Chapter 16
16
Yes. She made a terrible slip in judgment going to Liam’s room the night before. And yes. He took more than just her virtue. He took a piece of her heart.
No. She shouldn’t have shared any information about her mother. And no. She shouldn’t have compared him to his father, no matter how much he deserved the insult.
But she’d done all those things. And as much as she might wish to, she couldn’t undo any of them.
She woke up early the next morning deliciously sore in sensitive places, reminding her of everything they’d shared. But instead of filling Penny with warm joy, or heated lust, it only made her heart ache more fiercely. In sharing her body, she had inadvertently given him a piece of her soul. And he would take that with him to the fiery pits of hell. Or at least, the cold prison cell of Newgate.
I am so thick in the head.
She should have protected herself. But like a complete fool, she had leaped headlong into his bed and without even knowing it, let him weasel his way into her heart. It was unconscionable. And when he’d asked her to stay, for one wild moment, she’d considered it. Considered risking everything to lay her head on his chest, feel his strong arms wrapped tight around her, and listen to his heartbeat as it lulled her into a peaceful sleep.
Then reality descended and the night exploded into flames. Not the delicious, tingling flames he inspired wherever he touched her naked skin. The singe-y, smoky, horrible ones that destroyed villages and burned women at the stake.
Now, she stood in the marchioness’ suite and stared at a dress. Because regardless of their fight, she still needed to attend the masque. She still needed to find evidence against him.
While much swirled in the miasma of uncertainty, several things were very clear to Penny.
One: Liam had spent far too much money on a gown of decadent crimson silk with real rubies sewn into the fabric so it would shimmer like a river of fire when she moved. Never in her life had she seen such a dress.
Two: he had an uncanny knack for knowing a woman’s measurements just by looking at her in a dowdy maid’s costume.
Three: the tailor had forgotten a serious amount of fabric at the neckline, perhaps due to the speed with which this dress must have been made. She ran the risk of exposing more than just her identity to the entire beau monde tonight.
Four (and most troubling): if she were ever going to get into the thing, she would need help.
Molly.
She hated to ask the girl. Keeping such a secret would weigh on Molly.
It will be impossible for her. She spills out information as soon as she has it, like pouring water in a sieve.
But Penny didn’t have any other choice. And if Molly exposed Penny after tonight, what would it matter as long as Penny had her evidence? She would need to leave Liam’s house regardless. An idea which brought her more pain than she wished to admit.
Slipping quietly out of the room, she scurried along the hall, down the stairs where a lively reel could be heard from the ballroom, and through the entryway right as Lord and Lady Drake entered. Lady Cavendale was with them, hovering near Millie’s side. They all wore masks, but it was impossible not to recognise them. Drake’s mask was cut on the diagonal and followed the line of his scar, highlighting the gruesome wound instead of hiding it. His icy eyes captured Penny as recognition sparked.
‘Miss Smith.’ His gravelled voice sent shivers up her spine. The man really was quite terrifying.
Millicent turned from her husband and followed his gaze. ‘Penny! What marvellous timing we have to run into you.’ Millicent swept forward in a velvet gown of forest green, contrasting beautifully against her copper hair. Emeralds had been woven into the braids and curls of her coiffure, winking in the candlelight. A few were also attached to the mask she wore that perfectly matched the hue of her dress. Ivy trailed behind her. Her pale-blue gown of gossamer silk was nearly plain, but the clean lines set off Ivy’s lithe frame beautifully. Her mask was simple white and her pale hair had been swept into a chignon at the base of her elegant neck. Penny would guess she didn’t have access to a lady’s maid and therefore simplicity was necessary. Luckily for Ivy, the lack of adornments also set off her unique features. A prominent nose, full mouth, eyes like a clear pool of arctic water.
Millicent pulled Penny into a warm embrace scented with citrus and sun-drenched cotton.
Perhaps the fates sent Millie to her. Or maybe it was just silly luck. Or destiny. Whatever the reason, Penny wasn’t about to let this chance slip by. Because unlike Molly, Lady Drake knew how to keep a secret.
‘Millie, I need your help.’
It was time for the lady’s maid to turn into a lady.
Liam stood on the edge of his glittering ballroom and silently cursed Lady Philippa Winterbourne. He should never have agreed to her plan. He hated balls. Masques most especially as normally demure members of the beau monde took the opportunity of anonymity to indulge in their worst temptations.
His simple black domino was itchy. The snowy cravat his valet chose to contrast his black suit was tied tight enough to choke him. The starch in his shirt was too stiff, and his boots pinched his heels. His thoughts drifted back to Penny, where they had been stubbornly stuck all day. Despite how disastrously their evening ended the previous night, he still held hope she might show. It would be the only good thing to happen at this masque.
