Royal Regard

Chapter Twenty, Part 1

"Ma chèrie, you look so lovely it may stop my heart."

Bella giggled, "That would be a shame, Monsieur, for who, then, would escort me to the museum?" She touched Malbourne's sleeve lightly. "And you are not meant to know who I am."

Bella was swathed in varicolored silks below a tight bodice with an unfashionably low waist, showing far more of her bosom than she ever did. Her hair was hidden underneath a fall of fake black tresses and a hairpiece of fine gold chains and semi-precious stones. A silk scarf of scandalous scarlet covered her face, hiding all but her eyes, outlined in heavy black paint.

The king's masquerade ball at Vauxhall was a not-to-be-missed event, though she had objected she couldn't attend with Myron sick in bed. Prinny had simply required her attendance, encouraged by Myron's frequent insistence she enjoy herself, even as he shivered under blankets in a room as warm as the Sahara.

With the problem of a costume presented to Charlotte and Michelle, they had settled on an English version of an Ottoman concubine's attire, although Bella had argued a hareem girl would never wear anything that looked so much like a gypsy.

Char had snapped, "If you tell anyone you know what a hareem girl wears, you will be finished in London, and the same goes for telling anyone you are dressed as a fortune teller."

"I am long since finished in London, and with a mask on, I can wear anything I like."

Charlotte's modiste had managed to design a dress that appeased both women: it didn't include the Turkish pants Bella wanted, that really might finish her, nor the sheer fabrics Charlotte initially chose.

Earlier in the evening, once Charlotte donned her Cleopatra costume to complement Alexander's stiff-necked Antony, she and Michelle had descended on Bella, who could not keep from fretting about leaving Myron alone while he was still recovering from his last bout of this new illness.

Char had unsuccessfully argued against Bella's old-fashioned corset, saying, "I doubt sultanas wear stays. Now, hold still or your hair will be crooked."

"I would have no waist or bosom at all without my corset, and this dress is nothing but waist and bosom."

Michelle had wisely stayed out of the argument, until chancing to remind Charlotte as she laced the garment, "A heathen woman might appear without undergarments, but Madame is no heathen. She wishes to display herself to advantage, and how can she do so if she is uneasy in her clothes?"

Now, Bella found it to be true: she was more comfortable masked and in erstwhile armor, fielding fewer judgmental stares. The unlikely release from her duties at Myron's bedside made her reckless and a little bit wild. This rash mood was only heightened by her restlessness near Lord Malbourne, now much nearer than he had ever been.

Certainly, she had been using him to bring Wellbridge to heel, but that didn't make him any less attractive. In no danger of falling in love, she might be falling into something less... enduring. Shy she might be, and overprotected, but she wasn't entirely unaware of the possibilities between women and men. The thoughts haunted her during those moments she wasn't in the vicinity of one of her—no, the—dukes.

Without the sound of Malbourne's voice, there would be no placing him in the crowd. For the first time since they'd met, he wasn't in unrelieved black from head to toe, but rather in crimson: his knee breeches, waistcoat, jacket, dancing pumps, and domino mask were in matching red satin, covered in a short velvet cloak of the same shade, and he was sporting red papier-mache horns.

"How could I not know your beautiful eyes, my sweet?"

"And how could I miss you, Monsieur le Diable, when you are finally wearing your true colors?"