Chapter Eleven

W hile Alice felt wild new emotions opening up like a flower in the sunshine, she was increasingly worried about Helen, who grew wan and pale. She seemed to have decided on taking Glover rather than Roderick Vale, so when Cornelius duly sent the twins to Alice at the castle, she tasked them with finding a massively rich heiress to distract the prospective groom.

"She definitely shouldn't marry Glover," Lawrence stated.

He and his sister exchanged glances, and then Leona said, "Roderick loves her."

Alice was sure that Helen loved him too, but she was too confused by her own emotions to understand Helen's.

The castle ball was to be a masquerade, but neither Helen nor Alice could bend their minds to costumes. Defiantly, they settled on the masks they had worn at Whalen, together with domino cloaks to keep to the spirit of the occasion. But if Helen was dreading the ball as though it were her doom—her engagement was to be announced at the end of it—Alice was looking forward to it merely because Cornelius would be there.

On the morning of the ball, she woke with butterflies in her stomach and happiness in her heart. She liked the feeling so much that she refused to overthink it in case it went away.

However, she could not help wondering what he felt for her. He had gone to Whalen to listen to her, had come backstage to compliment her, and apparently he had liked kissing her. He had threatened to do it again, and Alice, once so certain that any physical intimacy disgusted her, could not wait.

She spent the day being a dutiful sister, helping Eleanor entertain the castle guests and resolving the issues of the servants, from ballroom decoration to kitchen logistics. She and her sisters were still a little wary of stepping on Eleanor's toes in such matters, trying to balance helpfulness against giving her her deserved place as lady of the castle.

They had been rained off a pall mall competition and were all rushing back inside for tea when the Duke of Atherstone strolled across the hall with her mother on his arm. Behind them walked a rather bowed man carrying a prayer book, presumably the duke's chaplain.

Abruptly, Alice's hopeful new feelings shattered into the distasteful memory of old ones. During one of the early balls of the Season, a man she had rather admired, mature, erudite, and handsome, had singled her out for his attentions. She had been undeniably flattered, and because he was a friend of her brother's, she had walked happily with him into that anteroom. And then he had changed from un urbane, agreeable admirer into an attacking beast.

Immediately the door was closed, his mouth had been mashed to hers, his tongue, hard and disgusting, halfway down her throat, making her gag and silencing her scream of rage and fear. His hands had been everywhere, the neck of her gown pulled down off her shoulders and impeding her arms as she tried to escape.

That was the worst part, the realization that she could not escape, that there was nothing she could do to halt the nightmare. No one had ever touched her with such roughness, such violence. She had hated the male body rammed against hers, its nasty, hard bits moving so revoltingly as his leg forced itself between hers. She had been helpless against his strength, trapped, her body pained, her mouth bruised.

It had seemed to go on forever, though when he had finally, casually, released her, the hands on the mantel clock had not moved. And yet for her, everything had changed.

"What are you crying for, silly little girl?" he had said indulgently, strolling toward a brandy decanter while she cringed back against the wall, tears streaming down her face, her legs too weak even to run. "Don't make such a fuss over a kiss. You must get used to a man's passion to be any use to him as a wife. You have advantages, you taste sweet, and you have a rather delicious body. I shall enjoy teaching you to kiss properly and please me in the marriage bed."

Somehow, she had fled from the room and found the cloakroom unseen to wash the tears from her face and re-pin her hair with shaking hands. She had married sisters; she had listened to debutante whispers of stolen kisses. But dear God, she would never submit to that—or worse! Her Season was wasted, for she would never marry.

All of that came back to her now, along with the knowledge that the fault was hers that she could not bear the intimacy of men. She had turned down the duke's offer of marriage. Yet here he was making up to her mother, as though her refusal had never been. As if her answer, her wishes, counted for nothing.

As Helen's counted for nothing, even with Gervaise, who was a kind and honorable man and the best of brothers.

A new fear was added to the old—that despite everything, she would be forcibly married and given into the power of this man.

It froze her to the spot. For a second, her gaze met the duke's and she knew he had seen the loathing she could not hide. Did he see the fear as well? Amazingly, a spark of warmth lit his eyes, as though her reaction pleased him, or at least excited some emotion in him.

Her mother released his arm with a smug smile, and he strolled forward, his hand held out to Alice as though they were old friends.

"Lady Alice, what a delight to see you again. I have spent a most pleasant week up in Scotland, but none of their conventional beauties could hold a candle to your charms."

