“’Ello, luv.” A purring voice distracted him from his thoughts. “Looking for company this eve?”
The woman was dressed as a canary, her voluptuous form barely contained by her skimpy frock dripping with yellow feathers. Her smile was about as genuine as her diamonds and thus left Wick cold. There’d been a time in his past when he hadn’t thought twice about paying for his pleasures. Back then, he’d engaged in other vices too, drinking and gambling, spending money as if it flowed as freely as the Thames. His recklessness had led to his disgrace.
To the failures that, even now, caused his chest to tighten in remembered shame.
It had taken him a decade to redeem his honor. He’d gotten out of debt, stopped his bad habits, and dedicated himself to his work. Now, at three-and-thirty, he’d achieved financial success beyond his dreams. From time to time, however, he wanted a respite from his driving ambition. From a life that was busy and rewarding yet also…solitary.
Thus, when the innkeeper of the establishment where he was staying had mentioned this infamous masquerade, hosted by a local libertine couple, he’d decided to see it for himself. He’d hoped to find some diversion, even if it was just for the evening. Someone who might temporarily fill that restless void inside him.
The trouble was that nothing seemed to assuage that strange emptiness. Maybe there was no cure…or maybe he would only know it when he found it. Whatever the case, the canary didn’t fit the bill.
He made his refusal polite. “Alas, I’ve just arrived and yet to gain my bearings.”
“Suit yourself.” She moved on, shedding feathers along the way.
Wick continued his trek around the ballroom, which replicated the ambiance of a Venetian carnival. Canvastrompe d’oeilmurals hung on the walls, creating an illusion of colorful buildings, canals, and bridges. Beneath the crisscrossing strings of lanterns, jugglers, sword-eaters, and fire breathers drewoohsandaahsfrom the guests. Footmen dressed as gondoliers darted through the crowd bearing trays of refreshment.
Yet beneath the gilded novelty lurked a dreary familiarity. The same cloying mix of perfume, sweat, and spirits. The same hungry lust in the eyes behind the masks. The same glittering, meaningless pursuit of pleasure. Even Wick’s own reaction was predictable: surrounded by a throng of people, he had a heightened awareness of being alone.
A practical man, he’d considered solutions to the plaguing restlessness. Since he was rich and blue-blooded, the younger son of a viscount, he’d been hounded by marriage-minded misses for years. The marital union, he’d observed, could lead to happiness: both his business partners were blissfully leg-shackled and his older brother Richard, now Viscount Carlisle, had also made a love match.
Yet no lady had sustained Wick’s interest long enough for him to consider making a proposal. Perhaps he wasn’t built for marriage…or even a long-term affair. Out of habit, he rubbed his thumb against his signet ring. It was a reminder of the woman he’d failed, of the responsibility that came with even casual liaisons.
Wick shut out the past, reminding himself that he wasn’t looking for a relationship. He just wanted to distract himself for an evening. To discharge some of his tension so that he would have his full powers of concentration on the morrow, when he would deal with the stubborn Miss Brown. He departed the ballroom, passing through the atrium to a series of candlelit public rooms. Here, he began to appreciate how the masquerade had come to earn its notorious reputation.
Dressing screens had been set up to create intimate nooks for rendezvous. If the undulating shadows behind the silk panels were any indication, the guests were taking full advantage of the quasi-privacy. There was the unmistakable rustling of clothes being shed, accompanied by assorted moans and grunts.
As Wick passed an opening between screens, his gaze met with that of a lady reposing upon an oversized chaise longue. She was striking, her powdered wig and crimson gown capturing the sumptuousness of a bygone era. The tiered diamond necklace dripping over her bosom could have paid for a small London townhouse.
“Well, hello there.” Her husky voice matched her looks, her painted mouth curving with genuine lust beneath her black demi-mask. “Looking for someone?”
Not any longer,he could have said with an easy smile. Or he might have simply sauntered over and run a finger along her bare shoulder in answer.After all, the lady was attractive and available…exactly what he should be looking for. Yet confronted by what he’d thought he wanted, he felt the void deepen inside him.
“I’m previously engaged, I’m afraid,” he heard himself say.
What the bloody hell is the matter with me?
“The more the merrier, darling.” She toyed with her necklace, the glittering web trailing over the generous mounds of her breasts. “Bring your friend. There’s plenty of room here for three…or more.”
He ought to have been tempted. For some reason, he wasn’t.
What he was…was bored.
“As much as I appreciate the offer, my engagement is private,” he said courteously.
If the woman took insult, she did not show it. “If you change your mind, you are welcome to return. Variety is the spice of life, after all.”
“Quite,” he murmured.
With a bow, he continued on. The level of debauchery increased with each passing chamber. In the billiards room, the privacy screens had been pushed aside, the masked guests forming a train of writhing bodies so depraved that even Wick’s brows went up.
That was the only part of his anatomy to do so, however. As provocative as the scene was, he felt no desire to join in. If naught enticed him in that array of licentiousness, he acknowledged ruefully, it was time to call it a night. He went back to the corridor, intending to head out…when raised voices grabbed his attention. They came from an open door at the end of the hallway.
“That is enough, sir!” a woman’s voice commanded.
“You’ve been a dreadful tease, pet,” a male voice said. “Time to pay the piper.”
“Let go of me!”
