“You seemverybrave,” he said softly.
Her eyes moved away from his. “And you guessed that after only a moment’s acquaintance.”
“Yes,” he said, and the swiftness of the answer brought her gaze back to his with surprise. “Come now. From the few moments I observed you before we spoke, from the short time we’ve been speaking, I think I can read certain things about you, just as I’m sure you can do the same for me. And even if I couldn’t, it seems you’ve been through something and you’re still so confident. So attractively certain.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Been through something?”
He lifted his hand and brushed it against her cheek, up to the edge of her mask and traced the shadow of the bruise that was almost hidden there. “Haven’t you?”
She stiffened in his arms and reached up to adjust the mask, covering the mark fully so he could no longer see it. “It isn’t your concern.”
“I suppose not,” he said, and dropped his hand back to her hip. “But if you’re in danger?—”
“It’s not your concern,” she repeated, but her tone had gentled.
He frowned. That eased none of his worries about her safety, but what could he do? He didn’t know this woman, he wasn’t responsible for her. They stared at each other a long, charged moment before he nodded. “Very well, it’s not my concern.”
“Thank you.”
He let his fingers bunch in the small of her back and felt her shiver in response. Her pupils dilated slightly and the ache he’d felt for her when she smiled at him across the room returned.
“You’re very beautiful,” he said softly. “I wonder if you might join me in one of the back rooms.”
She swallowed hard and her fingers tightened in his hand. He could see that she wanted to say yes. It was in her eyes, it was in the way her body leaned into his for a moment.
But then she pulled away, her fingers dropping from his. She shook her head. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea, my lord. Good evening.”
He stared as she turned away and darted into the crowd without further explanation or even a look over her shoulder at him. And then her words sank in.
She had addressed him as “my lord”. Now, perhaps it was because he put off the air of someone titled. But it didn’t feel like a guess. It felt like the mystery woman hadknownhim. Which left him wondering just who the hell she was and what had just happened.
It left him wondering if he would see her again to figure it all out.
Esme stepped into the small home she had been living in for over a year, and for the first time all night, she was able to breathe. She locked the door, checked the window and pulled the shades a little tighter before she went into the parlor off the foyer, placed her mask on the table and threw a few logs on the coals left from the fire earlier in the day. As she waited for the flames to raise up, she sat down in an overstuffed chair and tugged off her slippers, rubbing her sore feet with a sigh.
She willed her mind not to go to the same place it had been going all the way home from the Donville Masquerade, but she couldn’t seem to make it stop. All she could think of washim. The man who had approached her. The Earl of Delacourt.
She’d recognized his voice the moment he spoke to her and it was like being bodily yanked into another world. Another life. How often had she heard the man speak over the years, murmuring to her father in a parlor late at night while she sat in the hallway listening? Or at supper when she would sit on the other end of the table, watching the two men deep in conversation, entirely forgetting she was there. They’d been friends, despite their disparate ages, but Esme had always known the truth: her father had seen Delacourt as the son he never had.
Her eyes stung with the thought and she was about to get up to find something to distract her when the front door closed in the distance.
“Jane?” Esme called out, willing her fear not to rise up.
“It’s me and yes, I locked the door,” Jane called back.
Relief washed over Esme. She’d shared this home with Jane since Esme found it last year. Her friend entered the room, pale blonde hair a little mussed and her expression tired.
“You look like you had a night,” Esme said. “Did you eat?”
“I did.” Jane flopped herself onto the settee across from Esme and opened her reticule. “And I took some of the food withme, for us to share. The cake is particularly good, so I brought you a slice.”
She set out several items wrapped in napkins and Esme couldn’t help but laugh as she helped her open the sloppy packets. Unlike herself, Jane had grown up in the streets and had no compunction about taking what she needed. They couldn’t have been more different when they met, but somehow Jane had taken Esme under her wing. Helped her run from her past and the wolves that rushed at her back.
Helped her make a life.
“How was it then?” Esme asked as she tucked her feet up under herself and used her fingers to eat the cake Jane had so kindly brought for her.
Jane sighed and chewed thoughtfully on what looked to be a few cold slices of chicken. “The usual. A few of them were handsome and one was rich, so that’s where I got the food. The handsome ones do make it easier.”