She could not ignore his hand without causing talk. And he knew it. So, with a spurt of anger, she took a leaf out of his book and shaped her hand so that he received a mere two gloved fingers sliding off his as soon as they touched, and she sank into a curtsey.

"Your Grace. What an honor to see you back so quickly. You must excuse me—we have been caught in the rain and must change."

Although it was clearly a retreat, she refused to flee ignominiously. Instead she strolled upstairs with the others. Only when they parted ways did Alice seize Maria's hand.

"Whatever happens, don't leave me alone with the duke," she hissed, and fled into her own chamber.

*

When she was very small, Alice had hidden in the gallery with her brother and sisters to watch the beautiful ladies and gentlemen dancing at her parents' spring and summer balls. The joyous music, the bright colors, the sparkling jewels, and the graceful, stately measures had seemed part of a fairytale, and her greatest ambition had been to grow up and become part of it.

Well, now she was, and her heart was not remotely given over to carefree enjoyment. Mostly, she was worried for Helen, who, despite all the advice of her sisters, seemed to have opted for the untrustworthy Glover. But Alice also longed to see Cornelius, and wished desperately for the Duke of Atherstone to be somewhere else entirely.

During tea, she had flitted about far too much to speak to anyone for longer than a moment, and at dinner—which had been earlier and lighter than usual—the higher precedence of her older sisters had kept her well away from His Grace.

She did, however, sit opposite the man who had arrived with Atherstone. He appeared to be a humble, somehow downtrodden man who said little after revealing to his dinner companions that he was the duke's chaplain and agreeing with them that he was extremely fortunate in his post.

And if ever a man needs to be reminded of God, Alice thought, it is the Duke of Atherstone . On the other hand, she was fairly sure Atherstone kept a chaplain merely to add to his consequence.

At the ball, Alice knew, the duke would be harder to ignore. She could hardly refuse to dance with him if he invited her, and she was unlikely to elude him all evening. Her best hope was that he would not cause trouble, considering the approval of her mother and brother to be enough to secure her hand.

As she changed after dinner, the dowager countess swept into her bedchamber to approve her gown and jewels for the ball.

After looking her up and down, Mama nodded grudgingly, much to her maid's relief.

"You should be a little more welcoming to the duke," she told Alice severely. "It is a great honor that he has come to Braithwaite Castle."

"I don't like him," she replied.

"Nonsense. You hardly know him, though even you must be aware he is the most eligible prize on the Marriage Mart. He showed no interest in Frances or Serena when they came out. His attentions to you are most flattering."

"I shall be civil to him, of course," Alice said. "But I have already told Gervaise I will not marry him."

"You might change your mind."

Alice scowled. "Because you did? Before we left London, it was Mr. Glover you wished me to marry!"

Mama waved one dismissive hand. "Well, Helen may have him if she chooses. Atherstone is by far the better match and, I don't mind admitting, much more than I had hoped for you. You will have precedence over me. And Serena."

"Much as I would enjoy jostling you out of my way—"

"Alice, I am serious."

"So am I," Alice said so grimly that her mother glared.

"Keep an open mind," she instructed her. "And remember what you owe to your family. Particularly now."

The conversation only added to Alice's anxiety, but at least it meant she entered the ballroom with her mother and Helen, and, masked or not, there were soon so many old Blackhaven friends to recognize and greet that she began to relax.

The Vales, who would have needed at least two carriages to travel in, caused a bit of a stir by their arrival—four tall, dashing men, accompanying two elegant ladies. Even masked, Alice knew them at once. The ladies were Delilah Vale and Antonia Macy.

Did she imagine Cornelius's searching gaze on her? No, for he was walking directly toward her! Her heart turned over with anticipation—but it seemed he was not approaching her at all.

He stopped beside a handsome couple and an elderly lady, and bowed. The gentleman held out his hand to Cornelius in easy friendship, and the younger lady smiled dazzlingly. Only then did Alice recognize her as Cecily Morgan. The man with her and her mother-in-law must be the straying husband.

Of course. Cornelius was to make him jealous. Alice had forgotten about that since he had kissed her…

How can I win against someone he already loves? Someone as beautiful as Cecily…

We are hardly in competition for him! She is married, and he is helping an old friend. And I…

The orchestra stopped playing, interrupting a thought that remained unfinished in Alice's mind. The musicians retuned quickly and began to play the introduction to a country dance.

