Bethany seemed to be having trouble catching her breath.
Emma sighed. “Unless I have been gravely misled, the act is nothing to which one should attach undue sentiment. Although I have no particular feelings about where this event takes place, I should prefer a location other than the carriage. In fact, I shall insist that I, as a representative of the French nation, should not be deflowered in a carriage.”
Bethany gulped.
“I suppose that you did the thing properly, in a dark room under the covers,” Emma said kindly. “But you know that I’ve never had a grain of proper sentiment about me, Bethany. I have no particular feelings for Kerr. But I do think that it will be an excellent thing for our marriage if he discovers that he has, in essence, been ‘hoist with his own petard.’”
“Is that Shakespeare?” Bethany asked dubiously.
“I have to win the challenge,” Emma explained, “because otherwise Kerr will see no particular reason not to continue in his indifferent ways. I think it best to take him in hand before we marry.”
“Oh, Emma, I wish I’d never told you Kerr’s comment! John would not approve of this evening,” Bethany moaned.
Emma laughed. “Of course your husband wouldn’t approve, darling. He’s a sweet, thoughtful man who is a perfect match for you.”
“That’s not the point. Kerr isn’t sweet nor thoughtful!”
Emma waved her hand to silence her. “Neither am I, darling. Neither am I.”
Bethany looked up at her sister and bit her lip. Truly, Emma didn’t look sweet nor thoughtful either. She looked dangerous, her eyes glinting wickedly over her mask, her gown’s tight lacing enhancing her breasts. “I’ll be waiting in the carriage for you.”
Emma grinned. “You needn’t wait, love.” She descended from the carriage and then peeked back in. “I’ve taken a room at Grillon’s Hotel, and my maid is already waiting for me there.”
They probably heard Bethany’s shriek in the next cou
nty. But Emma just waved good-bye and adjusted her mask.
The competition had begun.
Chapter Seven
The footmen who had been set to guard the door of the Cavendish ball were having a difficult time of it. They’d had to turn away at least a score of people who had no invitations, and more recently, five whose invitations were obviously fraudulent. One could tell from the very way they walked that the invitations wouldn’t prove to be genuine, James thought to himself. They didn’t have that air of command.
Not like the prime article getting out of the carriage now: tall and slender, but with a bosom that made his mouth water. She had buckets of red hair, all curled and looped down her back, and the contrast between all that red hair and the white gleam of her plump breasts made James NUld bit h’s knees feel weak. He hardly glanced at her card, so mesmerized was he by the faint smile in her green eyes as they regarded him over the edge of her mask.
“Here you are, my lady,” he said, breathlessly handing back the invitation, even though they’d been expressly told to keep them so that no one could hand them out the back window to a friend.
“Merci beaucoup,” she murmured, and the shiver went straight down James’s legs. She was a Frenchwoman, she was. And if all Frenchwomen were like this, the world would be a better place.
The ballroom was brilliant with a shifting mass of bright silks, swaying feathers, and the glint of gems. Off in the corner, a small orchestra was making a valiant effort, but people were far too excited to dance. The whole ballroom was filled with Marie Antoinettes and Julius Caesars, screaming with delight when they glimpsed each other and darting across the room to press powdered cheek to powdered cheek.
Emma felt a pure stab of excitement. It had been too long since she went to a ball. Painting sets for Mr. Tey was fascinating in its own way. But painting was a lonely skill and offered none of the heart-thumping pleasure of a masquerade. She drifted through the crowd. People parted before her, drawing back, their voices drifting toward her: “Who’s that…really?” “It can’t be…darling, I’ve never seen her before….” And then: quite clearly: “Those are real diamonds; she’s no governess.”
She felt a peck of annoyance at herself. She should have come to London so she would know who all these people were. There was no doubt that she would recognize Kerr, but not his friends. A gentleman was standing just to one side, gaping at her as though she had fallen straight from the sky. She dropped her eyelashes, slowly, and then looked at him again. He had such a mindless expression that she felt certain he would be a friend of Kerr’s.