“I’m not sure he knows that.”
Sir Bacon remained uncharacteristically indifferent to the sights and smells of the world around them and singularly focused on her. A strange feeling ribboned through Hortense. This little animal was dependent on her, and…she might like it. What an unsettling development.
She started walking and changed the subject. “Are we clear on the plan to switch the tiaras?” Work, always a reliable—and safe—topic.
The moment’s good humor fell away. “Aye.”
“’Tis the only way,” she said, answering what he’d left unspoken. He didn’t like the plan.
“I’m sure there are others.”
This again. “Short of outright theft, it’s the most efficient way.”
Jamie’s mouth pressed into a firm, silent line, and he spoke not another word until they entered Asquith Court. The man truly wasn’t at all equipped at not getting his way.
“Until tonight?” She could be a professional, even if he couldn’t.
“Tonight.”
She pivoted on her heel, leading Sir Bacon away. The heat of Jamie’s gaze scorched her back all the way up the grand staircase. After what felt like an eternity, she reached the landing and rounded the corner, and out of his view. Inside her bedroom, she shut the door and was, at last, able to release her held breath. Her mind wandered through too familiar thoughts.
After tonight, their objective would be achieved and the farce of their marriage would be over. She would give him permission to have the marriage annulled any way he saw fit. It was only fair, and the only way that made sense. That the two of them could have a shared future was utter nonsense. Girls from the workhouse didn’t share their futures with marquesses. It wasn’t done.
She suppressed a pang of emotion at that last bit. Emotion it was becoming ever more difficult to deny. Emotion that contained a trace of—oh, what were Mariana’s words?
The specific madness and agitation of the wretchedly in love.
How melodramatic.
Jamie had hired her for a job. She was doing that job. And, tonight, if all went well, they would switch the tiaras, secure Rafe, and she would betray Jamie. In that order.
And then he, like she, would see that what they shared last night, and the night before, was naught more than illusion brought on by danger and intrigue.
And then she would return to her old life.
Without him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jamie propped againstan unobtrusive stretch of wall, his gaze trained on the front entrance of the Duke of Rothesbury’s mansion. Soon, Hortense would be arriving, and he wouldn’t be letting her out of his sight once she did.
Vibrantly colored silks hung in draped swathes from the high ceiling of the receiving hall, which along with half-lit candelabras and chandeliers, created an atmosphere of mystery and intrigue. The effect was dim and dramatic as a lilting waltz from the ballroom swirled through on the scent of pungent spices and perfumes. As befitting a masquerade, all guests were masked. Some wore simple dominos, like himself, while others went all out for elaborate, even grotesque, Venetian masks.
A naughtiness very conscious of itself pervaded the atmosphere. A flimsy mask seemed to be all the permission his fellow aristocrats needed to be their most uninhibited, scandalous selves, as if it could hide their multitude of sins. Wives ran ungloved fingers invitingly across jaws that didn’t belong to their husbands. Husbands’ hands roamed freely across the backsides of wives who weren’t their own. Excess was the word of the night. Which, of course, was no great shock.
Father and Mother would have been here. The realization struck Jamie sudden and hard. They weren’t ones to miss an entertainment whose sole purpose was excess and debauchery. They’d been rather well known for it.
There was a time, not so long ago, when such a thought would have had him racing away from here as fast as a coach and four could carry him. He may have been a wastrel, but he was no lecher. He understood the distinction, even if most didn’t.
The crowd parted a sliver and through the opening Hortense slipped, coy smile pasted on, fingers wrapped around a champagne coupe. A jewel in sumptuous crimson silk, she drew more than a few leers, all speculating about her identity. She wouldn’t appreciate the attention this dress, with its showy opulence and low décolletage, afforded her. Her free hand moved to discreetly coax the bodice higher, but there was no more fabric to be had. How very little of her breasts the dress left to the imagination.
She should only wear such dresses. In his bedroom.
Next, she touched her fingertips to the beauty patch adorning her left cheek to ensure it remained in place, then to secure her black velvet domino. All done in a matter of seconds.
When she began to move, he pushed off the wall to follow, deciding not to reveal himself just yet. He would rather watch her navigate the room. She finished her champagne, and another coupe appeared in her hand within seconds. She would have to watch that. Champagne was a dangerous minx.
Into the ballroom, she followed the stream of string quartet music and aimed for the periphery, avoiding all eye contact and never stopping. If she did, she could draw unwanted impertinence, and it wouldn’t do tonight’s operation any good if she broke a lord’s hand for laying it on her.
