Eloquence and Espionage (5 page)

As if he suspected her intent, he paused. “I
should leave. Go nowhere alone, and stay on your guard.”

“Wait!” Ariadne cried, reaching out a hand
though she knew she could not touch him. “Please! This is
maddening! You seem concerned about my safety. Surely I would be
safer if I knew who you were.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” he murmured.

Ariadne raised her chin. “I would. You saved
my life yesterday. You aren’t out to harm me. Can’t you accept that
I mean you no harm as well?”

He was quiet so long she thought he must
have left. Then his voice came again. “Very well, I will meet you,
but not here. Will you be attending the Caldecott ball
tonight?”

Her pulse was racing again. “I will.”

“Then be on the balcony overlooking the
garden at ten. I’ll meet you there. Come alone.”

“Alone?” Ariadne wrinkled her nose. “But you
just told me to go nowhere alone.”

“Well, you won’t be alone because you’ll be
with me. Just . . . not anyone else.”

She sighed. “Very well, but I wish you’d
make up your mind.”

Somewhere nearby a book fell with a
plop.

“Someone’s coming,” he said. “See you
tonight, at the ball.”

Why not now, while his attention was
diverted? Ariadne darted to the end of the row and turned, only to
collide with someone. As she sat down, hard, she saw it was her
sister. Daphne regarded her with a frown before extending a hand to
help her up. By the time Ariadne had righted herself and checked,
the other side of the row lay empty.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Daphne
declared. “You have no books in your arms, and I was only able to
determine from Mr. Hatchard that Archie, Freddie, Mr. Cunningham,
and Sir Damon shop here with some regularity. He was less certain
about Lord Hawksbury.”

Ariadne smiled. “It doesn’t matter. I
discovered my centurion will be attending the Caldecott ball
tonight, and so will we.”

Ariadne dressed with more care than usual
for the Caldecott ball. Her mother had insisted that Ariadne and
Daphne wear nothing but white in the evenings until their come out.
Instead of a lavish ball, their debut had been held over a quiet
dinner with family and a few select friends of her parents. It had
all been very proper, but Ariadne had wanted to leap onto the
table, brandish a soup spoon, and demand, “Have you no better plot
for your lives than this?”

Of course, she hadn’t. She’d sat politely,
spoken when she was addressed, and earned herself a nod of approval
from her mother.

But not tonight. She refused to meet her
centurion again face-to-face in simpering white. She had another
dress in her wardrobe, worn only once to Priscilla and Emily’s
ball, a dress she’d compromised her literary aspirations to earn
enough money to purchase. Her mother had forbidden her to wear it
again. But if there was a night to risk censure and punishment, it
was tonight.

“Mother will have apoplectic fit, again,”
Daphne predicted when she came to fetch Ariadne. “But I think you
look marvelous in green.”

Ariadne spread her satin skirts to gaze down
at the gown. Black lace medallions spotted the emerald green
watered silk along the wide hem and the cap sleeves. She knew the
scalloped neckline and tiny bodice called attention to her curves,
just as the color turned her eyes to turquoise. With jet beads at
her throat and ears, black opera gloves on her arms, her hair
curled around her face and held aloft by jet combs, she felt
sophisticated, daring, capable. The fire of those feelings burned
brightly, warming her heart, raising her head, until she descended
the stairs to where her parents waited in the entryway and saw the
look in her mother’s blue eyes.

“I believe we agreed you would give that to
your maid,” Lady Rollings said, looking down her patrician nose at
the satin as if it were covered in mud instead of lace. “I have not
patronized Madame Levasard since she created that for you without
my consent.”

Which was a pity, as Ariadne would have
liked to commission a second grown from the famous seamstress. “It
seemed a shame to waste,” she tried.

Her mother’s golden-blond head merely raised
higher.

“Dearest,” her father interjected with a
hand to his wife’s arm, obviously mindful of disturbing the
cerulean blue of her gown or the ostrich plumes waving in her
carefully curled hair. “We are already nearly late. There isn’t
time for Ariadne to change.”

Her mother raised a brow. “Then perhaps she
should stay home.”

Oh, no! And miss the chance to meet her
centurion? She opened her mouth to protest, but Daphne stepped
between her and their mother with a swish of her snowy silk
skirts.

