Alyssia startled, half ready to wrench free, but before she could, a familiar scent and a low voice brushed her ear.
“Don’t lose me.”
The sound curled through her, equal parts command and comfort. She turned, breath catching as his mask came into view, his mouth dangerously close to hers.
“I could say the same,” she managed, her words breathless despite her best effort to keep her cool.
He smiled faintly, his hand slipping from her wrist to stroke her cheek. “Never.”
Silver-tongued devil. “Do you think we should just wait here for Annabelle?”
“I think she would forgive us if we left.”
“You don’t know Annabelle very well.”
He grunted. “I suspect that will change in the future.”
Alyssia chuckled. To be honest, she had regrets. She should have taken him up on the offer to dance. She’d have been his first dance, and that would have been so much better than listening to gossip. She yearned for that distraction now. Dancing would have given her something to focus on besides the noise, besides the eyes she felt trailing over her gown, her mask, the swell of her breasts. With Giles, she could have forgotten the rumor mill, as she had so far, and remembered only the sound of his voice close to her ear, her palm in his. Well, depending on the dance. There was safety in that, a strange, wild safety. He made her feel as if the world could not touch her so long as his hand was at her back.
“I once enjoyed these events. Now, they just feel like a mad crush,” she admitted to Giles as she watched a man in a black domino mask leaning into woman’s ear. Did she and Giles look as intimate?
“Don’t worry, princess,” he murmured with a smile. “When this matter with my uncle is over, you can host as many balls as you want and invite whoever you want.”
Nowthatheld a great deal of appeal. The idea of an evening where she could choose every guest, every dance, every detail. No masks. No people who turned their backs on her. Just her and Giles, ruling over an evening of their own making.
“I will hold you to that,” she said.
He tilted his head toward her, eyes glinting beneath the mask. “I trust that you’ll do so.”
She smiled and turned to crane her neck in search of her friend, and came face to face with a man she loathed far too well. He came into view in that particular way that clawed at her memory. Broad shoulders. Confident stance. The faintest tilt of his head, his gaze assessing in a way that made her stomach twist. For a moment, her mind refused to catch up with her eyes. Her body, on the other hand, recognized him beyond a shadow of a doubt, and the weeks since thatnightmarish night condensed in an instant, bringing with them a rush of dread and humiliation.
Rafferty.
Her breath caught. Of all the people in London, of all the nights to appear before her, why him, why now? The music dulled to a hum, her pulse drowning it out. Hadn’t he been keeping a low profile as well? Yet there he was, standing bold as brass amid the crowd, the same calculating smirk curving his lips, searching for someone.
He didn’t see her at first, so she ought to turn away—walk, run,vanish—but her feet rooted to the floor as though memory itself had fastened chains around her ankles.
Her mouth went dry. Every instinct screamed to look elsewhere, to focus on anything but the man who had once stripped her of dignity. Yet she couldn’t. Even now, after all these weeks, her skin prickled as though his eyes were already upon her.
She tried to steady her breathing. Inhale. Exhale.
Then their eyes met.
Oh, lord.
Rafferty had the sort of gaze that crawled over a person, cataloguing what could be used and what could be ruined, and shefeltit slide over her like a thousand ants over her body. Every inch of her wanted to recoil, to scrub the sensation away, but she stood perfectly still, spine rigid, heart hammering.
She watched as various muscles twitched across the visible parts of his face. Then he stepped up to her.
Those light blue eyes, almost the color of his mask, narrowed on her, anger flashing in their depths, swiftly replaced by satisfaction.
“Lady Alyssia.”
Bishop hadn’t noticedsomething off with his wife at the outset. Since those deuced people had parted them—damn you very much—he’d been keeping his uncle in sight, assuring himself that the man’s attention hadn’t been drawn to them.
Well. Attention had been drawn.
Fromthisdamn arse.
