“I like the way you dress. Can you… Your eyes, they’re brown, right?” It was impertinent and inappropriate and I couldn’t live another second without confirmation. To know that I saw him as he truly was.
“They are. A rather dull shade, I’m afraid.”
My breath escaped in a relieved sigh. “No, not dull. Everything about you—” I caught myself just in time.
“Everything about me, what?”
“I apologize. That was… too far.” A sideline glance showed the truth of it. Two minutes until midnight. I’d wasted my twenty-seven minutes.
“I lied,” he said—blurted.
“What? Your eyes aren’t brown?”
“No, they are. I just—I knew what you meant. Before. I understand.” His fingers twisted, one hand tugging at the seam of the other glove.
Elation warred with frustration. The minutes were gone. Only seconds left. But I hadn’t been wrong. Far from wrong; I’d been right. “Why now?”
“I-I don’t know. It’s a terrible idea to reveal it. But I just… needed you to know.”
“Thank you. For telling me.”
“You’re not going to tell anyone else?”
“Never,” I vowed.
“Ten… nine…” The world outside the door broke in. Shattering our last seconds.
Without a word I grabbed the domino from its perch on his knee. He stood to meet me. He was shorter than me, half a foot perhaps. I pressed the mask to his cheek and one of his fingers came up to hold it in place. The fastening ribbons were fine and black. I traced them until my fingers met behind his head. Inky, silken strands brushed my skin as I retied the knot.
Task complete, I allowed myself one last indulgence. I dipped down and pressed a kiss to the place on his cheek where mask met skin.
“Good night, Your Grace. It has been a pleasure.”
“I… You’re really not going to tell me who you are?”
“The real world is calling, Your Grace,” I said before grabbing my glass and striding over to the drink tray.
He sighed before replying. “Good night then.”
The door creaked angrily when he opened it. The raucous cheers from the crush spilled into our sanctuary. When the latch clicked back into place, the roar dulled. And our sanctuary was mine alone.
Seven
RYCLIFFE PLACE, LONDON - JUNE 6, 1816
XANDER
Celine had losther damned mind. It was the only explanation.
I had gone to sleep anticipating a bit of a lie in, only to be ripped from dreams of entrancing blue-green eyes and sensual, graveled whispers at half eight by Godfrey with news that my sister-in-law had arrived before dawn. I found Celine rummaging like a peculiar rodent, unchecked, through my ledgers.
Now, she sat across from me holding a file of secondary ledgers that my brother had apparently used to track his illegal activities before his death. His involvement in enough illegal dealings to require a second set of books wasn’t shocking, but that she had the foresight to steal them was. Furthermore, Celine was absolutely insistent that William Hart had murdered Gabriel.William Hart.Bookish, bespectacled solicitor and vicious, bloodthirsty killer. The claim was incongruous at best.
Gabriel’s death had changed Celine down to her very marrow. That kind of grief, nursed with that kind of care, over that many years—it could do little else. But I had thought she’dretained at least a small fraction of her sanity. She wassupposedto be the easy, biddable, respectable lady in the Hasket family.
Something had happened between her and Will last night at the masquerade, and that something had shaken the foundations of Celine’s carefully managed world. Good for Will.
Except that her evidence, flimsy and circumstantial though it may be, was also the tiniest bit compelling. The beloved son of my father’s steward, Will had always had a seat at the family table at Father’s insistence. I remembered the night he first saw Adriane LaMorte, whose family let the house next door. His bright eyes had been awash in instant adoration. With perfect clarity, I could recall the way she toyed with his affections before turning her eerie gaze to Gabriel with the obvious purpose of tormenting Will. I could absolutely believe that Gabe had compromised Adriane—I was almost certain he had.
