Page 1 of Unmask Me My Love

Chapter 1

London

May 1820

Jonathan George Horatio Arturus Black, Marquess of Halford—Hal to his friends—sat in his shirtsleeves, cross-legged on the hard floor of the tiny balcony overlooking Lady Hamilton’s ballroom, hand on his chin, gaze resting on the twirling dancers below. He yawned and shook his head, trying to stave off drowsiness. The dancing, the parties, the whole damn Season—which had only just begun—bored him to distraction.

The couples, engaged in a quadrille, flowed back and forth as they met, balanced, circled, and leaped about. All well and good to engage in a spritely dance when one had hopes of a particular young lady. Torture when one had none. He’d looked over this year’s crop of damsels, freshly out in Society, and wouldn’t have given a farthing for the lot of them, much less made an offer to one. So, of course, this would be the year Father got a bee in his bonnet about him marrying. Didn’t he realize eight-and-twenty was the prime age for bachelorhood?

The orchestra paused to change sets. Hal leaned forward, scrutinizing the brightly bedecked figures once more, hoping for a new face in the inevitable crowd. Not one.

Sighing, he shifted his head from his left hand to his right.

“Oh.”

The breathy voice made him whirl around. A lovely woman in a fetching white gown stared at him, her brows knitted in a delightful frown.

“Halford, what are you doing up here?” Lady Celinda Grantham, a distant relation of his mother’s family, came toward him, her displeasure transforming into a sweet smile. She shook her head, setting her golden ringlets bouncing.

“Hiding. What about you?” He turned completely around to address her. Celinda had always been a favorite “cousin” of his. She could be exceptionally odd at times, which probably explained the attraction. Like would seek like.

“Oh, I didn’t particularly want to dance this set,” she said, gesturing over the balcony rail. “But neither did I wish to endure the company of Bertie Symmons the entire time.” She wrinkled her nose. “I had thought to matchmake him with my cousin, Kate, but she’d probably have my guts for garters.”

He cocked his head. “Do I know her?”

“I don’t know. She’s Miss Locke, Lord Ainsley’s sister.”

“Hmmm.” He had met her two seasons ago and dismissed her as too strong a personality to deal with. Perhaps, given his father’s decree, he should reconsider. “I could meet your cousin instead. Do you think she would fancy me?” From what he remembered of her, he wouldn’t be bored.

“Huh. She’d have your guts for garters and wear them to the next ball.” Celinda laughed and moved closer to the railing, peering down at the ballroom floor. She scanned the room quickly then her attention seemed to focus on one particular set of dancers.

“Who are you watching?” Hal rose to stand beside her. Who was causing that bright pink blush on her cheeks, making her look like the perfect English rose?

“Kate. She’s dancing with Lord Finley, who’s just now returned from America.” Her cheeks deepened to rose. She flipped open her fan and plied it so vigorously her curls flew back from her face. “It is much hotter up here than I expected.’

“Indeed.” He gazed at her, seeing her truly for the first time in years. She’d changed since her come-out a year ago. Golden curls, flawless creamy skin, a lively personality, and very kissable coral lips. Why had he never considered her as a candidate for his marchioness? Had the answer to his dilemma been under his nose all along?

“Is that why you’re in shirtsleeves?” The color in her cheeks subsided a trifle. “Really, Halford, you are a scandal. You’ll be in such trouble if Lady Hamilton finds you thus—or anyone else other than me, for that matter. Put your jacket on, please.”

“It doesn’t fit.” He sighed. Unfortunate, but so true.

“That seems a matter to take up with your valet, or your tailor.” She turned once again to stare at the dancers below.

“Perhaps it is better said that I don’t fit it, Celinda.”

“What do you mean?” She regarded him with a puzzled smile.

“This.” He waved his hand at the glittering ballroom. “I’m tired of living by the ton’s rules, dictating what I can and cannot do. Why can I not sit in my shirtsleeves without creating a scandal? It’s as if the walls close round me each time I set foot in a ballroom. Neither am I comfortable with all the dancing and flirting—”

“Even though you do it extremely well, from what I’ve observed.” She batted her fan at his arm, her eyelids closing to mere slits, like a cat waiting at a mouse’s hole.

“As do you, my lady.” He took her hand, so petite in his large one, and gazed into her angelic face. “I wonder if you can save me from another season of balls and parties and the eternal flirting and courting of ladies I have no interest in.” A gentle squeeze of her soft skin set his pulse snapping. “I need a sweet, beautiful, intelligent woman like you, cousin, to help me find my way.”

“What are you talking about?” She pulled her hand from his, her blue eyes wide and wary. “You are up to something, Halford, as usual. Remember, I have known you since I was in leading strings.” She stepped back, fan raised to ward him off.

He laughed. Celinda had never been one to fall for a handsome face or flattering line. “My father has decreed that his heir must produce an heir before he cocks up his toes.” Hal backed away from the railing. One never knew how far a voice might travel.

She followed him, still holding the fan en garde. After a fleeting glance at the dancing couples, she turned her attention to him. “Is he ill?”