His chest echoed like a hollow drum with each heartbeat. While every fibre of his being wanted her to materialise, the one benefit of her absence meant he could focus his full attention on the mission.
And it’s about bloody time I did just that.
Liam looked at the crush of glittering ladies flirting with their fans, young bucks strutting about, political powerhouses puffing cigars as they clustered around the buffet tables like fat partridges instead of dancing the cotillion with their wives. He was disgusted with the lot of them. Somewhere, among all of these most esteemed peers, lurked one of the leaders of the Devil’s Sons. Or perhaps all three were milling about. Watching Liam, just as he searched for them.
The rustle of silk and lace pulled Liam’s attention from the crowd. He turned as Philippa approached. She wore a mask made almost entirely of black sapphires with tiny rubies used to create the impression of flames licking around her eyes. The rubies spilled throughout her intricate hair, coiled and curled atop her head like an elaborate ebony crown. Even with Liam’s limited understanding of women’s fashion, he could appreciate the skill of her lady’s maid. Philippa’s dress was primarily black silk and lace with crimson peeking throughout her skirts, mirroring the illusion of flames from her mask.
‘Are we emulating Persephone this evening?’ Liam kept his lips in a straight line.
Philippa raised a brow. ‘Hades isn’t really my type, Liam. And if we’re comparing me to Greek deities, I much prefer Artemis.’
‘Goddess of the hunt. Fitting.’ Artemis was also rumoured to be a sapphist, but Liam wasn’t about to point that out to Philippa. His guess was, she already knew. ‘And how is our hunt progressing this evening?’
Philippa joined his side and surveyed the playing field. ‘Well, let’s see who we have here. Commissioner Worthington has graced us with his esteemed presence. Refusing to wear a mask, of course. God forbid he let anyone else dictate the rules. He rarely attends social events. Probably because I’m at all of them and he’d rather avoid me.’
Liam followed Philippa’s gaze. The commissioner was close in age to Liam. His black hair was sprinkled with silver and the granite cut of his jaw was clenched tight. His father was the Duke of Landbourne before he died, and Worthington inherited the title. This was years after he’d taken his post as head of the Metropolitan Police. Under his leadership, corruption within the force was at an all-time low. He was also one of the prime minister’s closest confidantes. ‘Do you know him?’
Philippa laughed, a harsh sound from her delicate throat. ‘We know each other well enough to have reasons to hate one another. At least, I certainly do.’
Fascinating. The indomitable Duchess of Dorsett hates someone.
Hate was a powerful emotion. In Liam’s experience, you didn’t really hate someone unless first, you’d loved them. Or they’d hurt someone you’d loved. Knowing Philippa’s inclinations, he doubted she could ever love an individual with the commissioner’s particular anatomy. So, who had he hurt? And more importantly, who had Philippa loved?
Before he could ask, her gaze flicked to another gentleman in the crowd. He stood with a stunning woman in a dress of intricately woven white feathers overlaying purple silk. Her pale hair was closer to white than blonde. The mask covering her face was comprised of the same feathers as her dress, the tips of each dyed a violent shade of violet. ‘Lord Percival Smithwick the Marquess of Brightmore, and his wife. Lady Olivia. I thought she’d been banished to Europe by Percy. They have a daughter. I believe she is of age. Perhaps he invited his wife back so she could facilitate the girl’s coming out,’ Philippa mused, tapping her finger against her crimson lips.
Liam tried to feign nonchalance, but he was out of his depths with the latest gossip surrounding the beau monde’s creamiest of crops. ‘He separated his wife and daughter? That seems rather cruel.’
Philippa turned to Liam and arched her brow. ‘Men have a tendency to be so with women who don’t follow their rules.’ He glanced back to Worthington before returning to Liam. ‘Rumours abound that Marchioness Brightmore was sleeping with every footman, stable boy, young buck, and renowned rake in the beau monde. The only man she refused to bed was poor Percy himself.’ They both looked to the crowd as Lord Smithwick’s hand clasped Lady Olivia’s waist in a scandalous display of affection. Or possession. ‘He sent her away from their daughter to punish her. I suppose she’s earned his forgiveness somehow,’ Philippa murmured. ‘Pity. I always hoped she’d hold her line against him.’
Liam leaned closer to Philippa. ‘Since when did you care about the silly cavortings of an unfaithful lady and her feckless lord?’
Philippa thwacked her jewel-encrusted fan against her skirts. ‘Since never. But it’s hard to ignore someone as odious as Percy or beautiful as his wife.’
