“How confident are you? Your husband did put Potter back there,” I mumbled as I tipped my head back toward the dunner fumbling with the good scotch and sloshing it over the side of the glass.
“But he wasn’t responsible for the construction. I don’t think,” she added warily.
“I’m sure the building would have collapsed by now if he were.”
“True,” she said as she watched a new dance begin. “And really, Tom, you couldn’t even bother to don a mask?”
I shrugged, offering her a sheepish smile—earning an indulgent eye roll.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Potter handing off the drinks that were surely intended for Jules and Michael, to another masked gentleman. He spun around and startled when he caught sight of her. Then the man stared, uncomprehendingly, before turning back to pour another glass.
Jules, still surveying the crush, hadn’t noticed the foible. Instead, she added, “It’s quite crowded in here. In fact, I just sent an old friend of mine who needed a few minutes’ reprieve up to Michael’s office. I promised to bring him one of those drinks. If you think the bar could spare you, would you mind delivering it to him?”
I glanced down at her upturned face. Something whimsical flickered in her expression that I couldn’t quite name.
Potter arrived, appropriate number of amber drinks in hand, and set them behind us before scurrying off without a word. I turned to see him trying to pour the cheap swill Michael kept for those who couldn’t afford the good bottle into said good bottle. He spilled more than he managed to get in, but it was certainly enough to alter the taste. Abandoning my post would be for the best. I’d need probable deniability when Michael came complaining about the switch.
“I can do that,” I agreed. “Why does my wastrel brother have you fetching drinks anyway?”
“He doesn’t know. I just thought he might like another.” She slid the water and one of the scotches toward the edge of the bar before pausing and turning back to me. She reached for the beaded reticule hanging from her wrist. Delicate fingers worked the knot before pulling out a domino and offering it to me. “Here, it matches your eyes.”
I smiled at my apparent predictability and took the half mask from her, studying the brownish fabric. My eyes were greenish. I knew that. Or I’d been told that. And itwasalmost identical to the muted shade I saw in the mirror.
“Here, bend down,” she ordered. She grabbed the mask and stood on tiptoes to reach around my head. Once I understood her meaning, I dipped lower, chuckling a little at the impropriety of it—the action so unlike the prim and proper Juliet I’d first met.
“There, very handsome,” she said, smoothing the fabric over my cheek.
“Thank you.”
“Now, off you go. And good luck.”
I didn’t have time to question her before she grabbed two of the drinks and scurried off to wherever Michael was taking thetonfor all they were worth.
I snatched the last glass, abandoning the dregs of gin on the bar, and skirted along the octagonal wall.
Luckily, I reached the open staircase that curved along the plaster without crashing into anyone and took the steps two at a time. At last, I reached the balcony that ran around the whole second floor. The first heavy oaken door was Michael’s. Often unused now that he had turned over the day-to-day running to his second, Augie. The office was more symbolic than functional these days. I knocked perfunctorily before opening the door and slipping inside without waiting for a response.
My heart stopped at the sight that greeted me.
There, in perfectly clear black and white, was Alexander Hasket, Duke of Rosehill.
Five
WAYLAND’S, LONDON - JUNE 5, 1816
XANDER
My hiding placewas quite nice—I wasn’t too proud to admit it, but I was hiding.
Mother and Dav were in a competition, each determined to see who could expose themselves to the most ridicule in a single evening. Mother was winning, but only by the smallest of margins.
Ishouldbe chaperoning Davina—well, Mother ought to have been chaperoning Davina but she required a chaperone of her own. And I was just… exhausted. I felt absolutely every one of my thirty years and then some.
Annoyance hung around my shoulders like a particularly inconvenient cloak. Neither of themmeantto add to my difficulties—at least not seriously. It was simply that they failed to think of me at all. I loved them both with all of my heart, and Celine, too, but I was attending a masquerade ball hosted by a woman I once intended to wed. And none of them had paused for a moment.
Juliet was proper and amiable as always, and kind—she was unfailingly kind—even when forcing my hand. But with continued whispers of my long-broken engagement and lingering stares from Beaumont’s speech yesterday, my already precarious situation felt at a cliff’s edge.
So when Juliet offered a safe haven, I snatched the opportunity with the desperation of a man dying of thirst and offered water.
