Page 80 of Dukes Are Forever
A kiss to the back of her hand. "I never quite know what you're thinking, cherub. I must admit there's a certain sort of challenge involved in bringing you to heel."
Cherub.
Ugh.
For once, she was quite grateful for the way Malloryn had never used such sickly sweet words on her.
He didn't need to.
Just the way he said her name made her shiver a little.
"Adele."
As if there was a wealth of meaning in the word. A challenge. A certain sort of possessive claim.
"If you think you're going to 'bring me to heel,' then I beg you, pray think again," she said, rapping Devoncourt's knuckles with her fan. "I belong only to myself, and I don't think I like your assumptions."
"Forgive me," he said smoothly, backing away with tempting smile. "Hopefully what I show you tonight will make up for my appalling lack of manners."
Blond, foppish Devoncourt, with his devastating blue eyes and wicked smile. A part of her couldn't quite believe he was one of Lord Balfour's most feared assassins.
But perhaps that was the point.
He had the easy manner of a charming scoundrel, a way of soothing a nervous young lady's fears when it came to blue blood lords. Nobody would expect a knife to the throat, not from him.
"This is my companion, Clara," she said, gesturing to her former maid.
"So pleased to meet you, my lord," Clara said, sounding almost breathless with excitement as she dipped into an elegant curtsy. From maid to lady with but a simple change of clothes.
"Does she have a last name?" Devoncourt didn't look happy with the turn of events.
"She does, but is this not a masquerade? Nobody knows anybody else's identity. I thought that was part of the fun?"
"The invitation was for one."
Adele drew back, as if a little shocked by his curt tone. "Yes, but I cannot simply gad about London unchaperoned. This is a dangerous part of town, my lord. She won't breathe a word of what she sees here, I promise. She just.... I'm not the only one who wants to escape my world. All we wanted was a night of fun."
"I promise I won't get in the way," Clara said, with a flutter of her fan. "Adele said there might bedancing."
With her neat brown chignon and the dashing cut of her gown, Clara looked like she was ready to kick her heels up.
"Fine. This way," Devoncourt murmured, flicking his fingers at a nearby fellow in a plain back mask. "Perhaps my friend may entertain yours?"
Adele glanced over her shoulder. Clara placated her with a smile, graciously accepting the stranger's embrace as he swept her into a fast-paced waltz.
"You're unhappy with me," Adele said.
"No, I'm just.... I don't like surprises."
"I promise I'll make it up to you," she breathed, and then glanced around the glittering chamber. Dozens of masked men filled the space, as well as several scantily clad women.
It seemed like a mockery of a ball.
But no debutante wore her gown cut so low, and several of the women wore watered silk that clung to every curve in an indecent way. One had a golden leash about her throat, which was lashed to the wrist of a portly gentleman who looked like Lord Brummel.
Devoncourt intercepted a footman and took two glasses from his tray. "Here."
Adele clinked her half-full glass against his in chastisement. "I've barely finished this one."
