Page 36 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
She chuckled. “I’m teasing you, my lord. I merely meant that I am happy to help you discover my next position.”
“I don’t need your help with that,” Theo snapped. “I told you not to come.”
And then their already brittle conversation devolved into a round of bickering so futile even Zander put his attention elsewhere. Who did he know here tonight? And could he divine their identities behind their masks? And would the Rubens lover be here? Would the dowager make an appearance?
He scanned the room with a hungry gaze, looking for answers to all of his questions, until it fell on something—someone—standing at the top of the stairs leading from the balcony to the dance floor, that stopped his heart from beating.
She wore a gilded mask covered in paste diamonds that flashed green in the reflection of her eyes. Her heavy hair, coiled on top of her head like a crown, glowed like candlelight. She wore a blue gown, its color deep and shifting like the ocean, now a foamy blue and then dark blue of the fathomless depths. He’d rather see her in green, but the blue made him needy, made his legs move toward her, made him think of stripping the gown off her. Slowly. He’d push the hem up her over knees, smoothing his palms from ankle to calf over hopefully silk stockings. Then he’d release those from their garters and peel them down to stroke her softer skin up, up, over knee, all the way up to her center, and then he’d press a kiss right to the warm inside of her thigh, and—
A hand on his shoulder made him curse.
“What’s caught your attention?” Theo asked.
“She’s not supposed to be here,” Zander growled. “How does she even know wherehereis?”
Theo followed his gaze to the top of the grand staircase where Fiona Frampton stood. “Who’s she?”
“The jeweler’s daughter,” Zander hissed.
“Aaahhh. Her. Well, she’s fine to look at. Ow!” He swung to look at Lady Cordelia. “Did you just flick my ear?”
“You should not notice other women when I’m about.” She raised her chin.
“You’re a nuisance. And I’ll look at any woman I like. You’re my father’s project, not my—”
“Mistress?” she crooned.
“Bloody hell.” Theo thumped Zander on the back. “Have fun with your,ahem, nefarious miss.” He nodded at Miss Fiona. “I need a drink. And to find a patron for this termagant.”
Said termagant followed Theo into the throng, and Zander pushed in the other direction. Toward the staircase. Toward Fiona, who bit her bottom lip and gazed out at the crowd below, one hand tangled in her blue skirts, the other lifted to the very low bodice of her gown. Absent-mindedly, she stroked the line where the bodice met her skin with one finger, and the movement became a lodestone for Zander, a guiding star, a seduction.
Triple hell. He must end this infatuation fast. And he must get her home even more quickly. He ran up the stairs, and she finally saw him, the green eyes behind her domino going wide with recognition. Pleasure curled through him. She knew him even disguised, as he knew her. As it should bloody well be. He growled, knowing he should want to suppress the thought or deny it. Knowing he’d do neither. Then he slipped his arm through hers and tugged her toward the exit.
She tugged right back, snapping her arm from his hold. “No. I’m staying.” A hiss on her pretty pink lips.
He leaned close enough to smell her sweet scent. “You cannot. If we are caught—”
“We will not be caught. We are disguised, and no one here knows me. Even if they do frequent the shop, Posey is the one everyone interacts with. And finally, I am not of this world. They will never expect a jeweler’s daughter to attend, uninvited, a secret masquerade. With what funds would I pay for one of the paintings up for sale?”
“Fiona—”
“I’m staying. I understand the dangers, the risks, but I will not let you get caught in a matrimonial web you do not desire. I am a nobody, Lord Lysander. You will not be forced to”—she lowered her voice and leaned even closer, lifting her face to whisper in his ear—“marry me.”
His body shivered. He wanted to haul her to him and part her lips with his own.
He locked his jaw, though, and his hands into fists and offered her his elbow. “Very well.” He could not argue her points, except the bit about forced matrimony. If he ruined her reputation somehow tonight, if their identities were discovered, he would pay for it. He would marry her. “Stay close.”
She took his proffered arm, and as they left the final step together, the string quartet struck up a waltz. He swept her into it, moving his hands in a heartbeat to her lower back and hand, pulling her close. He shouldn’t. But he did. And he didn’t give a damn.
“We’re not here to dance,” she said after a breathless moment.
“I need time to think.” He needed time to hold her.
“We do not need to think. We need to look.”
He wanted to look at her. He knew the reason he should not do so, should not want to do so, but he did not care. Not right now with the curve of her spine elegant against his palm and the warmth of her talented, long fingers wrapped in his own. Through two layers of gloves, he felt how perfectly her hand fit into his. He tightened his hold, pulled her so close their torsos nearly touched. If she breathed harder, the soft curve of her belly and the gentle rise of her breasts would press into his chest. He was going to do it, pull her close and kiss her. Here. In front of everyone. But he couldn’t.
With reluctance knit into the very fabric of his every bone, he put distance between their bodies, and said, “That mask. Did you make it?”
