Page 9 of The Seduction of Viscount Vice

Everything had been going so well, even easier than she’d thought. There was little interaction between temporary and permanent staff. Which was perfect, because no talking meant no probing questions while she spied.

It had been illuminating walking around the ballroom ostensibly to remove empty champagne and brandy glasses, but actually eavesdropping on the conversations of the political elite, plus ton sticklers, tabbies, and rulers. Away from the ears of innocents, the gossip flowed freely, and as she’d hoped, the talk centered around the Fallen ball. It seemed every scandal sheet in London had included a front-page article, and the detail from “anonymous sources” was eye-openingly accurate. Best of all, she had a key piece of information to report back to Yvette: it was the exclusivity of Fallen that rankled most, not the activities. Those who couldn’t afford or had been refused membership loathed those who could and had. It wasn’t puritanism. It was pure, old-fashioned jealousy. And Worldly could exploit that with lower costs and a far wider-reaching invitation list.

But now she had to make a discreet exit and flee. Because the main attraction from London’s most hedonistic, uninhibited party was a guest at possibly the stuffiest. How could that be? And who was the beautiful blonde he was escorting with such un-Vicelike decorum?

Picking up her empty tray, Mairi then hurried back downstairs and into the ballroom proper. A hand grabbed her arm, and she froze. “Boy?”

“Yes, sir?” she replied in her most refined voice, relieved it was a haughty senior footman and not a certain Scotsman.

“Get out onto the balconies and retrieve any glasses you find. Oh, and boy…if you happen to see, er, anything untoward, you leave immediately. Understand?”

Mairi nodded, resolutely swallowing a giggle. She would wager this particular footman never remembered to “leave immediately” if he spotted a couple making use of a darkened alcove. “Of course, sir.”

After the cloying odor of unwashed bodies, perfume, and sweat, the cool air out on the thankfully empty balcony was a welcome change.

Breathing deeply, she picked up two empty brandy tumblers.

“Is footman the only disguise you possess, or are there others?”

Mairi’s palms went damp at the leashed anger in the words, and she barely managed to retain her hold on the glasses. Placing them carefully on her tray allowed time to regather her scattered wits. How did Iain see through her disguise so easily, first at the window and now in this shadowed space?

“I’ve no idea what you mean, my lord.”

“Don’t you fucking my lord me, Mairi. You forgot such sensibilities fast enough when you attempted to crush my cock to powder.”

She shrugged. “It’s what a lady does when accosted.”

“Accosted? You nearly burned my clothes off with the need in your eyes. Spread legs, hips tilted, offering me your pussy…then you panicked. Why was that?”

Damn him twice! He saw far too much, was getting closer and closer, and yet again she found herself foolishly craving his big, hard body locked against hers, the fierce, soul-shaking climaxes he would give her. It had been so very long. “My, my, don’t you think highly of yourself. If I want pleasure, I have many options.”

“No husband, then?”

“Unnecessary.”

“I suppose it would be difficult, finding someone who accepts your need to transform into another for a while.”

Mairi stilled. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Interesting that you choose to disguise yourself as a man, though, and never a maid.” He picked up a half-full champagne glass and added it to her tray.

“As I said last night, why would any woman choose stays and gowns when she could enjoy the freedom of breeches and jacket?” Her voice trembled slightly, and she wanted to kick Iain when a brandy tumbler slid from her hand and hit the champagne glass with an overloud clink.

“Except your breasts are bound. With linen? That must chafe horribly.”

It did. Removing the linen at the end of the night and applying salve to her abused nipples was a thoroughly unpleasant task. Even the softest fabric scratched like sackcloth when worn like a bandage.

“I am not discussing my breasts with you.” She fetched another empty glass from behind a small potted plant.

“Pity.” His gaze was hot and raw. “I feel an obligation to speak on their behalf, as you certainly seem to be failing in duty of care.”

“Go away,” Mairi hissed as her nipples hardened in remembrance. When it came to pleasure, he took duty of care very seriously. “I’m trying to work.”

“No, you aren’t. To be working, you’d have to be employed by Lord and Lady Castlereagh. And there is no way in hell that the Foreign Secretary and an Almack’s patroness would hire a woman to dress as a footman for a party attended by the pettiest politicians and the fiercest society dragons in London.”

“Which begs the question of how the most scandalous man in the country, and a Scot to boot, received an invitation.”

Iain grinned, a genuine smile that made him even handsomer. Damn him thrice. “Touché, darling. But don’t change the subject. You know, I should report such shocking deceit as invading the home of a very high-ranking politician. Expose you to the world as you really are.”