“Would you like to go to a masquerade?” he asked her.
“A masquerade? Where?”
“An exclusive pleasure club.”
“I assume there won’t be an unmasking,” she asked tentatively, incipient enthusiasm coloring her tone.
He just shook his head slowly, holding her gaze. “Most people in attendance will wish to keep their identities a secret.” Then he dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “I’ll unmask you later. In private. Layer by layer.”
Her eyes sparked with excitement now, while her cheeks colored a becoming rose. “In that case, yes. I would like to attend. What’s the theme?”
“The invitation said a Venetian Masquerade.”
“Hmm, easy then. A long domino. A mask. I believe I have the proper attire.” Another tiny furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “But we can’t leave my house together. The servants will know.”
She was right. It was the reason he didn’t employ many. Thinking fast, he came up with a plan.
“Do you have an invitation to the Stratton ball tonight?”
“Yes, of course, but how does that help? We can’t attend a society ball together, either.”
Gritting his teeth to tamp down his annoyance at her constant reminders that they could not be seen together, he replied, “We will arrive separately and need not acknowledge each other at the ball. After making our presence known, we can slip out early. The place will be such a crush that I doubt anyone will notice. Dismiss your coachman when you arrive. Tell him you will return with friends. We will leave in my carriage, and I’ll bring you back to your home in the early hours of the morning. Does that meet your approval?”
“Yes. Don’t be cross,” she added sheepishly, stepping closer to him and placing one delicate hand on his chest. It singed and soothed him, even through all the layers of clothing. “I don’t likethe need for secrecy any more than you do, but you know the reason.”
He wasn’t cross. Not with her, at any rate. Maybe with life, fate, circumstances, or whatever one might call it. He hated the need for secrecy. Despised all the sneaking around, the lies, the subterfuge. He would have liked to court this woman out in the open. To be seen with her. Dance with her at balls, take her on strolls in the park, proudly claim her in front of all society. It was impossible, of course. The very nature of their relationship prohibited that.
Their relationship was, as his whole life had been: a dirty, shameful secret.
CHAPTER 22
HANNA DIDN’T KNOW WHATshe had expected when Gabriel told her they were attending a masked ball at an exclusive pleasure club. She had expected decadence. Even a bit of seediness and licentiousness. Certainly not the opulent façade of a grand Georgian mansion, nestled in the heart of Soho.
Gas lights illuminated the driveway, casting more shadows than light. The footmen, attired in Renaissance costumes, helped masked and hooded guests alight from unmarked carriages. Their turn was next, and as the clock struck the eleventh hour, she entered the lavish mansion on Gabriel’s arm. They entered unannounced, just like everyone else. Guests walked past the doors and presented a gilded postcard to a muscular butler who looked more like a bruiser than a high-class servant, despite his opulent uniform.
Gabriel presented his invitation and, with a nod, the butler ushered them into the club’s grand ballroom. Candlelight lined the luxurious corridors, creating a gilded atmosphere. It created a scene reminiscent of the decadent festivities of Venice’s famed Carnivale.
Three enormous chandeliers likewise illuminated the two-story ballroom, and a myriad of sconces surrounded the room, casting their golden light onto the richly ornate walls and the frescoed ceiling.
They entered the ballroom through the top floor, where a gallery ran along three sides of the room. Shadowy alcoves looked down onto the dance floor, from where the strands of awaltz floated up. Richly dressed patrons twirled about the room in a vibrant display of elaborate costumes.
She looked at Gabriel. His attire was more subdued, having opted to wear a black suit and cape. Gold embroidery adorned his waistcoat and mask, but that was the only break in his otherwise monochromatic ensemble.
“Shall we dance?” Gabriel asked, turning to her and meeting her eyes.
Her heart sang with anticipation. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”
Bowing over her hand with all the elegance of a courtier, he led her to the dance floor and seamlessly glided into the throng of dancers.
The music flowed through her as he led her through every turn. He was a superb dancer. His arms were strong and possessive around her, holding her much closer than would be proper at a society event. But nobody here cared about rules. When he swept her into a fast turn, she threw her head back and laughed with exhilaration. His eyes, smiling down at her, warmed and flustered her at the same time.
It had been such a long time since she had danced with him. Not since the last ball she had held. And never in the past with such abandon and awareness of each other. Now, she was conscious of the firm hand that held hers with delicate care, of the hard body that pressed against hers at every turn, the arm across her back that held her securely. His aroma, spicy and fresh, teasing her nose and making her yearn to nuzzle his neck, taste his skin.
With an internal shake of her head, she dislodged such thoughts. Focusing instead on her steps, the music and the splendor that surrounded them.
When the music ended with a crescendo, she was out of breath and flustered. Whether from the exertion of the dance or her magnificent partner, she didn’t know.
“Champagne?” Gabriel asked, anticipating her needs.
