A Lady Correspondent had not intended to eavesdrop. Truly. She was just sitting in an alcove catching her breath and, it must be admitted, admiring the two Grenford brothers who were leaning on a pillar just in front of her. She could not help but see Miss de C accost them. She could not help but overhear all that transpired. At one point, she nearly spoke up, as horrified as the target of the brothers’ focused attention, but no. Surely Miss de C would be most embarrassed to know anyone else had witnessed her humiliation. She sank back into the shadows. But was she not planning to write the story for the Teatime Tattler? No. No she was not. However she disguised the name and circumstances, everyone here tonight would recognize the event to which she referred. The brothers had been careful of the silly girl’s reputation. She could not destroy it.
Miss Miranda de Courtenay took one last look into the mirror, adjusted her domino mask, and left her room. There was no turning back now. Her mind made up, she prayed her brother Adrian would not remove her from the ball the moment he set eyes upon her scandalous costume of a Greek goddess. If she were to win her bet with her sister Grace, she needed to make an impression on the man whom she had chosen as her target. She had no desire to lose that wonderful bonnet her brother had brought her from Paris and she already looked forward to winning the bottle of perfume from her sister.
Entering the ballroom, she had a moment of hesitation race across her mind as her eyes quickly scanned the occupants of the already overflowing room. She took a deep breath wondering if she could truly pull off an outside appearance of confidence when deep down inside she was a nervous wreck. I can do this and must remember my purpose, she thought, whilst her gaze continued to flit across the crowd. Ah ha! There he is, she mused. There was no mistaking the handsome form of none other than the Marquis of Aldridge, along with his brother… what was his name?
With a shrug that either man would do, she pushed back her shoulders and began advancing toward the two gentlemen, one of which was leaning upon a pillar looking utterly divine. Neither man had a costume other than their evening attire and the masks placed upon their handsome faces; one was white, the other black. Perhaps this is what set these two gentlemen apart from any other within the room for they needed no other enhancement to draw attention to themselves. She had chosen wisely when she set her caps on the marquis. Inwardly she sighed, wondering how she would feel once she actually received a proposal of marriage from the man known as the Merry Marquis.
Ignoring Grace’s warning that popped inside her head that she should stay far away from this man in particular, she dropped down into a proper curtsey, hoping against hope that the men found her attractive as she knew she appeared.
“Good evening, my lords,” she purred. “Were you perhaps looking for me?” She was unprepared for the smile that made her insides churn in a wave of nervous jitters to be on the receiving end of the Marquis’s charm.
Aldridge had seen the silly chit approaching, her every charm on display, along with rather more of her physical assets than a lady should show. “Vixen on the hunt,” Gren murmured.
“A foolish kitten, rather,” Aldridge replied, “and us honour-bound to offend but not injure.”
Gren grinned. “I know my lines, Mr. Propriety.”
“Why, Miss de Courtenay, how delightful you look. Aphrodite herself come to enthrall us with her beauty.”
Her cheeks flushed with heat causing her to question her own stupidity for wearing such a daring gown. But it obviously had the desired effect and could only serve as one step closer to winning her bet. “You are too kind, my lord,” she said offering her hand.
Gren leaned forward to whisper in the girl’s ear. “What a charming blush. I would love to see how much of you it covers, my dear.”
A gasp escaped her. How could it not? For all her pretenses of acting as if she knew all there was to know about men, she was an innocent at only twenty years of age. Miranda instantly became aware that Grace may have been correct when she warned her about this pair. She could feel the warmth of the man’s breath as he lingered near her ear.
She glanced down at her gown and was shocked at how much of her cleavage was there for his viewing pleasure since he towered above her. Good heavens, she really was a fool to have chosen this costume but the dye was cast and she had no one else to pursue in her attempts to win what she was now thinking a silly and foolish bet.
Raising her chin, she took hold of her fan and playfully slapped the gentleman’s arm. “My you are a bold one, are you not?” she teased, all the while wondering how she was going to get herself out of this mess she was in and still save face with her sister.
“As are you, my sweet,” Gren said. “And I admire boldness. Do not you, Aldridge?”
“Indeed. Boldness in a woman is highly desirable,” Aldridge agreed, his lids half closed, his voice husky. “Exactly how bold is she, Gren, do you think?”
