“Well,” Sophie gives him a playful shrug, “I figured this might help you win some of those bets you’re so keen on making.”
Will’s jaw locks, a frigid cold front threatening to overtake the warmth we’ve created.
Sophie tilts her head, combative. “What? Am I wrong?”
“Soph—” Quinton isn’t able to get a word in before Sophie stands up, arms crossed, her expression no longer kind.
“Don’t be a bloody idiot, William,” she states. “You lied to us. You said you were done. If you continue to gamble with our family’s money, I won’t hesitate to tell Daddy to cut you off for good.”
“Tell Daddy what?” Charles asks, striding into the room with a coffee mug in hand. He frowns, glancing around at his kids. “Are we fighting already? It’s not even noon yet, children. Perhaps the drama can wait until dinner.”
“Speaking of dinner.” Quinton stands up, and I grin at the red and black plaid pajamas he’s wearing. Sophie thought it would be hysterical if the entire family matched. I tug on my sleeve, the fabric soft against my skin. I’m surprised she included me. “Emery and I won’t be available.” He glances at me, smirking. “We’ve got plans in Montchauvier this evening.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Is this the big present? Because there was nothing filthy about the diamond earrings he gifted me this morning in front of his family. I’m grateful I went shopping with Sophie earlier in the week and bought Quintoncuff links. Technically, he paid for them himself, but I think it still counts as a gift. Or so he said.
“Well, in that case, we best get going.” Charles checks the time on his watch. “I’ll tell the attendants to start the lifts in thirty minutes. That should be enough time for everyone to get situated, yes?”
“Lifts?” My question gets lost in the chaos as Will, Ella, Sophie, and the kids scurry out of the living room.
“Shall we?” Quinton smiles down at me, offering a hand to help me to my feet.
“Lifts?” I ask again. “As in ski lifts?”
Quinton chuckles as he leads us upstairs toward our rooms. “I take it you’ve never skied before?”
“I’ve only recently graduated to wearing high heels, Quin,” I say, dreading this afternoon’s festivities. “I don’t think I’m ready to try my hand at skiing.” I glance down at my slippers. “I prefer footwear that doesn’t have a chance of rendering me immobile.”
“I figured you might be hesitant,” he says, opening the door to my room. My gaze darts to a pair of ice skates and a matte black gift box on the bed. “Which is why I came up with an alternative solution.”
I blink. “I would argue that ice skating is just as lethal as skiing.”
Quin snorts, reining in a hearty laugh. “Lethal? It’s ice skating, darling. Children as young as two years old do it.”
I glare at him. “Children are closer to the ground, Quinton. They have a lower chance of breaking their bones.”
He smirks. “I promise to hold your hand the whole time. Plus…” A devious smile spreads on his face as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an ornate envelope. “I can’t have you bruised and broken before this evening.”
“Montchauvier?”
He passes me the envelope, its weight throwing me off. I peek inside to find two rustic keys settled on the bottom. I delicately slide an invitation out of the textured cardstock envelope, the cursive silver ink on the paper jumping out at me.
“Nuit du Péché,” I read, attempting to recall my French. “Night of…” I tilt my head up at Quinton, brow perked.
“Sin.” His wicked smile almost knocks me off my feet. “Night of Sin.” My skin flushes, a slow, steadying heat spreading through my limbs as he rounds my bed and nods down at the gift box. “Open it, darling.”
My heart beats rapidly in my chest as I approach Pandora’s box, my fingertips thrumming with anticipation as I gently lift the corners, my mouth drying as I stare inside the gift box. Two masks sit on top of satin lining, both dark like the midnight sky. The first mask is a solid black, sexy and simple. The second is made with delicate lace.
Beneath the masks, my fingers brush against the silk fabric of two robes. A swirled symbol, the same as on the invitation, is stitched into the fabric with silver thread.
“A masquerade?” I breathe out, reaching for the final item in the box. My eyes widen. “Oh…” My cheeks flush with intense warmth as I stare at the one-piece lace bodysuit with tempting cutouts in the places where my body currently aches.
Quinton's raspy voice sends a shiver down my spine. "It’s a strict dress code. I hope it’s to your liking.”
“What…” I clear my throat, thirsty for the night that awaits us. “What areyoumeant to wear?” He smirks, nodding down to the robe. My eyes widen. “Nothing else?”
He licks his lips. “Perhaps one more thing but it’s more of an accessory.” He pauses, and my core clenches. “A ring of sorts.”
Swallowing, I glance down at his hand, Damon suddenly flashing through my mind. “But you don’t wear rings.”
