Free Miss Weston's Masquerade by Louise Allen

His eyes widened at the sight of her, but she took them from him and shut the door in his startled face.
    The gamesters still paid her no attention. The women were laughing, teasing one of the men whose luck seemed to be out.
    ‘Throw a double six, my dear Comte , and I will give you the rose from my cleavage,’ the redhead said throatily, leaning towards him to show off the prize nestling between her scarcely-covered breasts.
    The Count, a dark, sardonic man with a beak of a nose, smiled lazily at her. ‘I shall want more than the rose if I score high, my dear Juliette.’
    His voice, as warm as honey, did nothing to disguise his meaning, even from Cassandra. Her small gasp of outrage was audible. Several heads turned towards the dark-suited figure but Nicholas, without looking up, ordered, ‘Pour the wine and go. We will serve ourselves after that.’
    Cassandra lifted the heavy decanter with both hands and began to pour the red wine gingerly, one eye on Nicholas’s dark head. This wasn’t what she’d planned when she’d scrambled into the valet’s clothes. She had wanted to give him the shock of his life by appearing as a boy, pay him back by forcing him to playact in front of his sophisticated friends.
    She’d only meant to appear for a minute, give him a fright. Now she was trapped, and he hadn’t even looked up from the dice, or noticed it was her.
    The woman perching like a bird of paradise on the arm of Nicholas’s chair was running her fingernails absently through the crisp curls at his nape. Cassandra met her eyes and registered with shock that she must be a good ten years older than Nicholas, although her beautifully painted complexion belied it.
    ‘Nicholas, my darling, she drawled, ‘where did you find such a delicious boy? I declare, he is positively edible. And so young. Oh look, we shock him.’ Her fingers were still on Nicholas’s neck.
    Cassandra could feel the blush flood up from her neckcloth as the woman sauntered over and touched one cheek with a long finger. ‘ Regardez, mesdames, his cheek is smooth like a peach.’
    Nicholas turned, his expression of mild irritation freezing into a mask of disbelief at the sight of Cassandra dressed in the dark suit he’d given her in London.
    Juliette, the redhead, laughed. ‘Oh, Mariette. Even for you, he is a little young, don’t you think? And so innocent… how could you think of bespoiling such an angel?’
    The tip of Mariette’s tongue touched her upper lip fleetingly. ‘Just watch me.’
    ‘Leave the lad alone.’ Nicholas spoke quietly but with an underlying edge of menace. ‘It is his first time out of England and I don’t want his head turning, or he’ll never be any use to me.’
    Mariette turned from Cassandra with a flounce of bad temper. ‘You are so high minded, milord. All this concern over a lackey.’ She snapped her fingers, ‘Wine, boy.’
    Cassandra moved round the table proffering the salver, her head giddy with relief at her close escape. It had never occurred to her that anyone would take her seriously as a boy. Not in that way.
    Nicholas leaned over to take his glass without looking at her. She sensed he was too angry to risk a meeting of eyes. She came to the Count last. He lounged back in his chair, a malicious smile playing on his lips at Mariette’s discomfiture. As Cassandra served him, he gave her a conspiratorial wink. Grateful, she smiled warmly at him and his eyes narrowed with sudden speculation.
    ‘That will be all, Cass,’ Nicholas ordered. ‘Get to your bed.’
    Thankfully, Cassandra put down the tray, bowed and left as quickly as she could. The cool of the deserted marble hall was delicious after the overheated atmosphere of the salon. She sank wearily onto the bottom stair, pushed her sticky hair off her temples and drew a long, shuddering breath.
    Lord, that had been a narrow escape. At the thought pf the rapacious Mariette Cassandra shuddered and dropped her hot forehead into her hands.