Part 4 (1/2)
FIVE.
D uncan strode through the entrance to New Spring Gardens, then paused, disoriented. Years had pa.s.sed since his last visit, and he had forgotten how busy it was on a fair summer night. The masquerade had drawn crowds of disguised revelers, and the grounds covered sixteen acres of woods and walks. Where the devil should he start?
If you can't discover her, you're a failure as both lover and Guardian. Smiling wryly, he stepped into a niche that held a large wooden lion and closed his eyes. Was Gwynne near? Yes.
How near? He visualized the layout of the gardens, with its groves and crisscrossing walkways. When his mind was calmed, he felt her as a moving pulse of light toward the far end of the gardens.
Hoping he would have need of it later, he reserved a supper box, then headed to the far end of the gardens, all his senses extended. Convenient that the domino and mask he'd borrowed from Simon were black. In this colorful crowd, he drew no attention.
He used both eyes and intuition to scrutinize the merrymakers he pa.s.sed. Since Gwynne had come with friends, she would probably be in a group. Was she wearing a costume? Consulting his inner senses again, he decided not. But she was at least masked, and probably wearing a domino as well.
As he neared the end of the gardens, he found a dance area beside the intersection of the Grand Walk and one of the smaller crosswalks. She was very near, he was sure of it. Eyes narrowed, he studied the dancers and onlookers. Could she be the graceful woman in a blue domino who danced with a short, broad satyr? No. Or perhaps the masked woman sitting on a bench with a group of friends? She looked to be about the right height and build. He was ready to walk toward her when she made a gesture that immediately proved her a stranger.
He searched for Gwynne again, but she was too close, he couldn't get any clearer sense than the powerful knowledge that she was near. But where?
Frustrated, he stalked across the open area toward the crosswalk-and suddenly there she was. Even though the woman was masked and cloaked in scarlet silk, he knew instantly it was Gwynne. And she stood alone, her tall figure outlined by lantern light.
Now that he had found her, he mustn't drive her away again. He forcibly masked the power and pa.s.sion she aroused until it was an ember instead of a bonfire.
Then he created a light spell of attraction-not strong enough to affect Gwynne's will, just enough that she would find him intriguing. With luck it would allow him enough time to capture her interest. Then he might attain his true goal-rousing her deeply hidden pa.s.sions toward romance, not the anger that he had sparked in her before.
He must disguise his physical characteristics since Gwynne had seen him twice in the last two days. A French accent would conceal his faint Scottish inflections. He would also walk with his weight s.h.i.+fted forward to the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, just enough to make his movements subtly different.
Hoping that her power wasn't strong enough to recognize him despite his precautions, he went in pursuit of his lady.
Gwynne gasped as the dark man turned toward her. Even though he was masked, she had the sense that his gaze had struck to her soul. She'd had a similar experience when she met Ballister. Was it possible . . . ?
Even before the thought had formed, she rejected it. As the man walked toward her with a warrior's balanced tread, she decided that he was even taller and broader than Ballister. Her judgment was confirmed when he extended one hand and spoke in a deep voice enriched by a husky, sensual French accent. ”Will you dance, milady?”
”Oui, milord.” She couldn't have refused if she tried.
He bowed with a courtier's grace, then clasped her hand and led her to a dance set. Heat burned through her kidskin glove under the pressure of his fingers.
Most dancers laughed and chatted with their partners. The dark man said nothing, but his gaze never wavered from hers as they performed the simple figures of the country dance. Perhaps that silence was why she was so intensely aware of him. She sensed the shape of his limbs under the domino, the controlled movements of long, honed muscles. And though she could not see his eyes, his gaze burned wherever it touched her body.
As they moved together and apart, turning and double-stepping through the dance, she felt almost painfully alive, like a tender bud threatened by a late frost. She tried to convince herself that she was only excited by the naughtiness of dancing with a stranger, but without success. There was some force in this man that compelled all her attention.
As she circled her partner, she caught a glimpse of Norcott. The footman had seen her accept the dark man willingly, for he sat on a bench with his casual gaze following her. It was good to know she was protected, though she felt no threat from the dark man. At least, no threat that she didn't welcome.
The music ended and the group leader announced that the musicians were taking a short break. Mutely the dark man crooked his arm toward Gwynne. She slipped her hand into his elbow, wondering where he would lead her. Charmed she might be, but she was not ready to head into the shrubbery with a stranger.
His hand rested over hers, warm in the cooling air. ”Will you join me for refreshments, my fair lady?”
”It will be my pleasure.” She studied his lips and chin, the only area of his face visible below the mask. It was a strong jaw. Familiar? She couldn't decide. She thought again of Ballister. But being with him made her wary, while this stranger attracted her like a needle to a lodestone.
”Are you here alone, milady?” he asked as they began walking back toward the central area of the gardens. Despite the crowds, she felt as if they moved in their own private bubble of mutual awareness.
