The Paid Companion | Herophine

Chapter Nineteen

Josephine

The costume ball was a crush. Lady Fambridge had displayed what Josephine had learned was her well-known flair for the dramatic in the décor she had chosen for the evening. The large, elegant room was lit with red and gold lanterns rather than blazing chandeliers. The dim illumination steeped the space in long, mysterious shadows.

A number of potted palms had been brought in from the conservatory. They had been strategically placed in clusters along the walls to provide secluded niches for couples.

Costume balls, Josephine had quickly discovered, were all about dalliance and flirtation. They provided opportunities for the jaded members of Society to play their favourite games of seduction and intrigue even more openly than was usual.

Hero had admitted that morning at breakfast that when he had elected to accept the invitation, he had not realized the event would require a domino and a mask.

That was what came of leaving social decisions to a man, Josephine thought. They did not always pay attention to the details.

Anne and Felix both appeared to be enjoying themselves thoroughly, however. They had disappeared half an hour before. Josephine had a hunch that they were making good use of one of the palm-shrouded bowers scattered strategically around the room.

She, on the other hand, was making her way through the crowd toward the nearest door. She needed a rest.

For the last hour, she had dutifully danced with any number of masked gentlemen, rarely bothering to hide her own features behind the little feathered mask she carried in one hand. The point was for her to be recognized, after all, as Anne had reminded her.

She had carried out her responsibilities to the best of her ability, but now she was not only bored, but her feet were also beginning to hurt inside her soft leather dancing slippers. A steady diet of balls and soirees took its toll, she thought.

She had almost reached the door when she noticed the man in the black domino making his way determinedly toward her. The cowl of the enveloping cloak-like garment had been drawn up over his head, casting his face into deep shadow. As he drew closer she saw that he wore a black silk mask.

He moved like a wolf gliding through a flock of sheep in search of the weakest lamb. For an instant, her spirits rose and she forgot all about her sore feet. When he had left the house earlier that evening, Hero had taken a black domino and a black mask with him. He had said he would meet her at the Fambridge ball and accompany her home.

She had not expected him to arrive so early, however. Perhaps he had met with success in his inquiries and wanted to discuss the new information with her. She took some comfort in the knowledge that, although he seemed intent on ignoring the attraction between them—at least for now—he had more or less made her a consultant in this affair.

The stranger in the domino arrived in front of her. Josephine’s excitement evaporated instantly. This was not Hero. She was not certain how she knew that with such certainty before he even touched her, but she did know it.

It was not the man’s voice that gave him away—he did not speak. There was nothing odd about that. He was not the first gentleman that night to use gestures to invite her to dance. Voices were easy to identify, and several guests preferred to play their games anonymously. Nevertheless, she had recognized most of her partners, especially those with whom she had danced the waltz on previous occasions.

The waltz was a surprisingly intimate sort of exercise. No two men conducted it in quite the same manner. Some went about the business with military-style precision. A few steered her around the floor with such energetic enthusiasm that she felt as though she was engaging in a horse race. Still, others took advantage of the close contact to try to rest their hands in places where propriety dictated they did not belong.