Surrender the Night (39 page)

“Of course. No doubt he seeks my wise council on a matter of urgency.” Mr. Snyder jutted out his chin. Releasing Rose’s arm, he faced her. “I shall return shortly to claim that dance, my dear.”

Rose shot a pointed gaze at his back as he left. She breathed a sigh of relief as music filled the room once again.

Cassandra, decked in a shimmering gown of emerald, appeared out of nowhere and sidled up beside Rose. She made a face at Mr. Snyder as he exited the room with Noah.

“You shouldn’t behave so, Cassandra.” Rose covered her mouth to hide her unavoidable smile.

“Why not? He deserves it.” Cassandra fingered the lace on her glove and gave Rose a coy glance.

Marianne’s eyes sparkled. She clutched Rose’s arm again and seemed ready to jump out of her shoes. If Rose didn’t know her friend better, she’d think it was the ball that thrilled her so. But she
did
know her friend. And Marianne had never been overfond of such social functions. Rose’s gaze shifted to Cassandra, who wore an unusually sly look, even for her.

Rose lifted a brow. “What’s going on with you two? Did Noah purposely steal Mr. Snyder away for some delightfully foul purpose?” Not that she would object. But what confused her was how her friends would know to aid her in such a manner. She’d never spoken to them of her aversion to Mr. Snyder or of his recent threats.

Cassandra batted the air with her white glove. “What does it matter? He’s gone.” Her green eyes scanned the crowd as if looking for someone. They locked on something in the distance, and Rose followed her gaze to see Mr. Heaton standing by himself across the room, drink in hand. His normally unruly black hair was slicked and tied at the back of his neck as he stood tall and handsome in a well-tailored suit of black lute string with velvet trim. His dark eyes focused on Cassandra as if there were no one else in the room worth looking at. He raised his glass toward her with a nod.

“My word.” Rose leaned toward Cassandra. “Mr. Heaton presents quite the handsome figure tonight.”

Marianne smiled. “And it would appear he only has eyes for you, Cassandra.”

Cassandra tore her gaze from him. “Don’t be absurd. Mr. Heaton
has eyes for anything in a skirt.” Her giggle faltered on her lips.

Rose glanced back at Mr. Heaton and found his gaze still directed their way before he turned and slipped through a side door.

“Doesn’t he captain your ship,
Destiny?”
Rose asked Cassandra.

“Yes. And he’s already made quite a fortune in prizes.” Marianne’s delicate brows lifted.

“He’s a rogue and not to be trusted.” Cassandra spat. “I have begun to regret investing in his privateer.” She pressed down the folds of her emerald gown.

Several gentlemen approached the three ladies, requesting dances with both Rose and Cassandra. Rose politely refused each one, forbidding them to even sign her dance card. Cassandra, however, at least allowed them that small encouragement, although, in truth, she appeared more than aloof.

Rose hadn’t danced since her father had twirled her around their parlor when she was a little girl. The thought of a man touching her, even briefly, in such a seductive dalliance made her heart cinch. That was, any man but Alex. And with him gone, she’d never have the opportunity. Even the cheerful music rasped in her ears like a contentious chime. Truth be told, she’d rather go home and bury her head beneath her pillow.

Rose fingered the heavy jewels around her neck, as out of place on her skin as she was at this ball. Her glance took in the dancers floating over the marble floor like swans on a crystalline pond. She spotted Amelia as she executed the steps of the quadrille with perfection—steps the young maid had practiced with Rose and her aunt in the parlor all week. Amelia’s face glowed with delight, and Rose smiled, happy for her companion, despite the agony weighing down her own heart.

Two more gentlemen approached. Rose politely declined the taller man’s offer to dance while Cassandra batted the other one away.

“Why not dance with the gentleman, Rose?” Marianne gripped her arm and swept her gaze over the room as if looking for someone. “It may help to lift your humors.”

“I agree.” Cassandra waved her silk printed fan about her face. “You shouldn’t be so glum at so gay an event. Who knows when we’ll have another evening such as this one with this war going on?”

“Then why aren’t you dancing?” Rose asked Cassandra.

“Because I have become, shall we say, more selective regarding whom I choose to pair up with on the dance floor.”

Marianne leaned close with a smile. “Which means she’s waiting for a particular gentleman to ask her.”

Cassandra huffed, but a grin played with the corners of her lips.

Rose would have giggled if her insides didn’t feel like they’d been run over by a carriage. “Please go enjoy yourselves. I’m afraid I’m not good company tonight.”

“Rubbish.” Marianne said. “Why don’t we go get some punch before the two of you break every gentleman’s heart in the room?” She tugged on Rose’s arm and led the way toward one of the side doors.

A billowing crowd of chattering people packed the refreshment parlor, helping themselves to the libations on a buffet lining the far wall. Men circled gaming tables perched about the room, playing whist or faro. The smoke of a dozen cigars hovered over them like storm clouds. Rose drew a hand to her nose.

“Oh no, there is Mr. Snyder.” Marianne dragged Rose to the side. “Perhaps we can get a drink without him seeing us.”

“He knows I’m here, Marianne.” Rose gave a cynical snort. “Besides, he appears to be quite in his element.”

Standing beside Noah, Mayor Johnson, General Smith, and two other councilmen, Mr. Snyder held a drink in one hand and his cane in the other. His voice—which sounded much like the squeaking of a rusty hinge—rose above the crowd and ground against Rose’s ears. By the bored expressions on the faces of his audience, he no doubt regaled them with his grand vision for the city. Noah stood at his side. Mr. Heaton suddenly appeared and handed Noah a glass of red liquid, which, after relieving Mr. Snyder of his empty one, Noah placed in the councilman’s hand.

