Suddenly, an arm slid around his waist like the Garden of Eden snake around the tree. A voice purred in his ear, and the smell of gardenias overwhelmed him.
“Rook? Forgive me for being late. I was detained by that awful Lord Bains. Why was he invited? He smells of cabbage.”
Rook didn’t want to turn. He didn’t want to be here. Closing his eyes, he willed himself to his study, preferably with a large whisky. It didn’t happen, of course, and instead he tightly answered the question posed.
“He’s a great uncle, and I like him.” Indeed, Rook didn’t know how he would have coped with the earldom, without the help of Uncle Dill.
He could almost hear Selina pout. Rook turned in her arms, and he wondered how he could have ever thought that the girl he had nearly ravished was Selina. Although they were both dark-haired, and wore similar masks and dresses, Selina’s gown was practically see-through, dampened to increase visibility. It was also cut so low that if she bent over, he felt sure she would expose more than just the diamond locket that nestled in the valley of her bosom. She was also quite tall, and curvy in all the correct places – a voluptuous bundle of luscious femininity.
He sneezed. The smell of gardenias was overpowering; she had indeed spent some time in the retiring room – bathing herself with the scent. He remembered the clean, subtle smell of the other woman and inched away from Selina, trying not to breathe too deeply, as he reached for his handkerchief.
“You forgive me, don’t you, Rook?” she purred.
He could hear a pleading tone in her voice, and any other time, he would have shown her exactly how forgiving he could be. The unknown woman’s passionate, yet slightly hesitant response and sweet body had inflamed his ardour. Now, in front of him was a ravishing, and presumably willing Selina, but he was no longer a raw cub that needed to slake an unquenched desire.
Really, it was absurd; he should be pleased Selina had turned up, but instead he felt intrigued by a new hunt with a different type of prey. Besides, any craving had been doused with the thick, cloying scent of gardenias. Now his muscles tensed in anticipation of what, or who, he may encounter in the ballroom. He was an earl, and he was used to getting what he desired.
“Of course, Selina,” he finally replied. “I know how Bains is. However, I have tarried out here long enough, and I need to join my sister. It would be best if we don’t enter together, though. Perhaps you can stroll on the terrace, whilst I join Hestia.”
“Of course, Rook. If that is what you want.”
He could tell she was displeased, but her tardiness had quite frankly caused a major problem. Namely, some girl, whom he had kissed senseless. Christ, if she hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve had her there – up against that wall – he’d never been so hard.
Stepping away, Rook gave a short bow. “My lady,” he uttered, and strode away towards the laughter and light emanating from the house.
He was about to enter the large, French doors, when the stone column to the left muttered to him in a hard, sardonic voice.
“Wondered where the bloody hell you were. Left me on my own to fend off your neighbours, debutantes, deadly widows and Hestia – she’s fit to burst. You’re in trouble.”
Without turning around, Rook replied cheerfully to the column, “Jack, good to see you, or not. What have you come as? A shadow? A wraith? Or part of the architecture?”
A slim figure detached itself from the gloomy corner behind the column. He was dressed all in black as well. They would look like the twin harbingers of death if they both entered the room at the same time, although Winterbourne, he acknowledged, did do it better. Rook had inherited his mother’s faircolouring, whilst Jack was as dark as the devil.
“Same as you, old boy – I’ve come as Hades: simple, easy, and doesn’t require much of the valet.”
A horrible, truly horrible thought occurred to Rook. “What exactly is the theme of this masquerade?” he questioned.
Hestia wouldn’t? he thought. Surely, she wouldn’t.
Jack sauntered towards the French doors. “Why, it’s Greek gods and goddesses, of course. Well…anything classical really. You made a good choice of wardrobe then, if you didn’t know.”
Rook stared into the ballroom with horror.
Men in Greek tunics danced with nymphs in green. A woman with a swan on her head chatted with a man attached to a horse, and everywhere, everywhere, were masked women in white, Grecian dresses.
ΦΦΦ
