White Roses a.b

chapter 40

Ash slowly turned her head and dared to peer up at – not a joker. A gentleman.

He wore a fine-cut suit, all in black, with long coat-tails and a satin cravat, a black top hat and a face mask covered in silky raven feathers. Only his eyes defied the darkness of his ensemble. Bright as the sky, blue as blueberry tarts.

As soon as he’d freed her from Peter’s grasp, he trailed the leather of his palmed glove over her bruised arm, like he wanted to rid her skin of Peter’s grip. Goosebumps followed where he touched.

Peter forced himself between them and Andy's hand fell away. He was nearly a head shorter than the gigantic farmer, but there wasn’t a hint of intimidation as he met Peter’s glare.

‘The lady and I,’ Peter growled, ‘were having a conversation. So why don’t you mind your own—’

‘That will be all, Sir Peter,’ Ash said, trying to channel her mother’s domineering spirit. She noticed that people were watching them and had probably been watching since the moment Peter had accosted her. He was a sore thumb in their pristine world, after all.

But none of them had stepped forward to interrupt or defend her, no doubt hoping the drama would resolve itself.

‘In fact, my dance card is quite empty,’ she said, louder still, and threaded her arm around Andy’s elbow.

Andy tipped his hat to Peter and before there could be any argument, he was leading her on to the dance floor. Her heartbeat outpaced the music – still livid over Peter’s treatment of her, and afraid that Andy would be recognized at any moment. But mostly she was exhilarated.

He was here. He had come for her.

The fool had come.

She turned to face him. Their hands linked together and a waltz began. Her feet knew the steps, though she barely heard the music.

They were dancing, in front of everyone.

There was no alarm from the crowd. No guards were sent to apprehend him. There were no whispered rumours of his presence.

In this ballroom full of masks, no one would know it was him. It was easy to believe that he was nobility, like any of them. Not an entertainer, or a fool, or a wanted man. He was as refined a gentleman as any guest.

They pressed their palms together and turned in a half circle and Andy took the opportunity to dip his head towards her. ‘You seem surprised, my lady.’

She stifled a laugh and turned towards the next girl in line, twirled around, gripped loose hands with the lady’s partner and found herself returned into Andy’s waiting hands. ‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered. ‘You’re . . .’

He grinned. ‘A wanted man?’

She ducked beneath the raised hands of the next couple. Rotated back. Curtsied.

‘Exactly,’ she said as her palm found Andy’s again.

‘Good,’ he said, his dimples showing. ‘I hoped you might still feel that way.’

They finished the rest of the dance in silence, and by the end of it Ash knew she was wearing a silly, dazed expression, but she couldn’t escape it. Andy leaned over her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckle, and in that touch she felt a slip of paper being pressed into her palm.

He stepped away, watching as she looked down at the piece of crumpled confetti, just like those he had once scattered across the ballroom.

On it was printed a tiny red heart.