Even if she were alone, she wouldn't be so besotted as to admit that. ”I'm with a party of friends, and even now a guardian watches over me.”
A smile sounded in his dark velvet voice. ”Milady, angels will always protect you wherever you may go.”
Why was a French accent so utterly erotic? She felt almost dizzy with attraction. She wanted to run her hands over him, feel the muscles and sinew that lay beneath his domino. Touch those lips, which held such promise. She drew a slow breath to steady her unruly mind. ”Are you an angel or a devil, milord?”
”I am but a man. One who is entranced by beauty.”
She had to laugh. ”You go too far, flatterer. I could be the ugliest woman in Christendom and you wouldn't be able to tell, the way I'm disguised.”
”One can sense beauty even when it is disguised. There was beauty in your standing proud and alone in the night.” His fingertips skimmed lightly along the inside of her gloved wrist. ”There is beauty in your posture and the free way that you walk and in the curve of your arm. Beauty in your soft voice, which soothes as it excites.” He touched her throat delicately with his knuckles, and s.h.i.+vers ran through her. ” You are a symphony of grace. Seeing your face and form could only enhance that by revealing the countenance created by life and laughter.”
His compliments left her breathless. She had wanted to learn to flirt, but she was out of her cla.s.s. The dark man was the world champion of flirtation. ”You could lure an angel down from heaven to listen to your sugared words, milord. I do not know how to reply. I don't even have a fan to rap your knuckles for being outrageous.”
His laugh was soft and rich. ”I am grateful you lack such a formidable weapon. Better that we simply enjoy each other's company, and the magic of the night.”
She wondered if he hoped to seduce her. The bushes were alive with misbehaving couples, but it was presumptuous even for a silver-tongued Frenchman to think he might be able to coax a woman he'd just met into the shrubbery. Unless her scarlet domino had misled him? But he was making no improper overtures. His behavior was tenderly solicitous, as a true gentleman should be.
He guided her from the main walk into a grotto that contained a fountain. Colored lamps illuminated a naked female with a writhing serpent strategically draped over her and water spurting from the serpent's mouth. ”The decorations can be considered tawdry by the jaded, or delightful by the enthusiastic.” He scooped a handful of water from the basin and let it trickle away between his fingers, the droplets sparkling with light. ”Which are you, milady?”
”I've never been to New Spring Gardens before, so I choose to find everything delightful. How can so many people enjoying themselves fail to be charming? This statue might be vulgar by daylight, but by night it invites the imagination to soar.”
”I have just discovered new beauties in you,” he said softly. ”Those of the mind and the spirit.”
”It is fortunate that we are masked, milord, or you would know that I am quite ordinary. Reality can never match illusions.”
”There I must disagree, my scarlet lady.” He took her arm and guided her back to the Grand Walk. ”Illusions are as gossamer as clouds and hold no more satisfaction. Reality can be a flame that consumes. ” Wry amus.e.m.e.nt crept into his voice. ”Though I must be grateful that you hold illusions about me. I do not pretend to be ordinary. Perhaps it would be better if I were.”
”No,” she said positively. ”Do not wish yourself less than you are. Even masked, you are extraordinary. Compelling. Enigmatic. A master spinner of words. A conjuror of dreams.”
”Then it is best we never unmask, milady, for I shall never be able to maintain such high regard from you.”
His words reminded her how artificial this interlude was. She was entranced by a man who was more a creation of her imagination than real.
A group of drunken young bucks stumbled past, taking more than their share of s.p.a.ce. Smoothly the dark man changed positions so that he was between her and the rowdies, and she could see how narrowly he watched until they were safely beyond. He might be a stranger but he was real enough in his strength and courtliness.
They reached the colonnade of supper booths. The Tuckwell booth was still empty. She was about to suggest that they could use it when the dark man led her to a different booth that he must have already reserved. Had he come to the gardens tonight with the plan of picking up whatever lone female was willing? Wryly she acknowledged that he had reason to be confident. ”Your voice is French. Do you live in London now?”
”No, milady.” He sat beside her, close enough to touch, but not touching. ”I am merely visiting your great city.”
She scolded herself for feeling instant regret. Womanlike, she had met an attractive man-one whose name and face she didn't even know!-and wanted to think about a future. The only reality between them was this swift, ephemeral flirtation. She must accept that limitation and enjoy a situation too exciting to be real. If they did really know each other, the excitement would be less.
The dark man murmured an order to the serving man, and a selection of refreshments were delivered almost immediately. Gwynne examined the platter of shaved ham with interest. ”These slices of ham are so thin they're almost transparent. What skill the carver must have!”
”They say that one ham can be cut so thinly that the slices will cover the whole of New Spring Gardens.” The dark man lifted a fragile curl of ham and rolled it into a cylinder. ”It's a marvel, but the portions are designed to tease rather than satisfy.”