The Wish Collector
Page 27

“I, uh, wrong door. I was looking for the washroom.”
“Oh goodness, you’ve been in this house enough times to know.” She waved her hand. “Well, I suppose not long enough to become well acquainted with all the rooms.” She paused. “I do hope that will change.”
“Yes, well”—he turned to Angelina—“I’m sorry I scared you, miss.”
Mrs. Chamberlain glanced at Angelina as if she’d forgotten there was an actual person there.
“John, maybe you recognize Angelina. She’s the kitchen help and has served tea at our luncheons,” Astrid supplied.
John looked at Angelina, trying to convey with his eyes how damn sorry he was for this situation. A part of him wanted to shake her for taking the risk in the first place that had brought them to the brink of disaster. Thank the Lord for Astrid. He’d figure out an explanation for her later. But she must suspect the truth if she willingly lied for them, and why she’d chosen to do so was a mystery.
He nodded at Angelina. “Yes, hello.” He looked away from her, to Astrid. “I never received that dance you promised me.”
Mrs. Chamberlain clapped her hands together, satisfaction clear in her expression. “That must be remedied then. Astrid, John has just asked you to dance.”
Tension coiled inside of him, along with the knowledge that it was hurting Angelina to have him ignore her the way he was, but he knew caution was necessary. And they were used to this, used to the small brushing of fingers as she handed him his teacup, used to the glances and the pretending, the polite smiles and the outright lies.
I don’t want to hide. I want to live in the light, John. He pushed the memory of her words away. The time for that had not arrived.
“I’d love to dance, John,” Astrid murmured, taking the arm he presented to her as the three of them turned toward the door. He didn’t dare glance back at Angelina.
As John and Astrid made their way to the dance floor, a slow song replaced the more cheerful music of a moment before—due to Mrs. Chamberlain’s directive, no doubt.
John took Astrid into his arms, turning her slowly along with the other dancers. “Thank you,” he said softly.
She tensed for a moment but then nodded, and he was grateful she wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t know what he was thanking her for. “Astrid—”
“You don’t have to explain. I already knew. Or, I suspected anyway. The way you watch her, John . . . it was clear to me many weeks ago.”
He blew out a breath. “Do you think your mother knows?”
“I know she doesn’t. If she did, Angelina . . . well, you’re taking a very big risk,” she ended softly as he spun her around once more. “Are you certain it’s worth it?”
John spied Angelina from the corner of his eye, ducking out the door and heading back downstairs. For a halted heartbeat, their eyes met before she disappeared. His body remained in the room, but he swore his soul followed her. “Very,” he said softly, resolutely.
“Then you’ll need to be more careful. If I’ve noticed, it’s only a matter of time before my mother notices as well. She’s self-centered, but she has a nose for things that might potentially disrupt her plans.”
“Like her plans for you and me,” he said, a spear of guilt probing at him.
Astrid paused. “Yes, like you and me.”
“I’m sorry, Astrid. If—”
Astrid laughed softly. “Smile, John. You look like I’m holding a revolver underneath my petticoats and forcing you to dance with me. And if you were going to say that if things were different you’d be happy to have me, please don’t. I can only take so much.”
“I was going to say that, and I’d have meant it. You’re going to make some man very happy one day, Astrid.”
“It just won’t be you.”
“No . . . it won’t be me.” He pulled away from Astrid slightly, looking her in the eye. “Will you help us, Astrid?”
Astrid paused, glancing away for a moment and then back at John. This could be disastrous. He knew he sounded both discourteous and utterly desperate, but it was worth that risk for Angelina. She deserved to shine in the light. They deserved a chance surely. His only hope was that Astrid would see past her own hurt in the name of love.
Astrid took a deep breath. “Yes, John, I’ll help you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“If I haven’t told you yet, you look stunning,” Marco said as he took her hand and she stepped from his car.
Clara laughed softly. “You have said it a time or two. Thank you again.”
Marco grinned, handsome in a black tux and a simple black mask that only covered his eyes and nose, offering her his arm as they headed for the luxury hotel where the charity masquerade ball was being held.
Clara felt stunning in her gown of black satin, the skirt full, and tiny capped sleeves that fell off her shoulders, the fitted bodice overlaid with hundreds of aqua and green sequins.
The pickings at the costume shop had been slim, but she’d found an azure mask with gold thread filigree, featuring a cascade of blue and green feathers on one side. It was delicate and beautiful and unique, and it’d appealed to her immediately. It reminded her of a hummingbird.
She’d planned on wearing a simple but pretty long black gown that she’d worn to a friend’s wedding the year before, but as she’d been passing a vintage clothing shop, she’d spied the gown with the sequins that perfectly matched her mask and ended up fitting like it’d been made for her. It’d felt meant to be.
Clara was used to dressing up in costumes—she did it for a living—but this dress felt more special than anything she’d worn before. Shimmery. Satiny. Romantic.
It didn’t feel as though she was dressing up for a part, but rather wearing a gown that was simply her.
“Wow,” Marco said, stopping and looking around the room appreciatively. Clara agreed with the simply stated sentiment. Wow, indeed.
The entire room was decorated in black and white and gold, extravagant overhead chandeliers bouncing light around the room and causing the golden accents to sparkle.
There were full vases of decadent white lilies and trailing greenery on all the tables, each set on a mirror that reflected even more shimmery light around the room.
Clara inhaled deeply, closing her eyes with delight as she took in the sweet, heady fragrance of fresh flowers.
“Dance with me,” he said, leaning toward her on a whisper.
Clara allowed him to lead her to the dance floor where masked couples swayed to the music of the live band set up in the corner.
Marco took her in his arms and Clara looked around at the couples moving past her, admiring their masks, their beautiful formal attire.
The party was decorated in black and white and gold, but the women’s dresses were like bright, opulent jewels standing out even more so because of the lack of color in the surroundings.
“Are you so used to my hands on your body that you zone out when I’m holding you?”
Clara shook her head. “I wasn’t zoning out. I was admiring all the costumes.”
“And here I am admiring you,” he whispered against her hair.
Clara forced herself to focus on Marco. He looked so debonair in his tux. She’d thought of him as a ladies’ man, but he was only looking at her, and maybe . . . maybe she could think of this as a real date. Maybe her rule about not dating coworkers was too limiting. After all, where else would she meet someone? At the wall of some abandoned plantation?
She scoffed inwardly. Maybe it would be good for her to focus her attention on someone other than a troubled man who couldn’t forgive himself and had chosen instead to lock himself behind a wall forever and ever and ever.
It wasn’t that Clara was impatient or unkind, but if he never wanted to be found . . . should she continue to try to find him? She wanted to live now.
She brought her hands up around Marco’s neck and pulled him closer. He looked briefly surprised but then tightened his arms around her back. She gazed at him, attempting to see him as more than just Marco, a fellow dancer. She looked at him as a man, who, yes, seemed to enjoy a variety of women, but who maybe was just waiting for the right one to come along.