Kit felt a twinge of guilt at Amy’s shocked whisper.
“Yes, well, that’s why no one must know who I am. And for goodness sake, don’t color up so, or people will think I’m making improper suggestions!”
Amy giggled.
“And you can’t take my arm, either, or come too close. Please think, Amy,” Kit pleaded, “or you’ll land me in the suds.”
Amy dutifully tried to remember that Kit was a youth. “It’s very hard when I’ve known you all my life and know you’re not a boy.”
“Where’s this note?” Kit lifted the small white square from Amy’s palm and unfolded it. She read the short message three times before she could believe her eyes.
Kit, Meet me on the terrace as soon as possible, Jack
“Who gave you this?” Kit looked at Amy.
Amy looked back. George had impressed on her she was not to tell the slim youth who had given her the note-but did George know the slim youth was Kit? She frowned. “Don’t you know who it’s from?”
“Yes. But I wondered who gave it to you-did you recognize him?”
Amy blinked. “It was passed on. I don’t have any idea who wrote it.” That, at least, was the truth.
Too caught up in the startling discovery that Jack was somewhere near, probably among the guests, Kit missed the less than direct nature of Amy’s answer. Forgetting her own instructions, she put a hand on Amy’s arm. “Amy, you must promise you’ll tell no one of my disguise.”
Amy promptly reassured her on that score.
“And I won’t, of course, be here for the unmasking. Can you tell Lady Marchmont-and Spencer, too-that I was here, but that I felt unwell and returned home? Tell Spencer I didn’t want to spoil his evening.” Kit grinned wryly; if she stayed for the unmasking, she’d definitely ruin Spencer’s night.
“But what about the note?” asked Amy.
“Oh, that.” Kit stuffed the white paper into her pocket. “It’s nothing. Just a joke-from someone else who recognized me.”
“Oh.” Amy eyed Kit and wondered. The male disguise was almost perfect-if she’d had such difficulty recognizing Kit, who else would?
“And now, Amy dearest, we must part or people will start to wonder.”
“You won’t do anything scandalous, will you?”
Kit repressed the urge to give Amy a hug. “Of course, I won’t. Why, I’m doing everything possible to avoid such an outcome.” With a twinkle in her eye, Kit bowed.
With a look that stated she found the act of attending a ball in male attire inconsistent with avoiding scandal, Amy curtsied and reluctantly moved away.
Kit took refuge behind a large palm by the side of the ballroom. Caution dictated she avoid Jack whenever possible, but was it possible? Or wise? If she didn’t appear on the terrace, he was perfectly capable of appearing in the ballroom, by her side, in a decidedly devilish mood. No-it was the lesser of two evils, but the terrace it would have to be. After all, what could he possibly do to her on the Lord Lieutenant’s terrace?
She scanned the crowd, studying men of Jack’s height. There were a few who fit that criterion, but none was Jack. She wondered what mad start had brought him to the ball. Unobtrusively, she made her way to where long windows opened onto the terrace that ran the length of the house.
The night air was crisp, refreshing after the stuffiness of the close-packed humanity within. Kit drew a deep breath, then looked about her. On the terrace, he’d said, but where on such a long terrace?
There were a few couples taking the air. None spared a glance for the slim youth in the midnight blue coat. Kit strolled the flags, looking at the sky, ostensibly taking a breather from the bustle inside. Then she saw Jack, a dim shadow sitting on the balustrade at the far end.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed as she drew near. He was sitting with his back propped against the wall, one booted foot swinging.
Jack, who had watched her approach, was taken aback. “What am I doing here? What the devil are you doing here, you dim-witted whelp?”
Kit noted the dangerous glitter in the eyes watching her through the slits in his simple black mask. She put up her chin. “That’s none of your affair. And I asked first.”
Under his breath, Jack swore. He hadn’t given his excuse for being at the ball a single thought, so fixated had he been on the necessity of removing Kit from this place of revelations. “I’m here for the same reason you are.”
Kit bit back a laugh. The idea of Jack, in disguise, looking over a potential bride from among the local gentry was distinctly humorous. “How did you recognize me?”
Jack’s lips twisted in a mocking smile. “Let’s just say I’m particularly well acquainted with your manly physique.”
Kit’s chin rose along with her blush. “What did you want to see me about?”
Jack blinked. What the hell did she imagine he wanted to see her about? “I wanted to make sure that, having now seen how the other half comports itself, you’ll realize the wisdom of making yourself scarce, before someone stumbles on your identity.”
Behind her mask, Kit’s frown was black. The man was insufferable. Who did he think he was, to hand her thinly veiled orders? “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you.”
Her clipped tone convinced Jack she was not about to take his suggestion to heart. With an exasperated sigh, he got to his feet. “What sort of chaos do you think you’d cause if that wig slipped loose during one of the dances?” Jack took a step toward her but stopped when she backed away. A quick glance along the terrace revealed a single couple, physically entwined, at the opposite end.
Kit considered insisting Jack sit down again but doubted he’d oblige. He was very good at giving orders and highly resistant to taking any. And in the moonlight on the terrace, his height and bulk were intimidating. Particularly when she didn’t want to do what he clearly wanted her to do. She took another step back.
“The ball’s over for you, Kit. Time to go home.”
Kit took a third step back, then judged the distance between them sufficient to allow her to say: “I’ve no intention of leaving yet. The person-”
Her words were cut off when Jack’s hand clamped over her mouth. In the same instant, his other arm wrapped about her waist and lifted her from her feet. She hadn’t even seen him move yet he was now behind her, carrying her to the balustrade. Kit struggled frantically to no effect.
Jack sat on the balustrade, Kit held on his lap, then rolled over the edge. He landed upright in the flower bed six feet below the terrace, Kit safe before him.
Seething with fury, Kit waited for him to release her. When he did, she spun on him. “You misbegotten oaf! How dare you-”
To her surprise, a large hand helped her spin until she was facing away from him again. Her words were cut off again, this time by her own mask, untied, folded then retied over her mouth. Kit’s scream of rage was muffled by the black felt. She turned about again, her hands automatically reaching for the mask to drag it away, but Jack moved with her, remaining behind her. He caught her hands in his, his long fingers closing viselike about her wrists, pulling them down and behind her. In stunned disbelief, Kit felt material, Jack’s neckerchief most probably, tighten about her wrists, securing them behind her back. Her temper exploded in a series of protests, none of which made it past the gag.
Jack appeared before her. Through the slits in his mask, his eyes gleamed. “You should be on your most ladylike behavior at a ball, you know.”
Another volley of muffled protests greeted the sally. With a chuckle, Jack stooped; suddenly, Kit found herself looking down on Lady Marchmont’s ruined petunias from a height of four feet. With Kit hoisted over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, her legs secured under one muscular arm, Jack headed away from the house. Kit’s muffled grumbles ceased abruptly when he ran his free hand over the ripe curves of her bottom, nicely positioned for his attentions. A fraught silence ensued. Giving the firm mounds a fond pat, Jack grinned and strode on.