Fascinating. The indomitable Duchess of Dorsett hates someone.
Hate was a powerful emotion. In Liam’s experience, you didn’t really hate someone unless first, you’d loved them. Or they’d hurt someone you’d loved. Knowing Philippa’s inclinations, he doubted she could ever love an individual with the commissioner’s particular anatomy. So, who had he hurt? And more importantly, who had Philippa loved?
Before he could ask, her gaze flicked to another gentleman in the crowd. He stood with a stunning woman in a dress of intricately woven white feathers overlaying purple silk. Her pale hair was closer to white than blonde. The mask covering her face was comprised of the same feathers as her dress, the tips of each dyed a violent shade of violet. ‘Lord Percival Smithwick the Marquess of Brightmore, and his wife. Lady Olivia. I thought she’d been banished to Europe by Percy. They have a daughter. I believe she is of age. Perhaps he invited his wife back so she could facilitate the girl’s coming out,’ Philippa mused, tapping her finger against her crimson lips.
Liam tried to feign nonchalance, but he was out of his depths with the latest gossip surrounding the beau monde’s creamiest of crops. ‘He separated his wife and daughter? That seems rather cruel.’
Philippa turned to Liam and arched her brow. ‘Men have a tendency to be so with women who don’t follow their rules.’ He glanced back to Worthington before returning to Liam. ‘Rumours abound that Marchioness Brightmore was sleeping with every footman, stable boy, young buck, and renowned rake in the beau monde. The only man she refused to bed was poor Percy himself.’ They both looked to the crowd as LordSmithwick’s hand clasped Lady Olivia’s waist in a scandalous display of affection. Or possession. ‘He sent her away from their daughter to punish her. I suppose she’s earned his forgiveness somehow,’ Philippa murmured. ‘Pity. I always hoped she’d hold her line against him.’
Liam leaned closer to Philippa. ‘Since when did you care about the silly cavortings of an unfaithful lady and her feckless lord?’
Philippa thwacked her jewel-encrusted fan against her skirts. ‘Since never. But it’s hard to ignore someone as odious as Percy or beautiful as his wife.’
Liam raised a brow. ‘Beautiful?’
Philippa snorted. ‘Anyone with eyes in their head can see that, Liam. Percy’s opinion of himself is far higher than his merit deserves. I suppose I hoped she would finally put him in his place.’ She sniffed. ‘Disappointing she didn’t live up to the challenge.’ She lingered on Olivia a moment too long before sweeping her eyes back over the crowd. ‘I don’t see her brother here, although gaining his attendance at any ball would be quite the feat.’
Mention of Lady Olivia’s brother rang a bell in Liam’s clocktower. Even someone as dense as he in the inner workings of the beau monde knew who the high chancellor was, and who he was related to by blood. ‘The high chancellor, Duke of Kerry? Yes, we sent invitations, but I had no expectation of his attendance. I’m sure he’s far too busy helping the Queen rule her empire to trifle with something as silly as a masque.’ The high chancellor was a serious man who only attended the balls Her Majesty graced with her royal presence. Liam hardly expected him to lower himself to a masque thrown by a marquess.
‘Yes, well. This “silly masque” is going to help us expose one of the Devil’s Sons’ leaders. Perhaps the chancellor will regretnot attending when all is said and done.’ Philippa continued to watch the crush as the orchestra warmed up for the next dance.
Killian and his new wife moved through the crowd to join Liam and Philippa. Liam had yet to meet the infamous Hannah, though he knew of her reputation as the duchess’ ward and protégée. If anyone was worthy of his friend’s affections, she seemed a likely candidate. As they approached, Killian nodded at the duchess.
‘Lady Winterbourne, I had no idea you kept such low friends.’
Liam couldn’t stop the laughter. ‘She socialises with you, doesn’t she, Killian?’ He turned his attention to the petite woman standing on Killian’s left. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your wife.’ He reached out to take Hannah’s proffered hand and didn’t miss the flash of danger in Killian’s green eyes. ‘An honour, Lady Killian.’
The young woman slipped her free hand into the folds of her dress, a rich chocolate confection setting off her dark-blue eyes and brown hair. Her mask was barely there: a shimmer of gossamer bronze fabric tied like a bandit’s around her head. ‘Lord Renquist. Killian’s told me of your history together. Such a shame when close friends grow apart.’
This woman didn’t pull her punches. Before he could come up with a response, another member joined their group.
Wonderful.
‘Lord Drake. Don’t you look menacing this evening.’ Philippa turned slightly to include the hulk of a man stretching the stiches of his suit.
He glared back in reply.
‘Where is your wife?’ She arched a perfect black brow.
Drake grunted. ‘I’m not her keeper, Lady Winterbourne, as you well know. I believe that is why you both thought I would make such an excellent candidate in your ruse.’
‘I’m so rarely wrong, though when it comes to love and the ladies I train, it happens more often than I’d like to admit. Though I will say, I’m glad I was wrong about you.’
Drake’s pale eyes froze on Philippa. ‘A high compliment indeed.’ He turned to scan the crowd behind Liam. ‘Ah. There she is.’ His eyes sparked with heat and his mouth tilted in the most astonishing expression.
Dear God. Drake can smile?
‘Lady Cavendale is with her, but I don’t believe I know their friend.’ Killian turned to the grand staircase descending to the ballroom where three ladies gathered on the first landing.
Liam turned to try and identify the woman and time froze. The Earth stalled on its axis, and an unseen vacuum sucked all the air from his lungs.
Penny.
He had wondered what her skin might look like draped in decadent silk. Now he knew. The dress revealed the luscious swells of her breasts, nipping tight at her waist and flowing like lava over her rounded hips and curved arse. Her shapely arms were bare, and he remembered the exquisite texture against his lips as he pressed hot kisses to the inner crease of her elbow. The sounds she made when he bit her, just there.
Her glittering mask covered most of her face, concealing her injury. Only her perfect mouth and delicate chin were revealed. But it didn’t matter if the rest of her face was hidden from him. Liam had already memorised every feature, every expression.
He was standing in front of her before he realised he’d traversed the steps. ‘My lady.’
