Masked Love (A Christmas Regency Novella) by Nicole Zoltack Read Free Book Online Page A

slowly, deliberately.
    She jumped to her feet. “It’s too hot in here for me.”
    “Are you all right?” Lady Haywood asked. Her small hands gripped the arms of her chair, ready to rush to her daughter’s aid.
    “I’ll go,” Adrian offered, and hurried after his future wife.
    The house was unfamiliar to him, but he found her easily. Catching up to her was also effortlessly accomplished. She was just passing her father’s study when he nudged her elbow.
    Lady Theodosia whipped around. “What are you trying to do?” she demanded, her voice shrill, her volume far too loud.
    Without touching her, he managed to back her into the study. Their location was not lost on him. He closed his eyes and could swear he smelled Isabelle’s essence—soap and woodsy and floral.
    “What are you trying to do?” she repeated. Although quieter than before, her tone was just as sharp, if not harsher.
    “I want you to be happy.” Her happiness equaled his. And Isabelle’s.
    “Then stop. All of this.” Lady Theodosia waved her hand around in a circle. She walked away to the great oak desk and picked up a stack of papers her father had left there. “And sign your name.”
    His jaw lowered. Had Isabelle been mistaken in her assumption?
    “I meant you no impudence.”
    She made a sound like a cross between a sigh, a snort, and a sob. “You and Isabelle … ”
    “Have done nothing to disrespect you.”
    Lady Theodosia repeated the noise.
    “Allow me to assure you.” Adrian held out his hands.
    After a moment, she placed hers in his. Her blue eyes were as cold as before, and two tears ran down her right cheek.
    He could wipe them away; he should. But he couldn’t. Holding her hands felt like a betrayal to Isabelle as it was.
    “Does someone else play the piano?” he asked.
    “My mother knows a few songs.”
    “Then come. We did not get a chance to dance last night, so we shall now.” He held out his arm, and she took it. Before she faced forward, another tear ran down her cheek.
    There was more to the story of the mysterious red-haired man that he did not know. The man was the key to everyone’s happiness, but without Lady Theodosia’s help, this Christmas was going to be the worst one ever.

 
     
     
     

     
    Isabelle’s arms were tired. Between all of the decorating and making countless trips from the kitchen to the Yule log gathering, her legs were ready to collapse. A fresh pie balanced in one hand, a cheese tray in the other, she entered the room and promptly dropped the tray with a loud clatter.
    Lady Haywood stopped playing the piano.
    Lord Haywood looked up. He’d been standing behind his wife, turning the pages of her music book.
    Lord Adrian and Lady Theodosia halted their dance.
    “Forgive me.” Despite her trembling hands, Isabelle managed to lower the pie onto a clear spot on the food table before cleaning up the cheese. Once done, she ran out of the room and back into the kitchen. She tossed the tray onto the counter.
    “What’s wrong?” Olga the cook asked.
    “I need more cheese. Don’t worry; I’ll cut it.”
    “What happened?”
    Isabelle busied herself with her task. It felt refreshing to do a chore she hadn’t done in years. The swift flicking of her wrist, the glistening gleam of light reflecting off the blade, the repetitive movement all served as a barrier, a wall to keep her pent-up emotions inside.
    What had she expected? For Adrian to locate the mysterious redhead so Isabelle could be with him, freeing her to have a lord? The idea was ludicrous. Even if Isabelle and her masked man were to get together, the Wingraves would never allow their son to marry a simple maid.
    “I think that’s enough.” Olga eased the knife from her vicious grip.
    Isabelle had cut far more cheese than was needed, perhaps even enough for tomorrow’s feast. She plated a good deal, then pivoted on her heel, and sauntered to the Yule gathering. Her gaze was firmly on the tray the entire time, and she did