She flexed her feet in their dancing slippers, longing for her sneakers—or even her worn-out hiking boots. Damn it, where was Perry? Caroline had been confident that he would never miss her birthday ball, no matter what had caused his long absence.
Mac was reasonably sure Caroline was right. If Perry were able to come.
Good grief.
The quadrille ended, and the hired orchestra struck up a waltz. Mac faded back against the wall, determined not to be dragged out again by some well-meaning, tailcoated male who would grab a peek down her décolletage.
Her vigilance was rewarded. She was left alone to watch Liam walk onto the ballroom floor—Liam, leading Caroline to the center of the room. A Liam who had never looked so elegant—or so much like a cat among pigeons. Or a tiger pretending to be a house cat.
He wore his black and white, perfectly cut evening clothes as well as he’d worn khaki and canvas in the jungle. This was not his milieu, but when he stalked forward crowds parted for him like the Red Sea before Charlton Heston. He was the ideal blend of danger and elegance: Tarzan visiting his estates in England, James Bond in the rough, a fair-haired god of Adventure. A woman would have to be blind not to notice.
Caroline wasn’t blind. And you’d never know from watching them dance that Liam had been cold and Caroline sullen for most of the past two weeks. Liam’s dancing wasn’t elegant—it was powerful, sweeping Caroline about the room like a feather in a hurricane. And Caroline was an exotic bird in her costume gown of brilliant green silk and burgundy satin ribbons.
At the moment they were very much a couple, though Liam was almost twice Caroline’s age. Both fair-haired and pale-eyed, both gorgeous, both from the same century.
And Caroline gazed at Liam, flushed and laughing, as if she were transfixed by the wild stare of a frightening and fascinating predator…
Damn, Mac thought with feeling. Damn damn damn damn da—
“You aren’t dancing, Rose?” someone asked from the general direction of a nearby potted plant.
She knew the voice, though the man who came up beside her was wearing a black cape and a mask that covered most of his face.
“Perry?”
He raised a gloved finger to his lips. “Quietly, my dear. I doubt Liam would be pleased to see me here.”
Mac eased farther back against the wall and pretended not to notice him. “Where have you been?” she demanded in a whisper.
“Ah. I’d wondered if my absence would be noted.”
“Noted? That’s putting it mildly. Liam’s been grim as death, Caroline’s been sulking, I haven’t been able to get an explanation out of anyone, and now you turn up in disguise—”
“All with good reason, I assure you.”
“Such as? Maybe the fact that Liam was pretty mad at you following that stunt you pulled at Cliff House? I’d say that backfired for sure.”
“It was hardly a ‘stunt,’ as you put it. There is a purpose in everything I do.”
I wonder, Mac thought. “In that case, seeing as we’re allies, maybe you could fill me in. Liam has virtually locked Caroline away. You’ve left him a completely clear field.”
“I’ve been well aware what goes on in the Gresham and O’Shea households,” he said coolly, “including your lack of progress with Liam. It was your intention to attract his interest, was it not?” He smoothed his immaculate white waistcoat. “You assured me you’d do anything to win him from Caroline.”
“I don’t see how I could have done much of anything, with Liam stuck to Caroline like glue. I’ve only seen him in Caroline’s house—Hey, wait a minute. What do you mean, you know everything that goes on?”
“I have my methods. And kindly don’t gape, Rose.”
She looked back toward the dancers. “Somehow I don’t like the sound of that.”
He shrugged. “One of us has to look out for our mutual concerns. I’d hoped that in my absence you might find it easier to deal with Liam. Plainly that was not the case.”
“So what did you want me to do? Kidnap him?”