Ch 1: Hidden Secrets
Disclaimer: Dun own PR!
England – 1816
Countess Cameron, Sydney Amelonia stared at herself in the tall mirror. Her gown of filmy white silk was fastened at the left shoulder with an amethyst broach, leaving the other creamy shoulder tantalizingly bare.
Its gossamer folds clung provocatively to her full breasts and narrow waist, then fell gracefully to the floor. The thick clusters of her shining hair were bound with vibrant buttercups and violets.
"Lorna," Countess Cameron whispered softly. "How bad is it?"
"Milady, your papa had left hundred over pounds of debts and his money manager and lawyer are asking you to—no ordering us to sell this mansion. Apparently your papa had used up all your inheritance and your mama's jewels and was still unable to pay off his debtors."
Sydney listened to every word, her face paling each time. "Dear God, and where do I find that amount of money, Lorna? This mansion, no, we cannot sell it. This mansion belongs to the Cameron family for centuries—it would be a disgrace of me for our name, as the last and only descendant couldn't even keep it."
"Now lamb, Clarissa is here and plays chaperone to you. Don't worry about it, we'll find a way soon." Lorna's eyes twinkled.
She had watched Lady Cameron for since she was a babe and grown up to an extraordinarily beautiful young lady of London. At least, the Cameron family had been a reputable name for as long as they lived.
"Syd dear, don't forget your mask." Lorna ran out to the rented carriage and waved.
XXX
Waves of laughter surged across the Theodore overcrowded ballroom, drowning out the efforts of the musicians, the receding, leaving behind the persistent undertow of conversation. On the congested dance floor, extravagantly costumed guests struggled for space to dance to music.
Lady Cameron stood on the sidelines, surrounded by her personal entourage of admirers, and smiling serenely at all of them.
"I did not realize that your glass required attention, May I?" a deep, masculine voice whispered softly into her ears.
Sydney turned to stare into hazel brown eyes. "Sir Landors." She called out.
"Glad you still remember me, the lowly knight of the king's court."
Sydney surrendered her glass to him and he bowed. "An honor, Mademoiselle."
With a triumphant look at the other gentlemen, he departed in the direction of the gigantic crystal fountain, which gurgled forth a ceaseless supply of punch.
Would she really need to sell her family mansion—the house she lived for eighteen years? Did she need to dismiss her other fourteen loyal servants as well? She probably would need to, given her current assets, which was no assets now. What she had now was only a name—Countess and a poor one at that.
Abruptly, Sydney jerked her thoughts from her assets back to reality as she realized that she had been inadvertently staring at a man across the room who was costumed entirely in black. Below his black half mask, the man's mouth lifted in a slow, amused smile, and he inclined his head to her in the merest mockery of a bow.
Hot with embarrassment over being caught staring, Sydney turned away quickly and almost knocked the glass from Jack's outstretched hand.
She smiled and thanked him. Sir Landors was obviously trying to hook up in a conversation with Lady Cameron.
"At what age is an English woman expected to marry?"
"No later than thirty." Sydney lied.
"Stop, I do believe I am serious."
"Very well," she smiled again. "Twenty-five, then."
"It is time you think of marriage already." Jack cajoled.
"Right now, I feel like dancing." She changed the subject promptly.
Jack looked as if he was on the urge of argument, then he reconsidered and offered his arm. "As you wish my lady, dance it will be."
As Jack led her to the dance floor, a deep voice that seemed to leap out of the shadows behind them, "Unfortunately, I believe the lady has promised this waltz to me."
Sydney turned in astonishment as a black-cloaked form materialized from the darkness, even without the almost satanic costume, Sydney would have recognized that mocking smile.
"You'd promised me this dance," he said when she hesitated. "You promised me months ago." He informed her putting his hand beneath her elbow and exerting pressure to begin drawing her with him toward the dance floor.
Sydney had no choice but to turn back and smile apologetically at Jack. As she walked, she could feel his cool gaze on her back.