As was the custom at castle grand balls, Eleanor opened the dancing not with the highest-ranking gentleman but with the squire, Mr. Winslow, leaving the duke dangerously free to choose. However, always conscious of his own consequence, he chose Serena, who was a marchioness, and Alice breathed again.

She watched Cornelius lead Cecily onto the floor, and wished it were her.

But she smiled at Colonel Doverton when he asked her to dance, for he was an old friend whom she liked very much. She enjoyed catching up with news of his wife—not a gentlewoman by birth but someone Blackhaven had taken to its heart—and family, and promised to attend the regimental ball at the end of the month.

As the dance came to a close, they giggled together at the entrance of the most stunning costume of the night—a young lady in the garb of the previous century with the widest hooped skirts imaginable and a massive headdress that she could only support with an odd, rigid walk.

The young Earl of Eddleston—Lucy Vale's betrothed—instantly asked her to dance, which caused a great deal more hilarity. Fortunately, it was a waltz and would require no energetic movement.

"What has she got inside that headdress?" Alice demanded. "It cannot all be hair!"

"We could dance close to her and find out," a voice murmured beside her, making her jump.

Instantly, her heart was drumming because the voice belonged to Cornelius. Tall and handsome in evening dress, his black domino hanging over one shoulder, he did not smile. His eyes were not distant at all but focused entirely on her. The mask lent him a new air of mystery, and emphasized the lean, sharp cheekbones. Butterflies soared in her stomach.

"If you are not spoken for," he added humbly.

"I am not," she managed, throwing a last smile at Colonel Doverton and curtseying to Cornelius, who bowed in return before offering his arm. She wondered if he remembered as vividly as she that the last time she was masked, he had kissed her.

"It is the same mask," he said softly, placing his arm at her back and taking her hand in his.

Oh, yes, he remembers! She hoped her flush was hidden. "It matched my gown."

"Beautifully. How are you?"

Right now, I could not be better. "I think Helen will take Glover. And Atherstone is here."

"So are both Daubins. I recognized the younger's golden locks. I'll try to keep an eye on both."

"Thank you, but you won't make Lady Morgan's husband jealous by watching my affairs."

"He is already jealous. She was smiling and clinging to my every word."

"Then you must keep up the momentum," she said, determined he should never know her own petty jealousy. "Oh my, look ," she added, catching sight of the lady in the headdress who had stopped even pretending to dance and raised her hand to her hair. She opened a hidden door in the head contraption, and a small puppy leapt out, landing on Lord Eddleston's chest and then tumbling to the floor and running with both Eddleston and his partner in laughing pursuit.

Several couples left the dance floor, surging after them with delight.

"Bless her," Cornelius remarked. "She believes she is incognito."

"Who is she?" Alice asked, intrigued.

"My sister Lucy, of course. Purely for Eddleston's amusement. Don't say a word to anyone."

"Does it ever strike you that you don't have to tell your siblings your big secret, because they already know?"

"No. And I shan't quarrel with you, Alice Conway, so you needn't provoke me."

"It will be a novelty on both counts."

"We didn't quarrel in Whalen," he pointed out, and heat rushed up into her cheeks.

She liked waltzing with him, aware of his every movement and change of direction. She loved the feel of his hand at her back, and his light, firm clasp of her fingers. He held her at a proper distance too, though for the first time it struck her that she would be perfectly happy if he drew her closer…

She was perfectly happy now. All her anxieties seemed to have vanished into the soothing pleasure of his company. There may have been a novel excitement in his presence, but he made her feel safe. Not only that, she felt she was Alice to him, not the marriageable sister of the influential Earl of Braithwaite, not a mere dowry who had to be spoken to until she was safely married and under her husband's thumb.

His thumb brushed against her palm, making her shiver.

"What are you thinking?" he asked softly.

"That I have so many things to tell you."

"Is there somewhere we can talk in private? After the waltz."

Of course there was.

As the dance ended, protected by the milling throngs returning and seeking their next partners, Alice led Cornelius out on to the terrace, then swiftly down the step to a path that was not lit and to the ornamental pond overhung by a weeping willow and a covered swing-seat.

Cornelius flicked the seat with his domino, and Alice sat. After a moment's hesitation, he lowered himself beside her, not touching.

"Are you troubled?" he asked.

She shook her head, smiling. "No, not now."

Drifting on the breeze, music mingled with laughter and chatter. It was not totally dark yet, and the distant glow of light from the house lent the surrounding leaves a silvery hint, almost like one of Helen's more fanciful paintings. Here, in this little nook, only yards from the ball, it was as if they were in a separate world, safe and comfortable yet surrounded by an indefinable air of excitement.

