My Wicked Little Lies Part 28

"Why, we shall return to the ballroom." Beryl opened the door and waved Evelyn through. "And you shall dance with every man in a white mask and black cloak until you find your old friend or your husband."

"I couldn't possibly." Evelyn scoffed. "There must be dozens of men in that costume in the crowd."

"Then you have no time to waste." Beryl started down the corridor. "Come along."

"You do understand that usually I wait for a gentleman to ask me to dance."

"Good Lord, dear." Beryl sighed and glanced at her over her shoulder. "This is a masquerade. For the most part, no one knows who anyone else is. Anonymity makes anything possible. You can be anything you wish and tonight you are the epitome of a Venetian courtesan. A mere flick of your fan and any man in his right mind will fight for just one dance with you. You do look exceptionally fetching tonight."

"Yes, I do." And if she was at last to meet Sir in person, exceptionally fetching was the very least she wanted to look. She cast her friend a smug smile that belied the emotions churning within her.

Apprehension battled with antic.i.p.ation. Once she had wanted nothing more in the world than to meet him, to speak to him, and yes, there had been a time when she had wanted more. A time when he had filled her dreams, fueled her desires. Now, the time had come. What would he be like? On one hand, she felt he was indeed an old friend that she knew well. On the other, he was no more than a shadowy figure from her past and she knew nothing about him at all. Was the unease that now lodged in the pit of her stomach fear that he would be less than she'd expected? Or did she fear he might be so much more?

And more to the point, how would she feel when meeting him at last? Would those nearly forgotten feelings return? As much as she loved her husband, was that love enough to overcome the temptation of a man she had truly known only in her dreams? A man who now wrote of his own dreams of the two of them together?

She drew a deep breath. She would prefer not to meet Sir at all, but it seemed she had little choice. Regardless, she was not the same woman she had been when she left the department. Then, she would have leapt at this opportunity. Then, she had no idea what love truly was. Then, she had nothing to lose. Now she knew love was the only thing in life worth fighting for. And no matter how adventurous or romantic or intriguing Sir might be, there was only one man who held her heart. Not at all adventurous and not overly romantic and very much an open book. But she loved him and she had had no doubt he loved her and would until they breathed their last.

"There's nothing to be done about it then," Evelyn said more to herself than to her friend. "I shall simply have to adopt my most flirtatious manner and dance with mysterious men who are, no doubt, quite dull without their masks."

"Excellent." Beryl nodded her approval. "And do keep in mind, behind your mask you can be anyone you wish."

"And as I can be anyone I wish tonight ..." Resolve surged through her and she lifted her chin. "I believe I shall be me."

Chapter 19.

What was Evie thinking?

Adrian narrowed his eyes behind his mask and continued to observe his wife from a discreet distance, in a nearly concealed alcove, tucked along the side wall of the ballroom. Since she and Beryl had returned, Evie had done nothing but dance with one gentleman after another. Each and every one dressed in the exact same costume he wore and each and every one dancing a bit closer and holding her just a little tighter than he considered appropriate. Of course, they didn't know who she was and she didn't know who they were. Not that it mattered. Seeing his wife in the arms of one man after another, chatting and laughing and obviously being most flirtatious, was more than a little disconcerting. As was the fact that she was obviously looking for Sir.

It was Beryl's fault, no doubt. It might well have been a mistake to give her his note to deliver to Evie although it had seemed a good idea at the time. He had seen Beryl and Dunwell arrive and had recognized their carriage. Of course, even if he hadn't, he would have still recognized Beryl regardless of any disguise. It had been a long time but he had seen those lovely b.r.e.a.s.t.s before. Besides, Beryl, given her own nature and the dubious fact that Evie now considered them friends, was more likely than anyone else to deliver his message without condemnation. Although she was also more than likely to encourage his wife to dance with every white-masked man in the room.

No. If there was any fault here for anything, it lay with him. He wasn't a man used to being wrong and he wasn't a man to make mistakes. But recently, it seemed he had made any number of mistakes and he had indeed been wrong more often than not.

He shouldn't have started this, and he shouldn't have continued it. He should never have let the idea that she married him because he was convenient fester in the back of his mind. He should never have allowed doubt to lead him to believe she would be unfaithful. He certainly should not have let his emotions overtake his head. He should have had far more substantial evidence before-he groaned to himself-bursting into a hotel room to confront her. He should have trusted her. Even when he failed to do so, he should have begged, pleaded, groveled to keep her in their house, where she belonged.

