Lucas looked down. “I’m known as Titan at the Lyon’s Den.”
“The gaming hell? The one where—”
“Yes, yes, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s reputation is salacious, but she runs a clean establishment with fair wages. She employs veterans to keep an eye on things, and I supervise them. It’s good work with good people, and I have no quarrel with it.”
Aaron frowned. “Well, I do. The future Earl of Wolvesmead should not be running tables in a den.” He refilled his brandy glass, but his gaze never left Lucas’s. “What’s really going on?”
How to answer that? Especially since he had no clear understanding of it himself. “You know my family.” Most specifically, his mother, who never tolerated anything that was less than perfect. Perfect attire, perfect manners, perfect appearance in every way. She would be horrified by his hand. “I didn’t want to see them until after I had found my bearings.”
“That answers for a few weeks or even a couple of months. But Lucas—years? Your brother expects to inherit!”
He blew out a breath, then forced himself to speak the truth. “Aaron, I’m an heir who went to war.” He looked up. “They wanted me to die.” At least his mother had.
Aaron shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Your father was ever kind.”
If total disinterest could be labeled kindness.
Then Jackson spoke up as he came back to the parlor laden down with cheese, bread, and a few old apples. “It doesn’t matter why he’s been gone, he’s back now, and we should celebrate.” He grinned at Lucas. “What did you have in mind?”
Trust Jackson to cut straight to what must happen now. The man always knew how to ignore the past, even when it was all everyone else could think about. “I need you to throw a masquerade.”
“Whatever for?” Aaron said, his face twisted into a grimace. “Fancy dress and ridiculous masks. It’s just an excuse for the worst sort of behavior.”
Jackson grinned. “A capital idea!”
“Nothing too flamboyant. I’ve rented out all of Vauxhall. That will make it an exclusive sort of thing.”
“Nothing at Vauxhall could ever be exclusive.”
He nodded. That was true enough, but that was what Diana wanted, and so that was what she would get. And he would make sure that security was tight enough that she was safe. “It’s set for Wednesday in three weeks.” Thank God the owner of Vauxhall played too deep one night, and Lucas had managed to win his exclusive night. Otherwise, he’d never have been able to manage it.
“That’s fast,” Jackson said. “You have to give the ladies enough time to get their costumes made.”
“It will be a party given by the Lords of the Masquerade.” He pointed at Aaron. “You’ll be Lord Ares.” Aaron had studied every war in detail, and so the name fit. “Lord Satyr for you,” he said to Jackson. The man was a dangerous flirt, and so he would embrace the moniker as if born to it.
“A masquerade just encourages all sorts of knavery,” Aaron said.
“I have men to keep the grounds safe.”
Aaron arched his brows. “Thieves are not the only danger. It’ll be a hunting ground for fortune hunters and reprobates.”
“You mean me,” Jackson said.
“No, I don’t,” Aaron snapped. “You have scruples. And some mysterious business plan…” He trailed off to give Jackson a chance to fill in the blank. Instead, the man put on a too-innocent expression.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
Aaron snorted. “In any event, you won’t hurt a woman. But others will trap young ladies on the dark paths, ravish them quickly, and—”
“I will have security!” Lucas repeated with enough force to show his impatience with the whole discussion. “And once again, you fail to give any respect to the intelligence of the fairer sex. They are too smart to be so easily led astray.” At least that had been true of the vipers he saw in the ladies’ half of the Lyon’s Den. Every one of them was more likely to trap an unwary man than the other way around.
“You’re both right,” Jackson said in a grumbly voice. “There are plenty of female twits in society. And plenty of women with sense.
“Don’t invite the twits,” Lucas said. “Would that be acceptable to your high moral standard?”
Aaron gave a short nod, but he didn’t speak, as he was more interested in sawing off a piece of bread than objecting to a party.
“Then it’s settled?” Lucas asked. “Can you manage the invitations? I am working two jobs right now and haven’t managed a full night’s sleep in a week. Plus, I don’t know the best people to invite, though I do have a few names I’d like to put forward.”
