“You know I will.”
“You’re a menace!” Meyer hissed, his expression narrowing as the waltz ended.
“So, you’ll tell me?” Liliah asked, biting her lip with excitement.
Meyer was silent as he led them to a quiet corner of the ballroom, pausing beside a vacant alcove.
“This is a yes!” Liliah answered her question, squeezing his forearm as her hand rested upon it.
“I’m only telling you so that I can properly manage what you hear. Heaven only knows what you’d draw out of an unsuspecting swain. At least I’m immune to your charms and won’t give in to your pleas.”
Liliah almost reminded him that he was doing just that—but held her tongue.
“There is a . . . place.” Meyer spoke in a hushed whisper, and Liliah moved in closer just to hear his words above the floating music. “It’s secretive, selective, and not a place for a gently bred lady, if you gather my meaning.”
Liliah nodded, hanging on every word.
“Only few are accepted as members and it’s quite the thing to be invited. One of my acquaintances was far too drunk the other night and spoke too freely about this secretive club—mentioning a masquerade. That is all.”
Liliah thought over his words, having several questions. “What’s it called?”
Meyer paused, narrowing his eyes. “Temptations,” he added reluctantly.
“And they are having a masquerade?” Liliah asked, a plan forming in her mind, spinning out of control.
“Yes. And that is all you need to know.”
Meyer broke their gaze and looked over his shoulder at the swirling crowd.
“Go to her. We still have one waltz left and then I’ll ask you all the questions you’ll refuse to answer.” She winked, playfully shoving her friend toward the dance floor.
“When you put it that way . . .” He rolled his eyes and walked off toward the crowd.
Liliah thought back over what Meyer had said, considering his words—and what they might mean. A masquerade—inappropriate for ladies.
It sounded like the perfect solution for a lady wishing to be utterly inappropriate. All she had to do was discover the location, steal away, and maybe, just maybe . . . she’d get to experience a bit of life before it was married away. Was that too much to ask? Certainly not, and as long as she knew the name, surely she could discover the location.
For the first time since this whole misbegotten disaster, she felt a shred of hope.
Utterly scandalous hope.
Chapter Two
“Lucas!”
Heathcliff’s booming voice rattled about in Lucas’s head. It had been a long night. Several club members had been removed from the premises, creating a large upheaval in the otherwise smooth production of last night’s events. Tonight would hopefully be less eventful—yet masquerade balls usually presented their own risks—and rewards.
“I’m in here. Bloody hell, what do you want? And can you please keep your voice down?” Lucas’s voice was thick from lack of sleep and parched from too much brandy the night before.
“There you are. You look like hell, get up. Busy day today. Last night was fun, eh? Nothing like a good brawl.” Heathcliff Marston, Viscount Kilpatrick, was a large man, his Scottish brogue as thick as his arms and his smile as broad as his shoulders. A mountain of a man, he was one of Lucas’s two greatest friends, and the largest pain in the arse.
Lucas slowly stood from his position behind his desk. He’d never made it to his rooms last night, simply surrendered to sleep at his study’s wide mahogany desk. His back protested in pain as he stood. Wincing, he groaned. “I’m too bloody young to feel so bloody old.”
“Speak for yourself.” Heathcliff shrugged. Never one to be called by his title, Lucas had grown accustomed to the almost plebian manner of his friend. Most days it was refreshing—today it was annoying.
“Did you want something? Other than to irritate me to death?”
Heathcliff chuckled. “Tempting. But I’m pretty sure the devil can’t die, so I’ll take the second option—yes, I need something.”
