Page 1

CHAPTER 1

“Follow me,” her father hissed in her ear, pressing a glass of punch into her hand.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, nodded to the guests around them, and escorted her away from the refreshments table without another word. They walked across the bustling ballroom, the couples dancing behind them.

Laura frowned. “Father, what is the matter? Is something wrong?”

“It is of no concern to you. This way, Laura.”

“Father, where are we going? The party is back there!”

His hand moved from her shoulder to her elbow, and his fingers closed tight around it, making her breath hitch in her throat.

They walked down a long, quiet hallway on the east side of the grand house until they reached a narrow staircase half-hidden behind a bank of potted ferns, and descended.

Gone were the glittering chandeliers and joyful notes of a string quartet, replaced by darkness and the restless thudding of her heart. With each step down, the lump in her throat grew thicker.

She turned to face him.

“You must always do as I say,” he said, his eyes fixed ahead.

He didn’t look at her. No. Colin Mercer, the Earl of Harwood, never looked at her. Not really.

Laura had no illusions about their relationship. She never knew the warmth of a bedtime story on her father’s lap, nor the quiet joy of playing catch in the garden. She was not a daughter, but an obligation. He had been tending that obligation for twenty-two years, and she knew he had grown tired of it.

“Take off your mask.”

She nodded, then reached up with shaky fingers and began to untie the ribbons of her domino mask. She knew that arguing with him would only delay the inevitable. Plus, she was too scared to speak.

She held the mask in one gloved hand as they reached the bottom step; the white silk gone damp from her nerves.

She glanced back over her shoulder. The staircase was steep, narrow enough for a single file and nothing more, certainly nothing that could carry up a platter, or a trunk, or a chair. The red runner beneath her feet was too fine for a servants’ passage—too thick, too vivid. Servants’ stairs were bare boards, with a rope for a rail if they were lucky. This one had been dressed for someone who mattered.

What purpose would a secret staircase serve in a place like this? Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?

“Where are we going?” she asked again, quieter this time, as though it might soften him.

“You’ll see. We will wait here until we are greeted.”

At that moment, a footman approached them. He was masked, though he wore no livery she recognized. He inclined his head to her father and led them down a short corridor to a set of gilded double doors. He opened them without a word, ushered them inside, then closed them behind her.

The room was large, high-ceilinged, and elegant with soft white walls and lush burgundy curtains. It was lit by candelabras rather than chandeliers… and full of women.

Laura’s first thought was that she knew none of them. Her second, following swiftly on the heels of the first, was that she recognized them all. Not by name, but by kind.

She saw one woman. She was pretty in a plain way, but well past thirty. Knowing how cruel the world was to unmarried women of a certain age, she’d clearly stopped receiving callers years ago.

A widow in half-mourning colors stood dry-eyed and watchful as men circulated the room from the periphery. Two girls who could not have been older than Laura were whispering together as they looked around. From the old-fashioned style of their gowns, she could only assume their families were struggling.

All of these women had one thing in common.

None of them are wearing masks, yet every man in the room is.

Along the far wall stood a low platform. It was an empty stage, with no musicians or singers present. For what other purpose, Laura could not tell. It was flanked by two more watchful footmen.

Her stomach dropped before her mind had finished making sense of it.

“Father.” She kept her voice to a whisper, gripping his sleeve like a toddler. “What is this place?”