"You wanted to tell me something," he reminded her.

She opened her mouth, frowned, then closed it again. "I did. I do. But now we are here, I don't know how to put it into words. I could do it with music."

" You can do anything with music. Such delicacy and passion together seems impossible, but you achieve it. And in your own piece, there is so much feeling bubbling beneath the surface—like poetry, I suppose."

"It is yours," she blurted.

Even in the gloom, she could make out the twitch of his frown.

"Your lament that Helen read so wonderfully that everyone cried at the garden party. From the moment I read that poem last winter, it obsessed me until I could put it into music that broke my heart all over again. It still breaks my heart as I understand it more and more… I'm sorry, you must hate that I stole your poem."

At least his face was still turned toward her and he did not appear to be appalled.

"Of course I don't hate that." He touched her hand as lightly as a moth wing, and she curled her fingers around his in gratitude. "I'm stunned that such beauty comes from my scribblings. Flattered beyond… What loss is it that moves you so?"

"I don't know," she said helplessly. "I'm afraid of losing the music, or love, or both, of losing the closeness of childhood with my sisters… And then in London this spring I knew I would never have the kind of love I had secretly dreamed of, because I am not made for marriage and children. I only have the music." She let out a breath like a sob, although it was also laughter. "I'm not making any sense, am I? Sorry, you must ignore me."

"I will never ignore you," he said slowly. His thumb brushed over her gloved knuckles. She didn't know if he was even aware of the movement, but she longed for it to be a caress. "Atherstone's assault convinced you of this loss."

She had never told him in so many words, and yet he understood. "I was never sure before."

"I don't believe you should be sure now. I don't know any women who enjoy being assaulted. It sounds to me like the man forced his attentions on a sheltered young girl in a particularly brutal fashion. Were you just being polite when you kissed me back in Whalen?"

Heat flooded her. "Of course not!"

"Then perhaps we should experiment," he said softly. "You were in an emotional state because of the music you had played, rightly triumphant because of your success. You threw yourself into my arms. Perhaps you were not frightened because you acted first."

"Perhaps."

His fingers slid over her hand and wrist and upward until he found the fastening of her glove, which he began to draw off.

"What are you doing?" she asked without fear.

"I want to kiss your fingers. And then, if you like, you can touch me and see if it disgusts you."

She wanted to laugh, but in truth, it felt curiously exciting to have a man—this man—remove her glove. He tucked it half into his jacket and raised her hand to his lips. She shivered, but it was certainly not with disgust.

"Take your hand back whenever you like. I won't try to stop you."

She had no desire whatever to take it back. Slowly, tenderly, he kissed each fingertip, then brushed his lips across her knuckles. She shivered, watching his bent head with something like awe. He turned her hand and kissed her palm, sending a thrill through her veins. Then he moved to the inside of her wrist, and the gentle pressure of his lips deprived her of breath. Was that his tongue ?

She twisted her hand, and, immediately, he released her. But she only wanted to touch his cheek in the darkness, and when he raised his head, her fingers followed, tracing the line of his cheekbone beneath the mask, feeling the faint roughness of stubble on his jaw.

She couldn't help the smile flickering across her lips. Cupping his cheek, she leaned closer and softly kissed his mouth. Instantly, yet gently, his lips returned the pressure. Unsure, she withdrew enough to peer at his face. He followed, and just as gently took back her lips, parting them with the caress of his own and fastening there so sweetly that her heart seemed to drop into her tingling stomach. The warmth of his thigh burned through her skin, and that pleased her too.

"Correct me if I am wrong," he said huskily, "but you do not appear to be revolted or frightened."

"I'm not," she whispered. "Would you please kiss me again?"

He did, with infinite tenderness, his mouth moving on hers, his tongue just flickering over her trembling, wondering lips.

"I like your kisses," she whispered. "I like you, Cornelius Vale. Simon Sachev…" The rest was lost in another kiss. She had no idea and less care who began it, just that it was blissful and arousing and utterly overwhelming. Her hand had long since stolen around his neck, clinging to his nape.

Still kissing her, he rose, drawing her to her feet and then slowly releasing her. Silently, he took her glove from his lapel and began to slip it over her fingers. It wasn't easy in the dark, and it made her laugh. Smiling, he let her finish the task herself, then drew her hand to his arm.

She hated to leave the magical place this had become, but with him by her side, close enough to brush against her skirts, it did not seem so bad. In fact, life was rather wonderful.