The Masquerade Read Online Free PDF Page A

them. They are Lords Perry and O’Donnell, Sir Redmond, Paul Kerry and Jack Ormond. A bunch of ne’er-do-wells of the premier order.”
    “You do not have to chase them down on my account,” she somehow said. The change of topic relieved her. “I am sure it was an accident.” She finally realized the extent of her dishevelment. There was mud everywhere—on her skirts, her bodice, her gloved hands and face. Her dismay welled.
    “You would defend them? They almost killed you!”
    She looked up, mortified by her state of untidiness, the linen forgotten. “It was reprehensible, of course, for them to drive at such a speed through town, but it was an accident.” Now she had the urge to cry. Why had this moment ever happened? Why couldn’t he have met her tomorrow, at the ball, when she was in her pretty Maid Marian costume?
    “You are far too forgiving,” he said. “I am afraid they must be made to see the error of their ways. But my first concern is getting you home.” He smiled, just slightly, at her. “May I see you home?”
    His words undid her. Had they been spoken in a different circumstance, it would be as if he was courting her. Her mind raced. A part of her wanted nothing more than to prolong the encounter, but another part of her wanted desperately to flee. Once alone, she would dream about this encounter, embellishing it as she wished. But just then, she had to think clearly. If he saw her to Raven Hall, Mama would come out and make a fuss and embarrass her to no end. She would probably insist that Tyrell come inside for tea, and gentleman that he was, he would not be able to refuse. It would be awkward and humiliating, especially once Mama began hinting about her three daughters all being eligible for marriage.
    This was not a fairy tale. She was not at a ball, as beautiful as Anna, being daringly waltzed about. She was a plump, muddy, bedraggled mess, standing on the street with a man who so outranked her that she might as well have been a dairymaid and he a real prince.
    “I beg your pardon,” he said swiftly, apparently misinterpreting her silence. He bowed. “Lord de Warenne, at your service, mademoiselle.” He was exceedingly serious as he spoke.
    “My lord, I can find my own way home, thank you. Thank you for everything. You are so gallant, so kind!” She knew she must not continue, as his brows had lifted in some astonishment, but she could not stop herself. “But your reputation precedes you, of course! Everyone knows how noble you are. You have rescued my life. I am deeply in your debt. I should so love to repay you, but how can I? Thank you so much!”
    He was clearly amused now. “You have no need to repay me, mademoiselle. And I will see you safely to your destination,” he said in such a firm manner there was no doubt he was an aristocrat of the highest order and used to being instantly obeyed.
    She wet her lips, oddly wishing she could allow him to see her home. “I am on my way to St. Mary’s,” she fibbed. “It is just down the street.”
    “I see. I shall see you safely indoors, nevertheless, and there will be no argument about it.”
    She hesitated, but his look told her that there was no choice, so she took his arm. A new thrill began, fighting its way past her fears and insecurities. She knew she should cast her eyes demurely down, but all she could do was gaze raptly at his face. He was so handsome—she had never seen a more handsome, more alluring man. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him so—and so much more.
    He spoke very softly and almost seductively. “You are staring.”
    She jerked her gaze away as they strolled back toward the nunnery. “I am sorry. It’s just, you are too hand—you are too kind,” she heard herself whisper, barely catching herself before blurting out her real feelings.
    He seemed surprised. “Kindness has little to do with rescuing a lady in distress. Any gentleman would behave as I have.”
    “I don’t think so,” she said,