Chapter 13

The moment Caleb saw the stunning creature in blue enter the room, he knew it was Imogen. The way she held herself and walked was the same. But that was where the similarities ended.

The woman who stood uncertainly in the doorway, her hands clasped together tightly, looked nothing like her. Somewhere the maid must have found the stays and hoops necessary for the construction of the eighty-year-old dress. The elaborately embroidered stomacher, with its silver thread and seed pearls, accentuated a narrow waist and high, full breasts. Her shoulders were creamy where they rose up over the wide, square neckline. Her light brown hair was a riotous mound of curls, piled high on her head, accentuating the length of her neck. Several long strands trailed in a teasing manner to brush her neck, her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. Caleb swallowed hard at the sight.

Her mask was firmly in place, but her color seemed high. Was that rouge she was wearing? The thought unsettled him. Imogen was simple, wholesome, utterly without artifice. This creature was not her.

But that was what he had tried to do for her, he reminded himself. He had wanted to give her the gift of being completely free of her future for one magical evening.

Looking on her now, however, at the stranger she had become, he felt he had erred, and horribly. She did not look like herself, the Imogen he had come to care for. Needing to see her, speak to her, know that she was still in there, he strode across the ballroom toward her.

It was crowded, quite a feat considering they were miles from London. It seemed no one had turned down the invitation. As he moved through the throng, he lost sight of her. But finally he caught a hint of sapphire blue shimmering through the crowd. And then the sea of people opened up, and there she was.

But what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. She was smiling shyly at a young gentleman, who held his arm out gallantly to her. She took it, and he led her out as the music started up.

Caleb could only stare after her as she joined in the sets on the dance floor.

And that was the pattern for the next two hours. He would watch her dance, smiling and happy, her partner staring down at her with avid interest. Once she was led from the floor, Caleb would attempt to reach her side. But before he could, someone was already leading her out for another set. And each successive time found a frown pulling down on his face, his mood darkening until he was a seething ball of frustration.

By the time Tristan and Morley located him, he was ready to punch a wall.

“Ho there, Willbridge. You’ve been deuced hard to catch up to. You’ve been running back and forth across the ballroom like your shoes have caught fire.” Tristan peered at him from behind his black and green mask. “You all right there, man?”

“I’m fine,” Caleb snapped. He didn’t miss the look that passed between his two friends. What the devil was wrong with him? He attempted to rein in his mood.

“Abominable crush,” Morley commented, obviously trying to turn the conversation. “Can hardly move about the place. I did see Miss Mariah Duncan and her glorious shepherdess costume, however. Even managed to get a dance in.” He paused. Then he asked casually, “Didn’t see her sister, though. What is Miss Duncan disguised as, Willbridge?”

Immediately all thoughts of cooling his temper fled. “I believe she is ill and could not make it down,” he growled.

“Dashed bad luck, to miss the ball.”

Caleb grunted, his eyes back on the floor and Imogen as she twirled by in the arms of Ignatius Knowles. Obviously the man wasn’t planning on settling down with Mariah any time soon if he was looking at Imogen like that. Caleb had never had a mean thought about his cousin before, but he did now. Several of them. Some involving a satisfying amount of violence.

Tristan seemed to have followed his gaze. “Don’t know who that stunning one in the blue is. I’ve been trying to find out all night. Do either of you know?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Morley responded. “Quite a figure, though. That dress accents her assets perfectly. It looks like something my great-grandmother would have worn, but if she had looked like that in her portrait at home you can be assured I would have had some very interesting dreams about her in my youth.” He chuckled.

Caleb saw red. Quite literally his vision went crimson. Luckily for his friends, however, it was at that moment that the dance ended and Imogen was brought to the side of the room not ten feet away from him. Without even a farewell glance at the two other men, Caleb stalked off toward her. She would not escape him this time.

• • •

Imogen’s feet hurt from dancing in the heeled slippers, her cheeks hurt from smiling constantly, her head hurt from being without her spectacles again, and her back hurt from the uncomfortable corset. All in all, she thought, the evening was not turning out as she had hoped. It was all well and good to want to be the belle of the ball. But if this was what her sister had to endure night after night, she was glad for her own unpopular social status.

And she had not seen Caleb once. Granted, she thought she had glimpsed him from afar, or rather the blurry outline of someone very tall with his color hair. But he had always been across the room, and she could never be certain.

And then there had been her family. She had spent an inordinate amount of time avoiding them, certain they would know who she was and out her for the incredible fake she was. But when she had inadvertently entered into the same set as her sister, she had not received more than a small, friendly smile.

Now she stood at the side of the room, her previous dance partner having just left her. She reveled in not having to laugh and smile for a moment. She eyed the entrance to the ballroom. It was not so very far away. Perhaps she could slip out before anyone else approached her…

“May I have this dance?”

The familiar deep voice sounded in her ear. A shiver ran down her spine. She turned to face Caleb, her face breaking out into what had to be the first real smile she had given all night.

His hand was outstretched, his pale eyes glittering behind the simple black mask. Without hesitation, Imogen reached out and took it, allowing him to lead her to the floor. At the touch of his fingers, all of her uncomfortable aches and twinges fled. This was what she had been waiting for all evening.