“An excellent idea!” she proclaimed,
beaming. “Ariadne and I can stay home and practice archery. The sun
should be up until nearly nine. Please, Mother? I am so tired of
being surrounded by Eligibles whenever we go out, and I really
dislike all the silver embroidery along the hem of this gown.
Besides, Lord Hastings’ son Lord Petersborough has been pestering
Ariadne for a dance, and I see no reason why she must oblige him
even if he is the heir to a marquess.”

Around Daphne, Ariadne could see the
thoughts churning behind their mother’s eyes. “Lord Petersborough
called the other day while you were out,” she mused. “He’d make an
excellent catch.” She snapped a nod as if the die had been cast.
“You may go with us, Ariadne, but you are to comport yourself with
all propriety. I trust I have made myself clear.”

“Yes, Mother,” Ariadne said, careful to keep
her gaze on the white and black marble tiles of the floor. “Of
course.”

Daphne took her hand and gave it a
squeeze.

It was a tense ride to the Caldecott estate
on the edge of London. Ariadne could feel her mother’s gaze on her
as if she expected her youngest daughter to leap from the carriage
and run off into the night. In truth, the thought was somewhat
appealing. The closer to the ball, the more her nerves tingled
across her skin. What if he was cruel, unkind? What if this was all
a horrid joke? Worse, what if he was an imbecile? No, no, never
that. They had spoken enough times for her to know he had a brain
in his head. And he’d certainly observed her often enough to know
she wanted to become better acquainted.

Still, she clung to Daphne’s side as a
footman announced her family and they entered the already crowded
ballroom of the Caldecott’s home. While massive paintings of serene
landscapes graced the walls, the wide room was crowned with gilded
molding along a high ceiling where creation burst into being with
bright colors. All the silks and satins in the room made the space
a kaleidoscope of color and movement. It took a moment for Ariadne
to locate the double doors leading out onto the balcony, and not
only because their hostess had placed potted palms to block the
exit. What, was she trying to keep her guests from escaping?

It was only half past eight, which meant she
must endure an hour and a half of idle chit-chat and tepid dancing
before she could meet her centurion. But that didn’t mean she
couldn’t seek him out sooner. How clever he’d think her when she
guessed his secret!

So Ariadne, Daphne, and Priscilla and Emily,
who were also in attendance, circled the ballroom. Like Daphne,
Priscilla was in white, her gown tucked and laced in all the right
places to accentuate her best qualities. Emily wore plum, as did
Lady Minerva, who was glaring at them through her quizzing glass
from a padded chair along the wall.

“Ignore her,” Emily said as if she’d noticed
the direction of Ariadne’s gaze. “She’s in rare form tonight.”

“And so are we,” Priscilla said, rubbing her
gloved hands together so that the golden bangle at her wrist
gleamed. “Tonight, we catch our centurion.”

Daphne nodded. “For Ariadne.”

She felt herself coloring. It was kind of
them to be helping her, but then, she’d done the same for Priscilla
and Emily since they’d come to London. The foursome strolled among
the crowds, who were awaiting the first song from the string
quartet seated on a dais at the back of the room. She spotted girls
who were on their first Season like her, leading ladies who could
command Society at any age, gentlemen of means and education who
spoke in animated tones of the war on the Continent or the Prince’s
lavish spending.

“That’s Archibald Stump,” Priscilla
murmured, nodding toward a group of gentlemen holding up the far
corner. “He certainly has the presence to be your centurion.”

He did at that. Dark-haired head high, he
surveyed the ballroom with a hooded gaze as if already bored. His
shoulders in a fitted coat of blue velvet were impressive. Could it
be?

“Can you introduce me?” Ariadne
whispered.

Priscilla eyed her. “A lady has no need to
seek introduction. If you wish to meet Mr. Stump, you must endeavor
to make him come to you. Now, do exactly as I say.”

Ariadne listened, eyes widening. “Oh, I
couldn’t!”

Daphne grinned. “I could.”

“You did wish to unmask the fellow,” Emily
reminded her.

Ariadne squared her shoulders. “I still do.
Very well. Come along.”

