Andrew appeared. “Here you are. I wondered where you’d gone.” He extended a hand. “Apparently, my presence is required for a wedding tomorrow.”
She glanced up at him. “Tomorrow? How is that possible?”
“An eager groom who procured a special license already. Why did you wander off?”
“I wanted to give you some privacy.”
“Interesting. Most women would have used the moment to cause a stir and catch themselves a lord.”
Catch a lord? Anger rose within her. “I have no interest in trapping anyone.”
“Obviously not, as you didn’t use the moment to your advantage.”
Ignoring his hand, she stood. “Would you be so kind as to help me out of the maze? I need to check on my aunt.”
“Of course.” He gestured for her to follow him. As before, he navigated the rows of manicured bushes without hesitation. “Are you staying ’til midnight for the unmasking?”
“Is that what happens?” Miranda shook her head. “I don’t think I want to reveal who I am to everyone.”
“No?” Andrew paused at the maze entrance. “You came out with the Big Bad Wolf. You can’t be scared of anything as slight as taking off your mask.”
“Scared, no. I simply have no interest in the ton discovering who I am.” But fear hadn’t played into her decision. She gnawed on her lip. In the moonlight, she looked over his face, his well-chiseled chin with the slight appearance of stubble, the aristocratic nose, and then into his eyes. “Is that what you are? The Big Bad Wolf?”
He touched his nose. “My nose seems normal enough. So, Red, if you won’t allow me the pleasure of seeing your face at the strike of twelve, pray tell me your name.”
“Miranda Beauchamp.” She waited for any sort of response at his discovery that he stood before his future wife.
Instead, he smiled. “Pleasure to meet you. Shall I return you to your aunt?”
“That’s all?” She prayed her voice didn’t sound as shrill to his ears as it did to hers. The contents of her stomach churned, and her mouth began to water. The world spun briefly, nearly leaving her unable to catch her footing. Nothing on the earl’s face gave any recognition to the name. Deep within her, red-hot anger and hurt began to build.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Does my name mean nothing to you?” she demanded rather loudly, and, when he stepped back as if she were from Bedlam, her blood boiled.
He couldn’t even be bothered to remember the name of his betrothed? She balled her hand in a fist. His words of appeasement fell from his lips upon her deaf ears. Years of frustration and loneliness surfaced.
Without thought, she let the fist make contact with his flawless nose. “You son of a donkey’s ass.” Running into the ballroom, all she craved was the solitude of her bed and a large, steaming cup of chocolate.
***
“What in the bloody hell happened to you?”
Not the greeting Andrew, Earl of Windenshire, expected upon arriving at the London home of his friend, Lord Simon Winston. But the last twenty-four hours could be described as anything but expected.
“A masked lady with a wicked jab caught me off guard.”
Simon leaned in for a better view of Andrew’s black-and-blue eye. “Not Little Red from the maze last night?”
He shifted uncomfortably under the inspecting gaze. “Yes, the very one.”
With a whistle, Simon touched the edge of the bruise. “That is impressive.”
Wolfe, Duke of Foxhaven, whom Andrew hadn’t even realized stood nearby, peered over Simon’s shoulder. “Interesting. I can see Railey inducing fits of violence in a woman, but I never imagined it your style. Speaking of the viscount, where is he?”
Simon made to touch Andrew’s face again. “I saw him briefly last night at the ball, but couldn’t track him down on such short notice.”
Swiping at Simon’s hand to prevent him from probing the foul eye again, Andrew snapped, “Do you mind? That hurts, you git.”
Put out, Simon lowered his hand, but didn’t back up. “What the hell did you do to irritate her?”
“Apparently, I should have claimed a familiarity with the woman, but did not. In her fit of vapors at my insult, she decided to call forth her inner Gentleman Jackson.”
“Well done, indeed.”
“And the lady with the iron fist. What’s her name, so if I should see her in the ring, I will place my wager on her?” Wolfe chuckled. Damn him.
Andrew groaned. He had to own up to one of the most embarrassing parts of the situation. “That is the strange thing; I can’t remember. I have tried to recall the moments about the event, but to no avail. The name is there, but as if in a fog, I can’t make out.”