Craning to see between the undulating crowd, Rose eyed them with curiosity. Neither Noah nor Mr. Heaton were the type to flatter someone in power, nor had they ever expressed an interest in Mr. Snyder’s affairs or politics in general.

She leaned toward Marianne. “I must thank Noah later for keeping Mr. Snyder occupied. But I don’t wish to keep your husband from you all evening.”

“Oh think nothing of it.” Marianne eased her toward an oblong table laden with cold tea, punch, and spiced wine. Rose selected a glass of punch and had barely taken a sip when Mr. Snyder, Noah, and Mr. Heaton descended upon them.

Mr. Snyder’s eyes carried a distant glaze that seemed at odds with the man’s normal intense focus. He extended his arm. “A dance, my dear?”

“I do not feel—” she began to protest.

“Nonsense.” He dragged her through the clamorous mob and out onto the dance floor where they joined a row of couples lining up for a reel. One glance to her side told her that Marianne, Noah, Luke, and Cassandra had followed. Oddly, their presence brought her some comfort.

The music began, and Rose bowed toward Mr. Snyder, whose gaze skittered about the room like a bird who’d lost his flock. They stepped toward each other. “Are you all right, Mr. Snyder?”

“Yes, of course.” Yet his voice wobbled slightly. He coughed and stepped back. They circled around and met again. When he moved toward the lady beside Rose, his face grew flushed, and he stumbled.

They stepped together. Rose placed her hand upon his upraised one and they floated down the middle of the rows, with the ladies on one side, the men on the other. “Did the mayor say something to upset you?” Rose asked.

“No, of course not. Naturally, he wanted my opinion on the defenses of the city.”

Naturally
. Rose strung her lips tight as they made their way down the line of dancers. Marianne and Noah grinned at her in passing.

“You are marrying an important man, Miss McGuire,” he added, though his tone lacked its usual rigid pomposity.

He stepped away, then back again. “Perhaps now you won’t find the idea so disagreeable?” His grin broke into an odd giggle.

Heads turned their way.

Beads of sweat sprang upon his forehead.

Rose took his arm and swung beside him. “Mr. Snyder. I fear you are unwell. Would you care to sit down?”

He shook his head as if to rid himself of whatever ailed him. His breath became labored, and he nodded. “Perhaps I should.”

Rose led him to one of the velvet stuffed chairs that lined the walls, but he refused to sit. Instead he began to pace, placing a hand over his heart. The dance ended, the music stopped, and the room instantly filled with chatter.

Noah led Marianne from the floor, and Mr. Heaton did the same with Cassandra. They headed toward Rose who was helping a pale Snyder walk without stumbling. People began to stare.

“It would appear your Mr. Snyder has partaken of too much spirits.” Cassandra cocked her head, a devilish smile on her lips.

Rose stared at the councilman. So unlike him.

“Pure madness! I had but two glasses of wine.” Mr. Snyder hissed and tugged upon his cravat.

A few ladies at the outskirts of the crowd moved away.

Luke crossed his arms over his chest and grinned.

Rose resisted the urge to chuckle. At least she wouldn’t have to dance with him again. Perhaps if the man drank himself unconscious, she could convince her aunt and uncle to leave early.

Mr. Snyder halted his pace, drew a deep breath as if he were choking, and then sank into a chair.

The chattering subsided as if a predator had entered the forest.

Heads swerved toward the door. Fans began to flutter. Gentlemen and ladies leaned toward one another in whispers.

The announcer’s voice rang through the room. “Mr. Alexander Reed.”

CHAPTER 23

M
r. Alexander Reed.”

The name drifted through the air like sweet music, a glorious tune from Rose’s past. Until it sharpened and shot straight through her heart.

Was this some cruel joke? Rose shifted her gaze between the grins on Marianne’s and Cassandra’s lips.

Mr. Snyder muttered something then dropped his head into his hands.

Rose stood on her tiptoes and peered over the crowd.

Then she saw him. Standing at the entranceway, a head above most of the other men. A gold satin waistcoat, trimmed in black velvet, peeked out from beneath his dark coat. A pair of black pantaloons were tucked into Hessian boots. His hair was tied behind him, revealing the strong set of his jaw. Hazel eyes as rich as the velvet of his coat locked upon hers.

Rose’s breath shot into her throat. Her head spun. She stumbled. Marianne and Cassandra gripped her arms, steadying her.

“Alex is here? How … Why …?” Alarm tightened the skin on her hands, her arms, her neck until they tingled. “He shouldn’t be …”

“Go to him.” Marianne gave her a gentle nudge.

Rose gaped at her friend. “You knew?” She swept her gaze to Cassandra on her other side. “You too?”

They both smiled.

A thud sounded behind her, and she swerved to see Mr. Snyder slumped onto the floor. “My word.” She headed toward him, but Noah and Luke hoisted him up between them.

“He’ll be all right, Miss Rose.” Luke winked. “He just needs to sleep it off now.”

Sleep
what
off? The crowd parted amid a flurry of gasps and condemning glances as Noah and Luke dragged the councilman away.

Rose faced forward, her mind reeling with confusion. The throng split again. This time for Alex, who glided toward her with the authority and ease of a ship parting the sea. Her heart raced.

He gave her a sultry smile, then bowed and took her hand. “Miss McGuire, you look lovely tonight.”

Rose wanted to laugh, to cry, to fall into his arms. “Why, thank you, Mr. Reed.”

Music began and laughter and conversation joined in a chorus around them as the party resumed. Rose opened her mouth to ask the thousand questions rolling on her tongue, but nothing coherent emerged.