It was a waltz. No other dance could have made this moment more perfect. And she was determined to enjoy every bit of it. She closed her eyes and felt his hand press against the small of her back, his other gripping her own. She could even feel the heat of his body, though they were the appropriate distance apart. And then he began to move, and it was as if she were flying. Nothing else had ever felt so lovely as being twirled about in the arms of the man she loved. She was determined to forget about tomorrow. For now she would embrace every second.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself tonight.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, smiling wide. “Now I am.”

“You weren’t before?”

She shook her head.

“You certainly gave the impression that you were.”

The words gave her pause. A strange foreboding began to break through her joy. “No,” she said slowly. “It was pleasant at first, I suppose, to be the recipient of so much attention. But it was getting tiring.”

“You must be a better actress than I gave you credit for. It certainly looked as if you were enjoying yourself. Quite a bit, actually.”

She stumbled before righting herself. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t believe I stuttered.”

She stared up at him in disbelief. “Caleb, what is wrong with you?”

Something mean flashed in his eyes. “What is wrong with me? I could ask you the same thing. You have had every man here panting after you.”

Anger lanced through her. “I’ve had enough of your abuse. I’d rather not cause a scene, but if you do not deposit me at the side of the room this instant I will leave you here on the floor, I swear I will.”

He considered her, seemingly calculating whether she was bluffing. Finally, giving a small nod, he began dancing her away from the center of the floor. But instead of stopping at the side, he sailed right out the open doors leading to the garden.

Once out in the cool night air, he abruptly released her from his embrace. He then took hold of her hand and, dragging her along behind him, moved away from the lights of the ball and into the darkness of the garden.

“Wait,” Imogen cried, “where are you taking me?”

He glanced back at her. “We need to discuss this, and we cannot do it in a ballroom full of people.”

Imogen tugged ineffectively on his hand as she stumbled along behind him. “There is nothing to discuss. You are acting like a child, and I do not want to deal with your strange mood.”

But he ignored her and continued on. She finally gave up trying to free herself and accepted the fact that they would have this out whether she liked it or not. Although what “it” was, she truly hadn’t a clue.

Everything was a dark blur to her. In the distance she could see candles glowing brightly behind the mullioned windows of the house, obscure rectangles of golden light, but everything else was unidentifiable. They finally came close to the building and she was able to get an idea of where they were. From the moonlight sparkling off the many windows, she guessed they had come to the orangery. Caleb opened the door.

But the rustle of cloth, as well as the soft moans that reached their ears, told Imogen that the orangery certainly wouldn’t do.

Heat suffused her face. Caleb swore softly and closed the door. Tugging again at her arm, he continued on. He ducked through a side entrance into the manor house, to a hall that was blessedly devoid of people, and began working his way down the vast expanse, trying doors as he went. Each room was either occupied or locked.

“Can no one control themselves at this blasted gathering?” Caleb muttered to himself as he tried yet another door and found that some other, more amorous couple had gotten there before them.

“I am quite through being treated like a pull toy,” Imogen stated as he towed her along yet again.

Suddenly he stopped. Imogen ran into the solid wall of his back and glared up at him.

“Damnation, there’s only one place I can think of that will guarantee us privacy.” And with that they were off again.

Imogen had had just about enough. The elaborate little heels were blistering her toes and she had lost her breath long ago from the tight stays. The ridiculously large hoops swung about her, making the dress catch on everything within reach. And she had more pins jabbed into her scalp than had a right to be there. She was exhausted, and she wanted nothing more than a quiet room to scrub the rouge from her face and soak in a tub of hot water.

And now here was Caleb, acting as if she had offended him in some way. His grip remained firm as he pulled her through a hidden passage to the servants’ hall. Skirting the busy throng of footmen and maids, he dragged her up several flights of stairs until they were on the guest floor. Soon he was pushing her through a door, closing it firmly behind him.

She moved further into the room once he finally released her. Rubbing her hand, she glared at him.

“Where are we?” she asked, glancing around, trying to make out any identifiable shapes. Moonlight filtered through a sheer curtain, but did not give her imperfect vision enough light to see details beyond a few hulking pieces of furniture. One of which was—a bed?

“My room,” he replied. He stayed in the shadows by the door.

She turned on him, her mouth falling open. “Your room? I should not be here.”

She could just make out him shrugging. “No one will know you’re here. You’re in bed ill, remember?” His voice held an edge to it.

“What is the matter with you?” she demanded. “Why are you angry with me?”

He paused, and she wished desperately she could see his face.

“I am not angry with you, Imogen,” he replied in a low, intense voice.

“Then what is it? Why are you acting like this?”

He took a step toward her. “This isn’t you.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “No, it isn’t. But wasn’t that the whole point? This was your idea, that I should have one night as someone else.”

He took another step. “I made a mistake. I never should have had you dress like this.”

“Why?” Her eyes strained, but his face evaded the light, remaining in shadows even as he came closer. “It was only for one night. Why are you reacting so strongly?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he stepped into the moonlight, so close she had to crane her neck to look at him. He had removed his mask, and the expression on his face took the very breath from her lungs. There was a heat there, an intensity she had never seen before.

He reached out and pulled the ribbon securing her mask, removing it and throwing it aside. She could only stare at him mutely, her every nerve ending tingling with awareness. Gripping her arms, his hands were hot on her flesh. He dragged her against him, and even through the stomacher and stays and hoops she could feel the hard, muscled length of him pressed to her.

“You don’t need this, Imogen. You don’t need any of it.”

With that he lowered his mouth to hers.