And he should have told her he was Sir right from the beginning. Now, he never could.

And now, this needed to end.

The music drew to a close and Evie took a step away from her partner. The gentleman in question might not have realized it, but to Adrian's eyes, it seemed she did so with a subtle air of relief. Good. He made his way through the crowd toward her. He still had no idea what he would do if she proved amenable to Sir's advances and hoped-no-prayed he would not have to find out.

He was still several yards away when she caught sight of him and froze. As if she knew it was him. But which him, an annoying voice in the back of his head asked. He ignored it. For no more than an instant he wondered if she indeed recognized him, then discarded the notion. Beryl hadn't recognized him and he had always thought her surprisingly perceptive. While it had been some time since he had donned any sort of disguise, he was confident tonight's was nearly perfect. The traditional Venetian garb was designed centuries ago to provide anonymity. The mask m.u.f.fled his words, but he had also adopted a change in the timbre of his voice, a feat not as easy as it had once been. And with cork wedges in his shoes, he was a good two inches taller. No, Beryl hadn't recognized him and neither would his wife.

He stopped in front of her and nodded a bow. "I believe this is our dance, Lady Waterston."

She stared up at him. "Is it?"

The masquerade made this deception possible, but d.a.m.nation, it would have been good to see her entire face.

"It is indeed. I believe you were looking for me."

She laughed lightly. "And I believe you flatter yourself. Why, I don't even know who you are."

He held out his hand. "Don't you, Eve?"

She gasped, then almost at once composed herself. She placed her hand in his. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Sir."

"The pleasure is entirely mine." He chuckled. "Shall we dance, or would you prefer to seek a setting more private?"

"I'm not sure that is either wise or proper."

"And yet tonight, no one would know who you are."

A smile curved her lips. "I would."

"If I recall, you were never overly concerned with propriety before."

"That was a different time and I was a different person." She shook her head. "Then I had nothing to lose."

"Ah yes, you married a respectable man with wealth and position."

Her smile tightened. "I did not marry my husband for his money or his name although I see nothing especially wrong with that. It's the nature of the world."

"Then why did you marry him?" He held his breath.

"The music has begun, Sir." She nodded at her hand still in his. "Even a man completely unrecognizable and one of any number of courtesans here tonight would be commented upon if we continued to stand with my hand in yours."

"Then a dance it shall be." He took her in his arms and they started off to the tune of a sedate waltz, fortunately for him. He was not as accustomed to the wedges in his shoes as he had once been, and a livelier tune might have been his undoing. Still, they danced together well, but then they always did. She was, after all, his partner. He gazed down at her. "Have you thought of this, Eve? Of dancing together? Of being in my arms?"

"Would you prefer complete honesty, or shall I be polite?"

"There have never been secrets between us." In spite of the kaleidoscope of dancers, of brightly colored silks and satins, swirling around them, it seemed as though they were quite alone. Caught up in their own world.

"No, I suppose there haven't been." She drew a deep breath. "There was a time when I thought of you a great deal."

He nodded. "Our work, of course."

"It had nothing to do with that. I will confess, I did once dream of dancing in your arms."

"And of my lips pressing to yours?"

"I would be less than honest if I denied it. And yet ..." She shook her head. "Those thoughts ended the day I met my husband."

"Was I so easy to forget?"

"Oh, I have never forgotten you. I daresay I never will."

"Then ..." He tried to pull her a little closer but she gracefully resisted.

"You and the department were my life for five years. I could scarcely forget that." Her smile returned. "It was a glorious adventure, a grand journey, and I am, oh, grateful, I suppose, to have experienced all that I did. However ..." A firm note sounded in her voice. "I am more grateful for what I have found now."

He steered her through a turn, made somewhat more difficult by his shoes, but nearly perfect. Apparently, some skills were not entirely lost.

"But you haven't answered my question." Again he braced himself. "Why did you marry him?"

"It's not an easy answer but I suppose things like this seldom are." She fell silent for a long moment. "I wanted a man exactly like my husband. Someone solid and settled and respectable. An honorable man who cared about those things that seem ordinary-home and family and permanence. Apparently the answer is easy after all," she said thoughtfully. "When I met Adrian, I realized I didn't want a man exactly like him. I wanted him." She cast him a brilliant smile and his breath caught. "And I still do."

"And yet," he said cautiously, "he is not here with you tonight."

