The Rake's Mistress by Nicola Cornick

those dreadful Wilson sisters will snap him up. They have been waiting to pounce on him for months!’
    Rebecca had no more chance to demur, for Nan was already steering her towards the rickety wooden staircase and up to her narrow chamber. The room was sparse but it had a dressing-table and a mirror, and Nan appeared to have brought all the other items that she required to transform Rebecca from ugly duckling into, if not an elegant swan, precisely, then a seductive siren. It was so contrary to Rebecca’s normal style of dress that, when she saw her finished reflection, she almost choked.
    After three-quarters of an hour, they were ready to leave. Whenever Rebecca thought Nan wasn’t looking she would try to hoist up the front of the red silk dress, which had a scandalously low décolletage and some artfully cut lace that seemed to accentuate rather than conceal the curves of Rebecca’s breasts.
    ‘Do leave the gown alone, Rebecca,’ Nan scolded, when she saw her. ‘I do not know why you are fussing. It is demure enough for a nun!’
    ‘Only the sort of abbess who runs a Covent Garden bawdy house,’ Rebecca muttered. Shewrapped her black cloak about her, trying to cover the exposed bits. Thank goodness for the black velvet mask with the matching cherry ribbons. If anyone was going to recognise any part of her, it certainly would not be her face.
    It was only when they reached Carlisle House that Rebecca began to suspect that she had underestimated the nature of the party. Either that, or Nan had deliberately misled her by understating the case. It was a masked ball, but in the style of a Venetian masque, which had been popular in the previous century. A crush of guests thronged the huge ballroom, which was lit by at least five hundred candles. The light reflected off the long, gold-framed mirrors, and it seemed that an endless parade of dazzlingly attired strangers circled in the dance. They were dressed in every costume imaginable, from pirates and highwaymen to shepherdesses and Roman goddesses, and some were rather more undressed than others. The scene was decadent, rich and glittering with vivid life. Rebecca felt as though she had stepped into another world, and one she was not sure she could deal with.
    Nan squeezed her arm. ‘I told you it would be fun, Becca,’ she said smugly.
    Rebecca had stopped on the threshold and now she almost choked at what was before her eyes. ‘A small party?’ she said faintly. ‘Nan—’
    Her mouth fell open even farther as she saw a young woman who was disporting herself with a couple of bucks. Her dress appeared to have lost its bodice and the rest of it was nothing more than a gauzy net about her legs. Not that the gentlemen were complaining as they chased her about the room with loud hunting cries.
    Nan laughed. ‘That is Miss Chudleigh making a fool of herself as usual. I declare her gowns get younger as she grows older! No wonder Lord Fremantle looks to find himself a new mistress.’
    Rebecca gave her a sharp look, for Nan’s words had penetrated her awed reaction to the spectacle of the masque. ‘Lord Fremantle? Is he here tonight?’
    Nan shrugged airily. ‘Lud, who knows? We are all incognito. Is it not the most delicious fun?’
    Rebecca was beginning to wonder. Nan, with her flimsy blue silk and lace dress, her outrageous peacock feathers in her hair, and her blue peacock mask, was already attracting plenty of male attention. No matter what she had said earlier, she did not seem at all inclined to find Lord Bosham in the throng and was giving her hand to a gentleman in harlequin’s costume, who seemed intent on carrying her off. Rebecca felt a flutter of panic. She had not expected this and suddenly it seemed an alien world, dangerous and raffish, and she an innocent thrown to the lions.
    ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, madam?’ A gentleman was bowing before her and, although he was costumed and masked, Rebecca had an absolute conviction that it