Page 40 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
“You’re an innocent. Your kiss the other night said as much.”
“I’ve practiced since then.”
His touch disappeared and fists appeared at his sides. “With the boy? In the mews?”
“Yes. I wanted to… prepare. For kissing you.”
“Hell,” he hissed. “Words like that carry my control away like a strong wind.”
“I’ll tell you if you scare me. Or if I don’t understand. Or if I no longer wish… whatever it is you do.”
“We will not go so far as to scare you. We should go no farther than this.”
She stepped closer, and he hissed like she’d stabbed him in the gut. He closed his eyes and shoved a hand through his hair, knocking his domino askew. She reached up to fix it, but her fingers paused as they brushed the ribbons at the back of his head. Not just because her bounce up onto tiptoe had brought their bodies into heated contact—breasts to chest and points more southern meeting, too—but also because his hands wrapped around her, biting pleasure points into her waist, her lower ribs. And also because, though she hardly needed a third reason for all thought to flitter right out of her head, she’d had a better idea. The only way to fix the mask would be to remove it.
When they kissed, she did not want them pretending to be other people. She did not want them hiding. So finally, she tangled her fingers into the silky strands of his hair, found the ribbon, and pulled to remove and pocket the thin silk domino. She settled back down on her heels and met his gaze, daring him to object. He did not, though he smirked, an expression she hoped to heaven she had the opportunity to kiss off his lips.
Before he could say a word, she removed her own mask, sighing at the relief from the weight that had rested on her nose. His gaze darted right toward that appendage, and he rubbed his thumb over the spot that was angry from the heavily bejeweled mask.
“There’s an indentation. It’s red.” He scowled. “You’ll have to put it back on, but… perhaps you can wear mine instead.”
She chuckled. It felt natural to chuckle with him, as if they’d been doing so for years. “And you’ll wear mine? I would like to see that.”
His gaze traveled downward to her mask, dangling from her hand, and he shrugged. “It would look excellent on me.” He winked then flicked the ribbon of her mask. “This is bloody brilliant.”
“No, it’s not. It’s necessity. And likely gaudy.” She’d made it for the evening alone, a look to obscure her identity and to help her fit in with the glittering crowd. She was not the shiny sort, and well she knew it.
His head dropped to one side. “Are you looking at the same thing I’m looking at?”
“Yes.” She gestured to the mask, holding it up for him to see.
He lifted his hands toward it. “May I?”
She dropped it into his palms.
He ran his fingertips over the front. “I could not tell from far away, when I first saw you, but the surface is not entirely encrusted.”
“No. And they are not real diamonds.” They were paste. Fake. Like her paintings. Like her.
“Paste?” He lifted an eyebrow with a whistle. “They look real. Impressive.”
She blushed. Difficult not to feel pleasure at the compliment from a man who dealt daily in valuable things. “I used wire and spangles to reflect the light. As well as the foil behind the paste jewels.”
“It works. The wire and spangles also, I suppose, keep it from weighing too much.”
“Yes.” She trailed her finger around the edge of the mask in his hands. “And these wires”—she rubbed her thumb over a bundle of them—“are twisted to look like flowers… floral jewelry is quite fashionable at the moment.”
“From far away, it appears to be one thing, but you see more about it and understand it better the closer you get. Take a closer look, and you see just how complex and intricate that design is.”
“It’s not brilliant. I’m not capable of brilliance on my own. I’ve told you that. But it is rather good. And I’m fine with that for now. But this.” She stroked the edge of the mask. “It’s a tad too heavy and clunky. Imperfect.”
He hummed, a thoughtful, throaty sound, as he rotated the mask to look at the back side of it. Then he handed it back and reached a hand into his pocket. “Do you know… my entire life, my father chased theperfect. The perfect sculptures, the perfect paintings. Perfection, beauty, truth through art. Do you know what I’ve always chased?”
“A wage?” she asked with a grin.
He laughed, and then he pulled his hand out of his pocket. “I can’t deny it. But also this.” He held up a thin strand of wire. No. Two wires—one gold, one silver, twined together.
“What is that,” she asked.