Liam raised a brow. ‘Beautiful?’
Philippa snorted. ‘Anyone with eyes in their head can see that, Liam. Percy’s opinion of himself is far higher than his merit deserves. I suppose I hoped she would finally put him in his place.’ She sniffed. ‘Disappointing she didn’t live up to the challenge.’ She lingered on Olivia a moment too long before sweeping her eyes back over the crowd. ‘I don’t see her brother here, although gaining his attendance at any ball would be quite the feat.’
Mention of Lady Olivia’s brother rang a bell in Liam’s clocktower. Even someone as dense as he in the inner workings of the beau monde knew who the high chancellor was, and who he was related to by blood. ‘The high chancellor, Duke of Kerry? Yes, we sent invitations, but I had no expectation of his attendance. I’m sure he’s far too busy helping the Queen rule her empire to trifle with something as silly as a masque.’ The high chancellor was a serious man who only attended the balls Her Majesty graced with her royal presence. Liam hardly expected him to lower himself to a masque thrown by a marquess.
‘Yes, well. This “silly masque” is going to help us expose one of the Devil’s Sons’ leaders. Perhaps the chancellor will regret not attending when all is said and done.’ Philippa continued to watch the crush as the orchestra warmed up for the next dance.
Killian and his new wife moved through the crowd to join Liam and Philippa. Liam had yet to meet the infamous Hannah, though he knew of her reputation as the duchess’ ward and protégée. If anyone was worthy of his friend’s affections, she seemed a likely candidate. As they approached, Killian nodded at the duchess.
‘Lady Winterbourne, I had no idea you kept such low friends.’
Liam couldn’t stop the laughter. ‘She socialises with you, doesn’t she, Killian?’ He turned his attention to the petite woman standing on Killian’s left. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your wife.’ He reached out to take Hannah’s proffered hand and didn’t miss the flash of danger in Killian’s green eyes. ‘An honour, Lady Killian.’
The young woman slipped her free hand into the folds of her dress, a rich chocolate confection setting off her dark-blue eyes and brown hair. Her mask was barely there: a shimmer of gossamer bronze fabric tied like a bandit’s around her head. ‘Lord Renquist. Killian’s told me of your history together. Such a shame when close friends grow apart.’
This woman didn’t pull her punches. Before he could come up with a response, another member joined their group.
Wonderful .
‘Lord Drake. Don’t you look menacing this evening.’ Philippa turned slightly to include the hulk of a man stretching the stiches of his suit.
He glared back in reply.
‘Where is your wife?’ She arched a perfect black brow.
Drake grunted. ‘I’m not her keeper, Lady Winterbourne, as you well know. I believe that is why you both thought I would make such an excellent candidate in your ruse.’
‘I’m so rarely wrong, though when it comes to love and the ladies I train, it happens more often than I’d like to admit. Though I will say, I’m glad I was wrong about you.’
Drake’s pale eyes froze on Philippa. ‘A high compliment indeed.’ He turned to scan the crowd behind Liam. ‘Ah. There she is.’ His eyes sparked with heat and his mouth tilted in the most astonishing expression.
Dear God. Drake can smile?
‘Lady Cavendale is with her, but I don’t believe I know their friend.’ Killian turned to the grand staircase descending to the ballroom where three ladies gathered on the first landing.
Liam turned to try and identify the woman and time froze. The Earth stalled on its axis, and an unseen vacuum sucked all the air from his lungs.
Penny .
He had wondered what her skin might look like draped in decadent silk. Now he knew. The dress revealed the luscious swells of her breasts, nipping tight at her waist and flowing like lava over her rounded hips and curved arse. Her shapely arms were bare, and he remembered the exquisite texture against his lips as he pressed hot kisses to the inner crease of her elbow. The sounds she made when he bit her, just there.
Her glittering mask covered most of her face, concealing her injury. Only her perfect mouth and delicate chin were revealed. But it didn’t matter if the rest of her face was hidden from him. Liam had already memorised every feature, every expression.
He was standing in front of her before he realised he’d traversed the steps. ‘My lady.’
‘You must be our host. I’ve not had the pleasure of an introduction, but I believe you know my husband.’ A statuesque woman with blazing-red hair who must be Drake’s wife was talking to him, but Liam couldn’t pull his gaze from Penny.
‘I don’t think he heard you, Millie.’ The pale woman in blue addressed her friend.
The orchestra began playing a waltz. For once, the fates were on his side.
‘Dance with me. Please.’ If Penny said no, he might well dissolve into smoke and ashes on the ballroom stairs.
