing her in welcome.

"Good evening, my lady. You must tell me who you are this night. Your costume has me enthralled." His body prickled with awareness.

She grinned at him, her eyes flashing with surprise at his words. Was the lady unused to such compliments? He rarely saw women in society with hair such as this woman's, but her height and teasing lips painted rouge, made his blood simmer.

"Good evening, my lord. I'm a secret if you must know. And you?" she asked, her eyes moving over his body like a caress. He bit his tongue, feeling her inspection as if she had slipped her hands under his shirt and stroked his flesh.

He shivered at the thought. "I'm Lord Tyndall, my lady, but you are beauty personified. I must know your name."

She threw him a teasing grin and waved a finger before his nose before that same finger slipped over his lips, tracing them. "No names this evening, even though I know who you are, Lord Tyndall." Her voice was low and seductive. There was something familiar in the tenor, yet he could not place it.

Mayhap he had met her before. There was a chance they had even been intimate in the past. He'd certainly had many lovers.

"Dance with me?" he asked, lifting her hand and kissing her fingers a second time.

"If you insist, my lord. It would be my pleasure."

And his also.