She positioned herself near Mr. Stump, who
had not apparently noticed her existence. So much for the power of
her green dress. Still, if he was trying to remain anonymous, of
course he wouldn’t give himself away so easily.

Putting her back to the fellow, she tossed
her head and said in her most carrying voice, “I don’t care who he
is! If I wish to dance with a gentleman, I will find a way!”

“Well,” Priscilla said, equally loud enough
to make Ariadne want to cringe, “I cannot argue with you there. You
cannot do better than to wish for the company of Archibald
Stump.”

“I hear he is a paragon,” Daphne put in
earnestly. “Bruising rider, excellent shot, graceful dancer,
excellent embroiderer.”

“Daphne,” Ariadne warned.

“Were you seeking me, dear lady?”

It had worked. Ariadne put on her best smile
and turned toward the male voice that did not sound quite as warm
as she remembered it. But then, she was used to things never quite
being what she had imagined. Up close, he positively exuded male
presence with his elegantly tied cravat, his manly calves displayed
to advantage in white silk stockings.

She lowered her gaze. “Oh, Mr. Stump. Such a
pleasure to meet you.”

“My dear friend,” Priscilla supplied, “Miss
Ariadne Courdebas.”

He took Ariadne’s hand and bowed over it.
“The pleasure is all mine.” He squeezed her fingers and glanced up
at her with a secret smile.

Was that a sign? Was he trying to tell her
he was the man she sought? She met his gaze, admiring the sparkling
green of his eyes.

Ariadne blinked, pulling back her hand. “How
kind. Well, enjoy your evening.” She turned and walked away.

Daphne scurried after her. “Why are you
leaving? You had him where you wanted him.”

Ariadne shook her head. “Unfortunately, I
found I did not want him. His eyes are the wrong color.”

Daphne deflated. “Well, fah!” She
brightened. “But you still have three more to go.”

Three more? She wasn’t sure she could go
through with such a mortifying performance again.

Priscilla seemed to agree. “I smoothed
things over,” she said as she and Emily rejoined them. “I told him
that he had been far too bold and to remember to treat a lady more
civilly in the future. With any luck, he’ll beg your pardon when
next you meet.”

“I don’t want his apology,” Ariadne
protested. “I don’t want anything to do with him. I’m not even sure
I should be here.” She glanced at the clock, which showed the hour
as nearing nine. She would never last until ten.

Priscilla and Emily were debating what to do
next. Ariadne put out a hand. “For all I love the stage, I was
never meant to be on it. The night is warm. I’ll simply wait on the
balcony.”

“Are you certain?” Emily pressed. “What if
he’s a dastard with homicidal tendencies?”

“Or a man obsessed with women’s dancing
slippers?” Daphne added.

“I’ll be fine,” Ariadne assured them. “He’s
already protected me once. I feel certain he will do so again.”

“And what of your attacker?” Emily
countered, eyes narrowed. “What if he seeks you out instead?”

“I highly doubt such a villain would be
admitted to the Caldecott ball,” Ariadne told them. “But if you are
concerned, station yourselves near the door. If anyone save Freddie
Pulsipher, Mr. Cunningham, Sir Damon, or Lord Hawksbury enters the
balcony behind me, sound the alarm.”

What was she doing? Nodding to an
acquaintance, he strolled closer to the doors of the balcony. He’d
watched her since the moment she’d arrived, noticing to whom she
spoke, determining who else watched her. There was no lack of
admiration tonight, not with her in that green dress that whispered
of womanly curves and set her hair to shining. She didn’t seem to
notice. Indeed, the only man who had received any attention from
her was Archibald Stump, and that attention hadn’t lasted longer
than the moment she’d looked into his eyes. It was rather
gratifying to know she was more interested in finding him.

But to wait alone on the balcony a good hour
before they were to meet was only inviting trouble. He didn’t think
his quarry moved in high enough circles to gain admittance as a
guest to the Caldecott ball, but that didn’t mean the fellow hadn’t
sneaked in among the press of the crowd or slipped through an
unlatched window. Even now, he could be hiding in a forgotten
corner.

Like a blocked off balcony.

There was nothing for it. He’d have to
reveal himself sooner than planned, if only to keep her safe. He
couldn’t help the thrill of pleasure as he moved toward the
door.