Alone.
Pumping her fist into the air, Eloise let out a loud whoop of excitement.
“This is bloodybrilliant!”
6
Shades of Midnight
A hard knot of trepidationformed in the middle of Adam’s chest as he stared out his square carriage window at the extravagant opulence that was the Edgemont Museum of Arts and Histories. It was nearly impossible to fathom that anyone–even a duke–had once called this sprawling estate with its rooftop balcony, glass dome aviary, and three-tiered marble cast steps with matching pillars, home. In addition to the main residence, there was an orange grove, two carriage houses, a guest cottage the size of a small mansion, and three ponds that had been painstakingly dug by hand and were fed by the nearby Serpentine River.
The surrounding scenery was equally as impressive and included a series of fountains that spat water in great circular arcs. To access the front entrance, guests had to walk between the fountains and across a drawbridge complete with torches; a subtle nod to England’s violent medieval past when castles like this one had housed great warrior knights and their serfs.
The line of patrons waiting to be admitted already stretched from the marble steps, across the bridge, past a rose garden in full bloom, and all the way down to the lower bank where lords and ladies alike were disembarking from their vehicles draped in jewels and furs. Most of them wore black in accordance to the theme stamped across the top of the silk embossed invitation that had arrived on Adam’s doorstep nine days ago.Shades of Midnight. A predictable, if creatively lacking, subject matter that he’d followed by donning a suit that was the same color of the sky on a night where the moon was a sliver of white and clouds eclipsed the stars.
While other men had hats, canes, and capes, his only accessory was a domino mask that covered his face from his brows to the bridge of his nose. A thin ribbon tied at the back of his skull held the mask in place, its black threads blending seamlessly with his hair and giving the impression that the mask was a part of him, and maybe it was.
Since the death of his mother and then his mentor, there was no one that Adam had allowed close enough to see therealhim. The man that lived beneath the mask and the simmering rage. The man that had vulnerabilities and doubts. The man that had begun to wonder, especially after his kiss with Eloise, what he was giving up for the sake of getting even.
When the carriage lurched to a halt and some of those old doubts began to creep in, he shoved them by the wayside. Tonight, he wasn’t an orphan dock boy clothed in rags. Nor was he someone whose head had been spun around by a pair of liquid blue eyes and a delectably impertinent mouth. Instead, as he joined the queue amidst a flurry of whispers and side-eyed glances, he presented himself as exactly what he was. What heneededto be. A sinfully rich, ruthlessly powerful magnate that was going to crush these spoiled, useless jackanapes beneath his boot heel by the time the evening was done.
Adam wasn’t dressed like midnight.
He was midnight.
A devil of the dark come to life.
Prepared to consume everything and everyone that stood between him and his vengeance.
“You are that American businessman that has set tongues wagging from here to Warbyshire.” An elderly woman, silver hair swept away from a stern, matriarchal profile, stepped fearlessly up to Adam and jabbed her cane into the ground an inch from his foot. “I am Anastasia Stewart, the Dowager Duchess of Monmouth, and you, young man, have me to thank for your invitation tonight.” She pursed her thin lips. “You may do so at your leisure. But be quick about it, as I am old, and there’s no telling when I’ll keel over.”
“You may be old,” he said dryly, “but somehow I have the feeling you’ll outlive half the crowd here.” Taking the dowager’s hand by the tips of her skeletal fingers, Adam performed a perfunctory bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace, and you have my gratitude for the anonymous invitation. I would have gotten one without your assistance, but you did save me the trouble of finding a lackey to bribe.”
The dowager’s sharp gaze glinted with amusement and a hint of approval. “I’ve every confidence you would have, Mr. St. Clair. You strike me as a man who gets what it wants.”
Adam inclined his head. “I am.”
“Is this person bothering you?” A fair-haired gentleman approached from the dowager’s left and placed a hand on her shoulder. The two shared the same chiseled bone structure and eye color, betraying their familial relation.
A son, if Adam had to guess, and a protective one at that.
“No need to hover, Perth.” The dowager swatted his hand away. “If anyone is being bothered, it is Mr. St. Clair. Have you two been introduced?”
Adam met Perth’s narrowed gaze.
Both men delivered a curt shake of their heads.
“Then let me do the honors. Mr. Adam St. Clair, might I present my son, the Duke of Monmouth. Perth, I should like to introduce you to Mr. St. Clair of…New York?”
“Boston.”
“Yes, that’s it. I admit I occasionally befuddle the two. Not unlike a foreigner confusing Sussex for Southampton.” She leaned on her cane. “How are you finding our country and its people, Mr. St. Clair?”
He smiled humorlessly. “I’m enjoying the architecture.”
“The architecture.” The dowager gave a very un-dowager like snicker. “Did you hear that, Perth? He’s enjoying thearchitecture.”
Perth matched Adam’s smile. “I heard.”
