Page 10 of A Trickster’s Temptation

She rang the bell for the kitchens, and waited. After two minutes there was a knock at the door.

‘Come.’

‘Miss, the carriage is ready.’ Isabella, an excitable kitchen maid whose cheerful face hid a surprisingly discreet manner, closed the door quickly behind her. ‘I have Peterson helping Cook for at least thirty minutes—you should be able to slip out of the front door without incident.’

‘Thank you, Isabella.’

‘It’s a pleasure to help, ma’am.’

‘You will have your recompense.’

‘I know. It’s kind of you to think so well of Peter, to want to help him.’ Isabella’s brother wished to become an engraver; Mary considered helping him get his first position a small price to pay in return for Isabella’s silence. ‘But… but even if you hadn’t wanted to, I would be happy to help all the same.’

‘… Thank you.’ Isabella was kind. Mary tried not to search the girl’s happy tone for pity, for some less palatable emotion beneath her pleasant demeanour. ‘You’re very kind.’

‘Have a lovely time, miss.’ Isabella clapped her hands in clear delight. ‘Have an absolutely wonderful time.’

Sympathy from a woman five years younger than herself was going to be grating before long. Mary smiled, hoping that the smile expressed her desire to be alone before leaving, and Isabella left the room with her smile intact.

As soon as Mary was alone again, she turned back to herself in the mirror. She took a long, assessing look at herself, unable to believe that the woman in the glass was herself.

Well. She wasn’t. That was the point—the reason for going to the Warbury ball tonight. Not the only reason, not the most important reason, but one of the reasons. Mary turned away from the mirror, casting a last, longing glance back at herself, then went out onto her balcony.

She leaned over the side of the balcony, close to losing her balance as she searched the lamplit London skyline for the house she was looking for.

There it was. The Warbury property on the very edge of the town; that was what that cluster of lights was, their glitter unmistakably that of a chandelier lit to dazzle. Or perhaps it was a different house entirely and she was staring in the wrong direction—ultimately, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was her excitement. Dizzying thrills of excitement that grew more vivid with each breath. Mary slowly stood upright, turning away from the view as she held a hand to her chest.

She’d never known her heart to beat quite so fast. She’d never felt so much anticipation when it came to a ball, a dance—anything. All because for the very first time, she didn’t have the inconvenience of having to attend as Mary Fine. She could leave that reserved, cool self behind her at home, like a dress that had fallen out of fashion.

She could be Amelia Hardwick. Amelia Hardwick loved balls, loved dances, loved every opportunity to exhibit herself. And if Amelia grew too unmanageable, Mary could simply click her fingers and stop the troublesome woman from existing.

It felt good to be Amelia Hardwick. Dangerously good. And perhaps the best part of it, as well as the most truly dangerous part, was that Adam Hart would soon be by her side.

Adam.Not Mr. Hart. Quite when that adjustment had taken place, Mary wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps Amelia Hardwick was comfortable with thinking of Adam as Adam—and really, where was the harm?

She shouldn't think about any of this. Not now, at any rate, with the evening barely begun and her carriage still idling outside. But as the night wore on, and Amelia Hardwick grew braver... well, perhaps the courage Mary Fine had used to kiss Adam would flower into something more.

The Warbury estate shone with the light of a thousand candles. The heavy scent of hothouse flowers filled the air to such an extent that the horses outside, attached to the waiting carriages, sniffed the air and sneezed as if it were spring again. The night sky, given richness by the faint strains of a string quartet and the happy laughter of a hundred guests set on enjoyment, wore its stars as a young debutante wore diamonds.

No ball had ever gone by so quickly for Adam. He'd attended an enormous amount of gatherings over the course of his professional life, almost always under a different name and often in disguise, but no event--no country dance, no conversation over tea, no pleasure-garden party--had ever seemed to go quite so glitteringly fast, here and gone in the blink of an eye.

One moment he was ushering Mary onto the dance floor, her gloved hand light in his, and then the string quartet had suddenly made its final flourish. One moment he was laughing in a crowd of ladies and gentlemen as Mary made a joke, her face animated in the candlelight, and then the groups of dancing, laughing people were moving away from the card tables and dance floor to take in the evening air outside. Just as Adam was about to grasp onto the present moment, to truly relish its strange beauty, it ended--and there was something new to grapple with, some new sensation, some new emotion. Some new facet of Mary, masquerading as Amelia Hardwick, that made Adam feel as if he were floating above the earth rather than securely attached to it.

Had he ever known Mary to be daring? To make observations so witty that strangers would laugh, or dance with such energy that it was difficult for him to keep up with her? No, of course he hadn't; he'd spent so much time trading sly insults with her at every gathering they'd attended that he'd never seen her truly enjoying herself before.

But as Amelia Hardwick, Mary was allowing herself to shine in new ways. Ways that not only made Adam feel clumsy, suddenly incapable of grasping onto the moment in front of him or a single logical thought, but also made him strangely attentive to the parts of Mary he remembered from before this shocking, glorious transformation. The tiny curl of dark hair at the back of her neck that she hadn't managed to cover with dye, the slightly scornful curve to her mouth whenever she said something self-deprecating; those were things Adam hadn't realised he'd always noticed, always kept somewhere private deep inside him. Now that Mary was in disguise, he cherished the tiny parts of her that reminded him of who she really was.

Cherished.That was a word that Adam knew he really shouldn't be using. But he had drunk an unwise quantity of champagne, carried away on the sheer joy that seemed so abundant whenever he looked at Mary, and the bubbles in said champagne brought soft words with them. Words that hovered on his lips, wanting to be said more and more as the night progressed.

You're beautiful.It wasn't just the Amelia Hardwick costume, although Adam had to admit the gown looked dazzling. It was Mary's slight moment of hesitation before she walked onto the dance floor, her startled look when someone addressed her as Amelia; those were the things that caught Adam unawares, blazed across his vision as undeniably beautiful things. Then came words likeyou're so witty, so intelligent; he'd always known Mary had a sharp mind, one only had to talk to the woman for more than a few moments to know that, but tonight she seemed content to let the rest of the world know exactly how clever and funny she truly was.

I'm enchanted.Those were words that Adam knew he couldn't say, however vividly they sang in his mind. He swallowed, pushing them away as he and Mary walked along the gravelled path that led to the hedge maze.

'I've never seen a garden so beautifully illuminated at night.' Mary looked up, her face bathed in the light of Chinese lanterns that had been hung in the trees at intervals. Adam watched her skin glow, his heart skipping a beat. 'It's beautiful.'

'Yes. Very.'

---