“At least has the potential to be.”
Lucas narrowed his gaze as he studied the floor, his mind racing. “There has to be a reason.”
“I’m assuming that, but it would be wise for us to uncover that tonight.”
“Agreed. Please communicate that to Ramsey.”
“Done.” Heathcliff nodded, then strode down the hall, presumably to speak with Ramsey.
Lucas’s brow pinched with confusion and frustration as he tried to figure out how attending the party would benefit the duke. Lucas knew he was missing a vital piece of information, he just didn’t know what.
And not knowing could be the most dangerous thing of all.
Chapter Thirty-four
Lucas studied the ballroom from the balcony that overlooked the main level. His hands gripped the highly polished banister with a force that had his knuckles turning white. The glitter of silver masks twinkled against the candlelight that they had chosen as the sole illumination for the evening. The air was scented with the rose petals that were crushed under the dark ton’s feet as they walked into the room from the hall. The dull roar of conversation and the music from stringed instruments blended together as Lucas oversaw the evening, searching the crowd for the men of note.
He knew they had arrived, for Ramsey had been ever vigilant while overseeing the guest list as each gentleman presented his invitation in order to gain entrance to the event. Ramsey had taken pains to study each man’s attire so that he could give a report to Lucas. However, above it all, on the balcony, it was a bloody blur of people and Lucas couldn’t distinguish one man from another. For once he wasn’t a supporter of the masquerade idea and the anonymity it created.
Irritated with his inability to narrow down his search, he pushed away from the banister, his fists aching from the release of tension. He reached beside him and lifted the cold metal of his silver mask. He set it over his face, the metal an icy chill against his skin, and he secured it behind his head. It was a new mask, one he had never donned before, in hopes that it would lend him additional privacy. His hands ceased their ache as he squeezed his hands open and closed several times. He then pulled out his gold pocket watch, checking the time. It had been over two hours since the party started, so surely now the men would be well into their cups, causing lips and information to flow freely.
Lucas strode toward the back stairwell, adjusting his mask slightly as he took the stairs. The dark hall was lit by a few sputtering candles, only the amount necessary to illuminate the path, but not light enough to encourage exploration by any straggling club members. To clarify, they always made a distinguished path for the members for entry and exit from the main ballroom, for at times they already arrived foxed and only became more so as the evening progressed.
He skirted the ballroom via the hall and entered through one of the side entrances that was the least populated. The last thing he wanted was to gain attention. He passed a table of whist and a table of faro on the left before lifting a glass of champagne from a passing footman. He took a tiny sip, more to simply appear at ease rather than from thirst. He scanned the gentlemen before him, searching for the details that Ramsey had described to him: Chatterwood was wearing a thick, solid silver mask with little adornment. He was also wearing a sapphire cravat pin. Greywick’s mask was far more ornate than most, and the jewels embellishing the nose piece would make him easy to spot. Lucas suspected that once he found one gentleman, he would find the other in close proximity.
The scent of rose petals was far more fragrant below than when he was observing from above, and as he breathed in the scent, his mind wandered to Liliah. The scent was deeply sensual, and anything along that vein always led back to her. He didn’t even try to fight the overwhelming desire to have her, rather he used it to add fresh strength to his search.
He walked among several men speaking about horseflesh and an upcoming race. He noted Lark milling about another gambling table and he assumed that Lord Kribe was nearby, even possibly Lord Warrington. It was well circulated that Kribe had found a new mistress after Lark had shifted protectors. Lark gave him a seductive smile, then turned back to the table. Lucas read nothing into it, she was a woman always on the lookout for another green pasture to graze, and he did not fault her. It was also a boon to realize that she hadn’t recognized him, for if she had she would have given him an amused grin rather than a seductive look. She had learned long ago he wasn’t interested—at least in her.
Truth be told, he was quite convinced he had sworn off the fairer sex altogether, yet here he was, going to war over one.
War and women, how did they so often go hand in hand?
Bloody mess, the lot of it.
Yet none of it had him retracing his steps or questioning his motives; rather he simply acknowledged his accursed state of falling for Liliah, and moved forward.
A reflection shimmered in the corner of his eye and he halted his steps and pretended to study a gambling table. After a moment, he turned to study from where the bright reflection had come. Sure enough, a very smooth and reflective mask was seen in a congregation of several men in close conversation. The mask was thick, not dainty and thin in design like most, and Lucas suspected it to be Chatterwood. He studied the men in conversation. One was wearing a rather common mask, the other he was unable to see because the gentleman’s back was to Lucas. Yet Lucas could see the silver color of the man’s hair, and he suspected it to be Greywick.
Lucas glanced to the table, then feigned disinterest. He then made a wide arc around the conversing gentlemen and selected another point of view to study the men. The man whose back had been to Lucas, was now in full view. The line of gems down the bridge of the nose of the mask confirmed it was Greywick, and Lucas bit back a grin of victory. Sipping his champagne, he slowly ambled toward the men, closing the distance enough to overhear their conversation. Blessedly, a faro table was nearby, and Lucas stood behind a few of the gentlemen playing, his gaze on the table but his attention focused on the men speaking a few paces behind him. Their tone was low, and amidst the ambient noise of the ballroom, the conversation was hard to decipher, but Lucas listened intently, recognizing Chatterwood’s voice and Greywick’s as well. Once he caught their tones, it was easier to listen.
“I’m assuming you’ve drawn up the settlement for the betrothal?” Greywick asked, and Lucas clenched his teeth. To ask such a thing wasn’t abnormal but wasn’t in good taste either.
“Just yesterday, as we discussed,” Chatterwood remarked. “And I’m assuming you’ve addressed the other matters we discussed?”
Lucas listened carefully, wishing they would give more detail on theother matters . . .
“If everything goes according to plan, you need not worry,” Greywick answered.
“I was under the assumption that it was already taken care of.” Chatterwood’s tone was clipped, irritated, and cold.
Lucas shifted his feet to try to appear less tense as he listened.
“And lay all my cards on the table? I think not, there’s no rush. And as long as everything goes to plan, there’s no reason for concern . . . unless you foresee some sort of . . . problem?” Greywick replied with the tone of a man assured of winning a gamble.
Chatterwood didn’t reply right away, and Lucas resisted the urge to turn and see if the duke stalked off. “There will be no problems,” he finally ground out.
“Good, good. Then see, ol’ chap! There’s nothing to be concerned over! This is why I knew you simply must accept the invitation. Let us celebrate and be merry together!” Greywick was clearly at ease, judging by his jubilant tone. Lucas doubted Chatterwood had the same enthusiasm.
