However, the reason for most of her irritation likely rested in the fact that it was late afternoon and Devin and Luke had yet to return from their visit with Brutus. She was starting to grow extremely concerned that something terrible had happened, but since she was obligated to attend the ball, not to mention terribly disappoint Lady Blessington if she decided to cry off, her hands were tied. At least the countess had replied to her message with the understanding of her plight and that she was willing to help in any way she could when it came to Sir Isaacson. The count had also offered his assistance, so Constance didn’t feel quite alone as she set out that evening.
As the front door closed downstairs, Constance stopped pacing and rushed down the stairs. The moment she spied Devin, with Luke at his side, relief poured through her until her knees were weak, but her frustration was enough for her to snap, “I’ve been worried sick about the two of you!”
Luke had the grace to adopt a chagrined expression. “I do apologize for tha’. We lost track o’ time.”
She crossed her arms. “That’s the only excuse you can give me?”
“It’s the truth,” Devin returned firmly.
She slid her gaze to him while Luke slowly slunk off, but when her eyes clashed with Devin’s, it wasn’t sparks of anger that shot through her body. His dark gaze was smoky with desire as it traveled over her form. “I could get used to you in men’s clothing.”
Her body flushed, but she tamped her own arousal down. “Don’t change the subject,” she returned, annoyed that her voice sounded so breathless. “You could have sent a message—”
He walked toward her and anything else she might have said was broke off by a smoldering kiss that made her stomach clench and a soft sigh escape her lips. When Devin pulled away, he said, “I’m here now, and there’s something I need you to do for me.”
She frowned at the seriousness in his tone. “What?”
“Brutus told me that you will be approached by a lady this evening.” He hesitated. “She was a housemaid to Annalise and claims she has the necessary information to prove that Sir Isaacson murdered her.” His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. “If this is true, I can finally give her the peace that she deserves.”
Constance’s heart was moved. She reached up and touched his cheek, relishing the feeling of the stubble beneath her hand. “You are good man, Devin Blackmore. Much more than I probably deserve to have in my life.”
He grabbed her hand and brought it to his chest. He placed her palm directly over his heart, which pounded strong and steady. “Annalise was my salvation for a time, but this will always be yours.” His eyes burned bright. “Constance, I—”
“Stop.” She shook her head. “Please, don’t say it. Not now. Not until after this night is over.”
He adopted a curious expression. “Why?”
“Because we don’t know what might happen tonight. Madame Corressa is about to embark on her grand finale, and I can’t allow her to be distracted by what you might reveal to me.”
The sincerity must have shown through her eyes, because he stepped back out of her embrace. “In that case, I wish you a successful performance.”
Constance’s lips curved at the corners. “Oh, rest assured, Madame Corressa never disappoints an audience.”
Chapter 22
Constance adjusted her cuffs and walked down into the heart of the ballroom with her black domino on her face. Madame Corressa had taken over completely, had erased the nerves that Constance might have suffered from, and moved among the assemblage with a coy expression. She bowed to the “ladies” in their colorful silks and satins, while their lustful glances glittered beneath their lavish masks, as they followed the backsides of the “men.”
It was a night garnered for mischief and deviltry, for sensual promise and teasing encouragement. The air was filled with an edge, a release tottering on the brink, and Constance knew that more than one affair would be conducted this evening. While masquerades were daring enough, when the gender roles were reversed, the field of warfare became entirely different. The women could take the control that was often denied them and make their own rules. And the men were more than happy to oblige.
Lady Blessington, of course, had greeted Constance with a broad smile upon her arrival, attired in a royal blue jacket and matching waistcoat. She’d bent down to whisper in her ear, “You are marvelous, Mrs. Hartford. While I dared to send an invitation to the king, he declined, but sent along the most amazing centerpiece for my refreshment table. A pineapple, dear Constance! Can you imagine the length of his generosity? It just proves that tonight is a smashing crush. I am forever indebted to you, my precious girl.”
Constance was pleased for her hostess and realized that if she wished for a similar recognition in society, she would have it with the backing of Lady Blessington. But while that had once been her aim, to garner the respect she had always been denied as a courtesan, a woman who flitted about society but was never truly part of it, now her wish was to leave it all behind.
The only thing she wanted was to enjoy a quiet life with Devin for the rest of her days.
A rush of longing poured through her, because she regretted that he wasn’t there to share this moment. She thought of her vow to lift his skirts and have her wicked way with him, but unfortunately, it was not meant to be.
Constance was on the alert for Miss Hollowell, the maid Devin had told her would be approaching her, but at the same time, she did her best to appear as though she was there solely for the entertainment. She even asked a “lady” or two to dance and had to laugh when the role reversal caused a rather unruly set to take place.
When Constance finally paused to take a break, her intention to quench her thirst, she accepted a glass of Madeira. However, when she lifted the flute to her lips, it froze halfway to her mouth. Her attention was ensnared by a “lady” who had just arrived. She wore a remarkable white gown with silver thread sewn throughout, and even a few seed pearls along the bows of her bodice. The sleeves were lined with lace which flowed about the collar. Not only was it one of the most breathtaking gowns she had ever seen, but it was the individual wearing it that made Constance feel hot and cold at the same time. But then, she would have recognized Devin, no matter if he wore a wig and costume or not, because his air of command was unmistakable.
She glanced around and saw that she wasn’t the only “gentleman” in attendance who had taken note of the new arrival.
Constance quickly downed her wine and set it aside.
She moved forward, likely elbowing a few guests out of her way as she went, but she didn’t care. Her focus was solely on the “lady” in white.
She arrived at his side at the same moment another rival interceded. “My lady, might I have the pleasure of—”
