Page 87 of Married to the Icy Duke
“I am not sure the Ton’s Devils accept female members, not like the Orions.”
Charlotte only grinned wider. “I’m sure that you and I can do something about that, don’t you think? I’d like to be part of a club.”
He glanced down at her, his single blue eye glinting. Charlotte was sure, absolutely sure, that she saw real affection in his eyes.
And if there was real affection there, where might it lead? Anywhere.Anywhere.
“I imagine we can,” he murmured, his voice a deep drawl. “You’ll make a fine Devil, Charlotte.”
The first guests were climbing the stone steps outside, talking and laughing excitedly. Charlotte was pleased to see that it was Madeline, escorted by her father, of course.
“I always thought I would,” she said, as a parting shot. Then their first guests officially stepped over the threshold, and the Duke and Duchess of Devils moved forward to greet them.
It was easy enough to get into the house. After all, it was amasquerade ball.Everyone was wearing masks and dressed in unusual clothing. The footmen weren’t even checking the invitations at the door.
Matthew, the Viscount Bentley, moved silently through the halls, careful not to look at anyone for too long. He could still be recognized. And if he ran into his host … Well, that would be that, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t get such a chance again.
Of course,hehad not been invited. He hadn’t expected an invitation. He didn’t even know anybody whohadreceived one. Perhaps that was a sure sign that he should concentrate on entering Society again. Life waited for no one, after all.
But no. His life would not be able to move on, not yet. Notyet.
There was one awful moment when a clump of young ladies pointed directly at him and squealed something he could not hear over the music and roar of the crowd. He froze, bootsplanted to the ground, stock still as the ladies rushed towards him.
They parted around him like water around a rock, and he realized with relief that it wasn’t him they were greeting but somebody behind him. Some chirpy young man in a red Hussar’s coat. He wasn’t sure whether the coat really did belong to the young man or whether it was part of a costume.
Either way, it made him sick.
He hurried over to the window to compose himself. His heart was beating hard against his ribcage, and he felt faintly queasy, almost dizzy. He leaned hard on the windowsill, resting his forehead against the cool glass.
His breath misted up the glass at once, however, but not before he was able to glimpse, in the moonlight, what appeared to be a pointed tower rising out of the woodlands around the house. It was a folly, designed to look older and more Gothic than it was, but he happened to know that the tower had been built a mere fifteen years ago.
The building consisted only of a narrow, spiral staircase inside, and a large room at the top, with a window with a broad ledge overlooking the surrounding woodland. From inside the tower, one could imagine that one was lost in the wilds, part of a terrifying and thrilling fairytale, and not in a duke’s back garden at all.
Closing his eyes, he sucked in a breath and pulled himself away from the window.
Come on, sir. You have a goal to accomplish, haven’t you?
He forced himself back into the crowd, hating every instant of it. How awful, to be surrounded by strangers. All these idiotic, cackling fools, laughing at nothing, with no thought to their past or their future. How did they survive?
He had a tension headache, and the flurry of bright, clashing colors hurt his eyes. The man had chosen a simple, dark gray suit, with a black cloak to match his black domino. Nobody would look twice at him in such a suit, which of course was his intention.
He passed by an open set of French doors, and before he could consider the wisdom of it, he’d followed the delightful rush of cool air and stepped out onto a terrace.
Cold air brushed over him, and he let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes.
What am I doing? This is foolish. I have no plan, nothing beyond doingsomething. I should take myself home and continue being as useless as I always have been.
There were other people on the terrace, but the night was young and the party was early, and nobody was eager to stay out for long. Minutes ticked by, and one by one, the people sharingthe terrace with him scuttled inside, talking of champagne and dancing and who was who under their masks. One by one they went, until he was alone.
He lifted a shaking hand to his own domino mask, double-knotted at the back so as to avoid any accidental slips. Why shouldn’t he just tear it off now and stride off into the darkness? Why not …
“Tommy? Tommy! Oh, heavens, where has he gone?”
A young woman, dressed as a nursemaid, came scurrying out onto the terrace, pale with worry. No, shewasa nursemaid. She stood in the elongated rectangle of light thrown across the terrace from the door and shielded her eyes, peering into the dark trees surrounding the terrace.
In his dark gray and black suit, the man was nearly invisible. The nursemaid didn’t notice him until he moved. When he did, she flinched, spinning to stare up at him with wide, panicked eyes.
“Oh, forgive me, sir, I did not see …” she paused, clearing her throat. “I’m looking for a little boy, the Duke’s nephew. His name is Tommy, and he didn’t want to go to bed. He gave me the slip quite nicely, but I really must find him. Have you seen him?”