Penny fluttered her lashes, the only indication of her nerves. ‘Only if I can stand on your feet.’
Liam held in his shout of triumph. Taking her hand, he placed it in the crook of his arm, heedless of the many eyes staring at them. Carefully, as though she might break into a million pieces if she hit one of the stairs at the wrong angle, he led her down to the dance floor.
‘Lovely to meet you, Lord Renquist.’ The redhead called to them as they took their places amongst couples already beginning to swirl and sway to the music.
Penny couldn’t breathe. Millie had cinched her corset so tight, she was certain her ribs were crushing her heart. That must be why the organ was beating so fiercely. It was trying to escape.
Wise decision.
She should do the same thing. But Liam’s strong arm wrapped around her, his warm palm pressed between her shoulder blades. Her bare shoulder blades. Which was nothing compared to the front of her dress. Or the lack of front to her dress. Never in her life had she imagined being so exposed in front of the entire beau monde while simultaneously hiding behind a mask. Her heart made another desperate bid for freedom.
‘I didn’t think you would come after last night.’ Liam guided one of her hands to his shoulder, then cradled her other hand in his as carefully as one might hold an autumn leaf. He flexed his fingers and drew her scandalously closer.
Penny glanced around, but all the couples on the floor were similarly pressed together. ‘This hardly seems proper.’
‘It’s a waltz.’ Liam shrugged, his shoulders flexing beneath his superfine coat. She couldn’t believe her hand was sitting there as if it belonged. ‘Follow my lead. I won’t let you fall.’
‘My ankle.’ In truth, it was feeling much better. But it did still twinge, and it made an excellent reason for escape.
His arms tightened around her. ‘I shall hold part of your weight. Trust me. I’ve got you, Penny.’ And like jumping into a fast-moving river, they were slipping over the floor, swirling in the eddies, twisting along the ebbs and flows of the melody. She let her feet trip across the parquet she had spent so much time scrubbing as he led them in a complicated pattern of spins and spirals. She should be focusing on her mission, but all she could think about was the heat of his body, the play of muscle in his arm, the tickle of his fingers on her shoulder blade.
Until he ruined the magic by talking.
‘I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. About your mother.’
Penny’s legs became tangled in her skirt, but before she stumbled, Liam lifted her off the floor completely, swirling in a tight turn. When he placed her back on the ground, her skirts had righted themselves.
‘I don’t want to speak about my mother with you.’ She kept her gaze on his jaw. The candlelight caught in his stubble, gilding his cheek in gold.
Of course he looks like a golden god.
‘If you are still angry, why did you come tonight?’ He leaned closer, whispering the words into her ear, his warm breath making her shiver.
She couldn’t very well tell him her real reason for attending the masque. So she crafted a fast lie.
‘Maybe I wanted to torture you. A man used to claiming whatever glittering jewel he wants finally being denied. Maybe I wanted to become the one shining thing you can’t possess.’
Oh, God. Not a lie. The truth.
She hadn’t realised her motives until she spoke them aloud.
That’s why I came tonight. Not to find evidence against him. Not to discover his guilt. But to prove my own power by denying him.
The music swelled as Liam’s hand slipped lower on her back. She arched into his touch, and they spun again, the room around her disappearing into a swirl of light and colour.
‘I may never earn your affections, but you possess me completely, Penny.’
The music stopped, capturing them like frozen water in motion. As the couples around them dispersed, Liam’s arm loosened, and Penny forced herself to put her full weight on her feet and step back.
A footman wove through the crowd, a message in his hand. ‘My lord, I was asked to give you this immediately.’
Penny saw the distinctive seal before Liam covered it with his palm.
Head of a crow. Body of a wolf. Tail of a snake.
The Devil’s Sons were reaching out to one of their brethren. He flicked open the note and his amber gaze quickly scanned the contents. What she wouldn’t give to know how to read.
He glanced at Penny, need warring with duty before he shuttered his gaze. ‘I must go. But not for long. I will return. Can we talk? Take a stroll in the garden? There is much I would say to you.’
‘There is much I wish to know,’ Penny replied, though she knew he would never dare speak of the things she wanted to hear about. His dealings with the Devil’s Sons. His guilt or innocence. Those were questions she needed to answer herself.
Liam nodded, as though her response pleased him. His lips quirked in a small smile. ‘Until then, my lady.’
It was the second time he called her that. And she wanted to correct him, but he turned and strode away.
‘I’m not a lady,’ she whispered to no one in particular. ‘And I’m not yours,’ she reminded herself.
She was not for him.
But she was going to follow him.