Beauty and the Baron by Deborah Hale

Author:Deborah Hale [Hale, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical, Northamptonshire (England), General, Romance, Great Britain - History - 19th Century, Adult, Historical Fiction, Fiction, Love Stories
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2003-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

L ike day and night.

The words played a sweet, haunting melody through Angela’s thoughts as she twirled around the sitting room, showing off Lizzie Shaw’s exquisite handiwork to Tibby, Hoskins and the rest of the servants.

“Ye look like a princess, miss, or a duchess!” squealed Violet, the parlor maid.

For the first time in her life, Angela felt like a princess. At least, the way she imagined a princess might feel. Though perhaps the blithe, buoyant sensation that bubbled through her veins was superior to anything a true princess might experience. A lady born to the crown might take her exalted station and privileges for granted.

For Angela, tonight would be a fairy tale come true.

Mr. Hoskins beamed his approval of the silk and lace confection that billowed around her in shades of gold and blue. “A countess, you mean, Violet. Our Miss Angela will be Countess of Welland, one day.”

Though she knew he’d said it to please her, the butler’s words flattened a few of Angela’s bubbles. Tonight’s masquerade ball at Helmhurst would be like a scene from a fairy tale. But she must not expect it to end happily ever after with the scullery maid in the arms of her prince…or her baron.

“If you ask me,” said Tibby, her arms folded across her flat chest and her tiny eyes narrowed to tight slits. “She’s going to catch cold in that flimsy excuse for a bodice. Whatever was Mrs. Shaw thinking?”

“Cold?” Angela could scarcely believe her ears. “Why, Tibby, it’s past midsummer night. If I wore anything heavier, I’d roast.”

The barb at the heart of Tibby’s rebuke she could not dismiss quite so easily. Her costume as Lady of the Day did leave a rather provocative expanse of shoulder and bosom on display. Not that Angela cared about showing herself off to most of the earls’ guests.

As long as Lucius approved.

Ever since the night he’d rescued her from Mr. Shaw, she had begun to sense in him a growing awareness of her as a woman.

Just last week, when Lucius had helped her on with her cloak, she’d felt a barely restrained tremor as his hands lingered on her shoulders. Often when he’d sat poised behind her atop the tower, introducing her to some new marvel of the heavens, she had heard his breath quicken or catch in his throat. Even the way he looked at her these days betrayed a curious fascination, as though she were the first woman he’d ever seen.

“Is my mask on straight?” she asked, grateful for the protection it provided her too-candid features. Just thinking about the subtle but significant attentions Lucius had paid her of late set a fevered blush glowing in her cheeks.

Violet cocked her head to one side. “It looks fine to me, miss. My, but it’s cunning. Is it made of real gold?”

Before Angela could reply that it was only gilded papier-mâché, Tibby sniffed. “Pack of nonsense, if you ask me. Who ever heard of holding a ball outdoors? All the guests

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