Lady Thief (34 page)

It was a family trait that Sheffield would no doubt soon discover, Sir Basil mused. If he had not already.

 

 

It was an old English belief that birds chose their mates on February fourteenth, and out of that conviction had sprung up in London society the yearly event known as the St. Valentine’s Day Ball, which was held on the evening of the thirteenth of February. It was a masquerade ball like any other, where the ladies wore costumes or dominoes with masks, and the gentlemen costumes or merely evening dress with masks. Dancing and conversation were exactly as usual, with the only difference being the Midnight Waltz.

At midnight the final waltz would be announced, and gentlemen were invited to choose their partners. Those gentlemen who did so were, by tradition and accepted practice, announcing publicly their choice of life mate.

Naturally, most of the couples who took the floor for the Midnight Waltz were either married or betrothed; for all its air of impulse and romance, the tradition offered few surprises because it was a rare gentleman who risked public rejection in the event his chosen lady refused him, and a rare lady willing to announce her engagement in such an impromptu manner.

 

 

In all honesty, Cassandra had forgotten the significance of the Midnight Waltz. She had certainly enjoyed the evening, not in the least because Sheffield had come to her within five minutes of her arrival and had not left her since.

To the astonished members of society, as yet still ignorant of Cassandra’s stay at Sheffield Hall, it must have appeared the most startling and incredible romance of the Season—perhaps of many Seasons. The scandalous earl, after many years of travel and (it was said) adventure that had left him older and wiser and much more flush in the pocket (a pirate’s treasure was alluded to, though no one seemed to know by whom) had returned to London society and, the very day after his arrival, become instantly smitten with the lovely but elusive heiress, Cassandra Eden.

While she was
masked
, for heaven’s sake!

More than one former suitor of Miss Eden’s, glumly watching the dangerous earl obviously delight and enchant her with apparently little effort, longed wistfully for the cachet of a mysterious and/or wicked past. And more than one scandalized debutante could nevertheless not help but think how thrillingly romantic it must be to know those black eyes followed one’s every movement, and with a light in them that was really . . . quite extraordinarily amorous. . . .

“We are the talk of the ball,” Cassandra informed the earl solemnly late in the evening. She had chosen to wear a blue dominoe rather than a costume, but her gray eyes, framed by the gleam of her black mask, seemed fittingly mysterious.

Sheffield, who had scorned a costume and early disposed of his mask (like many other gentlemen), could only agree with her. He knew most of their observers were scandalized—but in a relatively mild way. Not that he cared. Except where it concerned Cassandra—as when he had worried she might be wary of him because of the tales she had heard—he was indifferent to his reputation.

“I suppose they must talk of something,” he allowed.

Rueful, she said, “Well, we have certainly given them something.”

“Do you regret it?”

Cassandra smiled up at him. “Of course not.”

Sheffield was about to speak again when the musicians struck up a flourish of drumrolls, and the dance floor began to clear of couples.

“The Midnight Waltz!” the lead musician announced.

Smiling, the earl reached up and untied the ribbons holding Cassandra’s mask. “I believe this is my dance, ma’am,” he said.

It took a moment for Cassandra to remember the significance of this particular dance. When she did, she murmured, “But, Stone—they think we have only met tonight, and that this is the first time you have seen me unmasked—”

“And now they will believe I fell in love with you at first sight—which is perfectly true.”

Cassandra thought her heart would burst, it pounded so rapidly. “You—you did?”

“Certainly, I did.” He tucked her mask carefully inside his long-tailed coat as one would a keepsake, then bowed low before her as the musicians struck up the Midnight Waltz. “May I have your hand in marriage, Miss Eden? Will you dance with me?”

Without hesitation she placed her hand in his and curtsied, her eyes glowing with happiness. “If you please, sir.”

He kissed her hand and then led her out onto the dance floor, and it was only then that Cassandra realized they were the first couple to begin—because every other eye in the room had been fixed upon them in fascination.

“We have shocked them all,” she murmured as, slowly, other couples joined them on the floor.

He was smiling down at her, his mouth both tender and sensual, and his black eyes heated. “We will shock them still further if I am able to persuade you to marry me quickly, my love.”

“How quickly?” she asked, solemn.

“By the end of the week—if I am able to wait that long.

A special license, a private ceremony—and a very long honeymoon.”

Still solemn, she said, “I believe I would like that of all things, my lord.”

And her lord, inflamed by the love and desire shining in her gray eyes, waltzed her out of the ballroom and onto a dark and private terrace, under the shocked, scandalized, and wholly envious eyes of society.

Kay Hooper

is the New York Times bestselling, award-winning author of many suspense and romance novels. She lives in Bostic, North Carolina. Visit her website at
www.kayhooper.com
.