Dancers whirled past him in pinks, blues, reds, greens… A flash of black feathers caught his gaze, and his spine stiffened. Could it be?
His pulse quickened with interest.
But no. That woman had a toppling chignon of brown hair spotted with pearls.
Disappointment slammed through him, but he kept his gaze moving. Far too many women had donned black that evening, curse it.There!Blonde-red hair with black ribbons. He strained his neck but failed to garner a clear view of her costume. She danced with a vaguely familiar older man with a halo of stringy white hair.
The music swelled and the dancers spun, but Percy kept his gaze locked on the mystery widow. His pulse sped faster, his breath quickening with anticipation as the waltz came to a close and the dancers clapped. He was distantly aware of someone speaking from the musicians’ balcony, but the sound was muted by the rush of blood in his ears.The unmasking.
He hastily shuffled sideways, tilting his head in an effort to garner a better view of the bewitching widow.There!His pulserushed in his ears, muting the hum of anticipation in the room. Her hands delicately swathed in her elbow-length black gloves, the woman reached up to untie her mask.
The mask fell away to reveal her face…and his blood froze solid in his veins.
My god. His gut twisted painfully, and an icy dread dampened his skin. It couldn’t be. It simplycouldn’t. Heather Morgan—hisstudent, for fuck’s sake! She was to be married, was leaving for the Americas on the morrow. She was on assignment…with Percy.
Miss Morgan joined in the applause and pasted on a patently false smile for her intended before Leo, Jasper, and their wives encircled her and the Earl of Hanley. They chatted amiably for a moment, and Percy watched as though glued to his spot.
What have I done?
Nervous energy bubbled inside him, and he had to move. Without a backward glance, he wove through the milling guests, down the corridor, across the foyer, and through the front door. He ignored the waiting footmen and coachmen and strode directly for the street, needing desperately to clear his head.
The clip of his boots on the cobblestones echoed around him, and the oil lamps lent a dim light.
Heather Morgan. Hell, but he ought to have known it was her. He’d even compared the “widow’s” hair and figure to Heather’s, for fuck’s sake. He’d been wilfully ignorant.Hell’s teeth. His gut gave another hard twist as guilt churned through him. She was very likely an innocent, and he’d just robbed her of her maidenhead.Fuck.
In the heat of the moment, he’d thought her a widow well versed in the art of the tryst. He’d assumed she knew herself and the risks involved. While he’d withdrawn when he’d spilled his seed, that did not guarantee that she would not get with child—or so he’d learned from acquaintances with troubled mistresses.
He sighed, and shook his head. Society mothers were notorious for ill-informing their daughters about relations between men and women, instead hoping that their future husbands would take care of it. But Heather’s mother had passed some time ago, and she was not yet married… It was possible her aunt had spoken with her, but from what Percy had gleaned about the woman, that was unlikely.
He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but was impeded by his curst domino. Agitation rode him, and he tugged the thing from his head and shoved it into his pocket.
“Fuck,” he growled into the darkness.
It was fortunate he was already assigned to the frigate alongside Heather, for his duty was clear. Naturally, he understood her reasoning behind the tryst—she would be ruined upon their return, after all—but it begged the question: had she known it washimbehind the mask?
CHAPTER 4
“Will you just tell me what happened?” Leo pleaded, watching from the chaise longue as Percy paced before the hearth.
Percy rubbed a hand over his drawn features and scrubbed at his dry eyes. After preparing a small satchel of items and paying his future months’ rent for his bachelor’s apartments, he’d spent hours through the night staring at his ceiling and replaying the tryst in his mind.
Guilt hit him square in the gut once more, and he spun in another turn to pace back before the hearth.
He’d only just recently acquired the rooms above a shop, near enough to walk to his new post as an instructor for the women of Bow Street. The women were quick to learn under his tutelage and would do well with his superior—Grace Huntsbury—while he and Heather were away.
“Does it call to you once more?” Leo asked, his voice low and tinged with concern.
Percy shook his head with a sharp jerk, taking Leo’s meaning instantly. “I daresay I will quickly regain my sea legs, but no. It does not call to me.” His lips thinned, and a shiver travelled uphis spine. “In fact, the thought of our old life finding me strikes fear in my heart.”
“Then why take on the assignment at all?” he goaded. “I know how ill at ease you were with your station—particularly in those last few years. You once said you would rather?—”
“I know what I said,” Percy interjected, cutting his friend a sideways glance. “And I stand by my statement.” He huffed a breath, shaking his head. “Andill at easeis indeed too tame for what I felt then, for what Istillfeel. Down that path lies villainy, and I bloody refuse to become my father.”
Leo lifted a brow. “So I shall ask again: why take on the assignment at all?”
“You know very well why. I’m skilled at combat, and I’m an experienced deck hand. They need me.”
“Is that theonlyreason?”