Jack was forgotten almost immediately as she stepped into the arms of a stranger and found herself whirled around in time to the sweeping music by a man who danced with the easy grace of someone who has waltzed a thousand times and more.
"Did I really promise you a dance tonight?" she asked, unable to contain the suspense any longer. Sydney had not seen this man before, that she was sure.
"No," the stranger gave an honest reply.
His monosyllable made her laugh. "Then, who are you?" she asked.
"A friend?" He offered in a voice rich and deep.
When the strains of the waltz died, she was no closer to identifying him than she had been when the dance began.
Sydney stepped away from him, half turning toward another gentleman who was standing near the edge of the dance floor, but her partner claimed her hand back firmly and drew her in the opposite direction into the gardens.
Sydney began doubting her wisdom for letting an unknown man dragged her out and she had relented. She chided herself in silence.
Outside, she reached behind and untied the ribbons of her mask, letting it dangle from her fingers. She stared at his tall build, he was easily two or three inches over six feet, an outstanding feature, she noted.
Sydney felt uneasy as he stared at herself for a long time. "Who are you?" she demanded more firmly this time.
"A friend." Came the same reply as before.
"Absolutely not! I don't recall anyone of my acquaintance with you or with your bold manners especially for an Englishman." She paused and studied him cautiously. "Or are you not?"
"Who would you want me to be," he asked. "Women always admire noble titles. Would you like it if I told you I am a duke?"
Sydney burst out laughing. "You are no more a duke than I am."
The amusement vanished from his smile. "May I ask what makes you so certain, Countess Cameron?" He stared intently at her well-sculpted features and caught her gasped softly.
"How did you know my title?" Sydney paused momentarily and asked, "Then you must know my name as well." She stated.
"I do." Was the reply. For a long moment, his gaze lingered on her entrancing sapphire blue eyes.
Sydney toyed with the ribbons of her mask. "If you were a duke, you'd be too stout to ride."
"Even in bed?" he asked softly.
She fixed him an icy glare.
"May I get you a glass of champagne?" he offered.
"You may go straight to—" Sydney swallowed her outrage and nodded. "Please," she spoke in a choked voice.
XXX
Sydney watched his tall figure moved along the line of departing guests. His head bent low as he listened attentively to the blond woman who was smiling dazzling up at him. He laughed at something she said.
His mistress, Sydney decided. He hadn't wasted anytime with any relenting female. Irritably, she wished he would remove his mask so she could catch a glimpse of his face. Without warning he turned. His gaze captured hers and she saw his unfathomable smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Sydney jerked her face away angrily. That conceited, arrogant—she tried conjuring words to describe his terrible attitude.
"Why, milady? What's the matter?" Clarissa asked.
Sydney tipped her head to his direction and asked nervously. "Do you know who he is, Clarissa?"
Her chaperone, Aunt Clarissa turned to study the couple. "The lady beside him—she's Mona Alary. If she's Mona then the man beside must be… oh my God," she gasped. "Why do you ask?" Clarissa asked tightly and turned her attention back to Sydney.
"I—I thought it was someone whom I know."
"Why he's a duke, my dear and does a great job at being the infamous heartbreaker of women's hearts. Do not be acquainted with this man. I forbid it." Clarissa explained in a tone, which says, end-of-conversation.
"Of course." He was the last man on the continent whom Sydney wants to show any interest. The last man in the entire world!
XXX
Sky Blackthorne Rouillard gazed at the girl who walked with an air of poise and proud nobility. She was the one—he thought.
A strained voice spoke beside him. "When are the wedding bells ringing for you and Lady Cameron again?" Mona asked in a tone fit for jealousness and filled with sarcasm. There had been many rumors of marriage but it was never true so...
She watched thoughtfully at his burning gaze towards Lady Cameron. Angrily, Mona turned him to face her and gave a most intense kiss she ever gave a man. Lady Cameron was just another prey to his grace, Sky Blackthorne Rouillard, eighth duke of Claymore.
TBC-Pls R&R!