"He will be." She sighed. "Sir, my husband is charming and intelligent. And yet, like any man, he can be an idiot as well. But make no mistake, he is my idiot and I love him with every fiber of my being."

His heart thudded. "I understood you were no longer under the same roof."

"Not for long." Determination showed in the set of her chin.

"Oh, are you going to forgive his transgression then? Not that I know what it is," he added quickly.

She laughed. "I'm surprised you don't. I thought you knew everything."

"I do try." He shook his head in a mournful manner. "But I am sadly out of practice."

"Oh dear, you shall shatter my illusions about you," she teased.

"I would hate to do that." He paused. He should stop this now. He knew what he needed to know. And yet ... "Do you love him enough to forgive him?"

"I love him too much not to. Besides ..." A thoughtful note sounded in her voice. "One could argue a great sin could be the result of great love."

"Is that what you think? That you share a great love?"

"Not at all." The smile on her face was that of a woman in love. With her husband. With him. What a fool he had been. "It's what I know."

"Then love is all, is it?"

"Oh my." She studied him for a moment. "You're one of those men, aren't you?"

"What men?" he said cautiously.

"One of those men who proudly and arrogantly proclaim they have never been in love." She leaned closer and spoke low into his ear. "Those are the ones who have the worst of it, you know, when it does happen."

"Do they?" He bit back a smile.

"Mark my words, Sir."

"Well, I am not one of those men. I have been in love but she loved someone else." He held her a little tighter and this time she did not resist. But there was a distinct air of farewell in her manner. G.o.d, he was a lucky man.

"I see." She nodded slowly. "I shall have to a.s.sume you are not speaking of me. Because if you aren't, we shall both be terribly embarra.s.sed that the thought even crossed my mind. If you are, well, then I should have to make certain you understand that your feelings are not returned."

"Not even a little?"

She laughed. "Oh, certainly a little." She shook her head. "But not enough."

The last strains of the waltz ended and they drifted to a standstill. He released her with reluctance and slowly escorted her off the dance floor.

He drew a deep breath. "Thank you, Eve."

"No, Sir, thank you. I have long felt you were a book whose ending I had failed to read. I have always hated not finis.h.i.+ng a book." She cast him a brilliant smile. "I can now close the book and set it away on a shelf with other books."

He gasped in feigned dismay. "Left to the ravages of mold and rot and worms?"

"Not at all. Set carefully aside to be cherished and kept safe always." She smiled in a wry manner. "But never to be read again."

"You have no regrets at the turns your life has taken?"

"My life is as I always wished it would be. No, I said I would be honest and that isn't entirely honest." She paused. "In truth, Sir, my life is better than I ever imagined it could be, which has nothing to do with my husband's money or position and everything to do with the kind of man he is. Good and kind and clever and amusing. And while he may not have your adventurous spirit, he is the most exciting man I have ever met. At least he is to me. He has my heart and I could not live my life without him."

His heart twisted. "Then you have no regrets." "Only a fool or someone quite perfect would have no regrets. I am not at all perfect, and I do hope I am not a fool. But my regrets are, for the most part, insignificant." She smiled. "I do regret that the only true mystery of my life will never be solved. That I will never know who you are. That I will never know if you are someone I see frequently at events like this. If we have exchanged idle conversation perhaps. Or if you are someone I pa.s.s and nod a greeting to in the park. I regret that I will never know your face."

"I could be dreadfully ugly, you know," he warned.

She laughed. "I doubt that but it doesn't matter." She tilted her head and gazed up at him. "Will you grant me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Someday, when you are very old and gray and you know the end of your days is near, will you send me one last note? Will you solve that mystery for me?"

"I would be delighted." He chuckled. "It will be something to look forward to in my declining years."

"A very long time from now, I hope."

"Still, one never knows how much time one has left."

"No, we don't, do we?" For a long moment she stared at him, then she smiled. "Farewell, Sir."

"Farewell, my dear Eve."

She turned and a moment later he had lost her in the crowd. But not for long.

She married him because she loved him. She may well think him an idiot, which admittedly he had been of late, and not adventurous and a man who cared about ordinary things, but she loved him and that was all that mattered.

He made his way through the throng to a side door, slipped out of the ballroom, and hurried to a salon he had found earlier in the evening where he had hidden what he would need to change from Sir. As he had the clothing he would wear to appear as Adrian on under the cloak, it was a simple enough matter. It would take him only a few minutes to discard this costume, change his shoes, and put on a different mask. Then he would return to his wife and take her in his arms.

And never let her go again.