“Very well, Mr. Lucifer,” she said. “I see, I have no excuse.”
If he noticed she had called him by his name in her household, then he did not react. Instead, he gestured to their now empty box. “If you prefer to sit here, we could talk—”
“Definitely not.” In truth, the music was calling to her. She wanted to be on her feet. It would help her work off the disquiet she felt whenever he was near. She stood as calmly as possible and even took his hand to allow his escort.
“I mean no insult, Diana,” Lucas said. “I merely wanted you to have an evening’s fun.”
She turned to look at him, her heart lurching. “Surely, you did not arrange for this whole evening merely for me.”
“I did.”
She stared at him a moment. Her gaze swept across the park as she calculated the cost of a party like this, even if it were split with the other two lords. The amount was staggering. Unless…
She blew out a breath. “You have made up with your family then.” Accessing his estate funds was the only way he could have had the money for this. “I am so pleased. They should know that you live.”
“They do not.” Three words, spoken with implacable coldness, as he pulled her into the opening stance.
She faced him, her mind scrambling. “But Lucas, your family deserves—”
“I am Lord Lucifer, madam,” he said sternly. “The great deceiver. Do not think you know the purpose of my actions.”
That was rubbish, every bit of it. “You are merely being dramatic, as you are wont to do,” she said. But even as she frowned sternly at him, her insides were twisting with a warmth she couldn’t deny. “Did you really arrange all this—”
“For you. Yes.”
“But how did you manage it?” she asked. “It must have cost the Earth.”
“And the sun and the moon,” he said. “All for you.”
With a gesture at the orchestra, there was a loud clang as if to announce the opening of the masquerade. In truth, they’d been playing for a bit, but suddenly, everyone separated as Lucifer led her onto the dance floor. And—to her shock—Gwen and Lilah came as well, partnered with Lord Satyr and Lord Ares, respectively. It was a stirring moment as Lord Satyr made some opening remarks—a plea for everyone to enjoy themselves to the fullest—and then the three couples began their dance. Other couples quickly followed, but Diana had never opened a ball before, and this was a marvelous experience.
There was no more talking, per se, but certainly touching of hands, moving of feet, and shoulders. Their eyes met and held when it was appropriate, and even when it was not. Diana couldn’t believe such extravagance, and yet wasn’t he the one who had climbed her wall in a rainstorm, then tumbled at her feet just to beg for her hand in marriage? Lucas was a man of extreme passions. Or rather, he had been twelve years ago. It was certainly in character for him to arrange an entire masquerade party for her.
But really…just for her?
The idea kept tickling her insides and made her smile in the most embarrassing way. Her cheeks flushed, and not from the exertion of the dance. And when they came together as the steps proscribed, she allowed him to pull her a little too close and touch her a little too long. This was a masquerade, after all, and she could be forgiven for a bit of fun. There were no society matrons here to judge the distance between couples, and several pairs were already far closer than propriety allowed.
Lucas did not speak to her, nor she to him. Everything was done by way of their bodies. When he held her hand, his smallest finger slipped beneath to caress her palm. When he was meant to swing her around, he squeezed her tightly and put more effort into pulling her close than in drawing her around. But all of that paled in comparison to his gaze. Hot, dark, and so appropriate to his Lucifer moniker. His eyes smoldered when she met his gaze. Unwavering, unnerving, and so delicious to have his attention riveted upon her.
By the end of the dance, her heart beat much too fast, and her lips felt parched as she wet them with her tongue.
His gaze fell to her mouth, and she remembered the way he had kissed her that night before her wedding. The way his tongue had invaded her mouth and their bodies had pressed together with a desperation that nearly swept them both away.
Sometimes—like now—she wished she hadn’t stopped him. At least she would have known one night of true passion. One night unchained from responsibility. One night with a man she desired and who made her think of nothing but their two bodies becoming one.
“Diana,” he rasped. “The way you look at me. It’s like—”
“Hush!” she whispered, the word aimed more at herself than him. Such thoughts were inappropriate to a married woman. But more importantly, they only brought pain in their wake. She had not indulged that night, and she could not do so now. Her marriage to Oscar wasn’t perfect, but they had grown to respect each other. She would not cuckold him. She had too much honor for that.
She pulled away, or she tried. Lucas would not release her, but he allowed her to rest her fingers lightly on his arm as he escorted her back to the box. They maintained a polite distance, which he did not fight. And for that, she was grateful.
Until the moment she saw who else had come to join their party. Geoffrey, her horrible stepson, lounged at the entrance of their box as he sipped on a glass of wine. He wore no costume, but his evening attire was new and of the finest cut. And he grinned as he watched her approach, the expression making her feel like she’d been touched by a vile brush.
“Dearest, Mama,” he drawled.
She sighed. She had wanted one night of fun, one night’s escape from Oscar’s sickroom, and the ugly battle with Geoffrey. Clearly, that was not in the cards.
Chapter Seven
