Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Panic Sets in
At the house, a single footman took my coat without comment. Strange that no invitation was demanded of me. But then, maybe it’d been enough for the men to present them before coming aboard the barge.
As I strolled through the corridor, servants moved through with trays of food and drink, their expressions bland, their eyes carefully averted. I did not partake of the offerings but continued on my journey as laughter drifted toward me.
I wore no mask. That fact was noted almost at once.
“Well, if it isn’t Steele,” a voice called out. “What a surprise.”
A flushed-cheeked man stepped into my path, cup in hand, his smile knowing. “Didn’t take you for one of us,” he said, glancing pointedly at my uncovered face. “Have you finally decided to indulge?”
Another laughed. “Careful. He might be stooping for sport.”
I offered no response and continued on, leaving them behind mid-jest.
The ballroom opened before me, warm with bodies and thick with the smell of wine and sweat. A servant passed, narrowly avoiding a drunken hand. Someone called for oysters. Another demanded more claret.
Men clustered in loose groups, some with their masks tilted back, their voices growing louder as time crept on. Some paced, irritation creeping into their speech. Others were to be found sprawled across couches, victims of their own excess, snoring softly beneath the din.
“It’s past midnight,” one man complained as I passed. “This is becoming farcical.”
“They said the entertainment would be worth the wait,” another replied. “I’m beginning to doubt it.”
I counted as I moved. Near enough to forty. All men.
No women.
And most importantly, no guards posted. They’d probably felt the change in the wind and fled before the storm broke.
I made my way steadily to the low platform at the far end of the space, the murmur shifting as men noticed my progress, curiosity beginning to replace amusement.
As I climbed the steps, I saw them for what they were. Drunk. Restless. Expectant. And utterly convinced the night still belonged to them.
“Gentlemen—” the word soured on my lips “—if I could have your attention.” As I spoke the words, the music came to an end.
“There will be no entertainment tonight,” I announced, revulsion tightening my jaw.
For a moment, confusion reigned. A few men laughed, assuming the statement was a provocation or some tasteless jest. Others frowned, irritation sharpening behind their masks.
Minutes earlier, these men had been bold in their wickedness. Now they watched me with the wary attention of those who sensed a shift in power but had not yet understood its nature.
A man in a silver mask spoke first. “What do you mean, no entertainment?”
A low murmur followed.
“We were promised—”
“This is absurd.”
I let the complaints gather, overlap, swell.
Then I spoke again. “The young ladies you were promised are gone,” I said calmly. “They will not be returning.”
Silence fell.
Not outrage yet. Calculation.
“The authorities have been alerted,” I continued, tone unchanged. In truth, none had. But by God, I meant to put the fear of exposure into them.
“They are on their way,” I said. “You may remain here to explain your presence—or—”
The room changed in an instant.
The faces of those who were unmasked drained of color. Glasses were set down with sudden care. A man near the windows turned sharply, peering into the darkness beyond as though expecting lanterns to appear at any moment.
More than a few swore under their breath.
One man stepped back toward the door. Then another.
“We must go,” one called out. “Now.”
Outrage evaporated, replaced by naked fear.
The Floralia endured only because it was invisible. Because everyone believed they were safe. Authorities meant witnesses. Names spoken aloud. Questions asked in daylight. And once the thing was dragged into view, there would be no burying it again.
The scandal would ruin them.
And that could not be allowed to happen.
They moved at once, no longer posturing, no longer protesting. Men shoved past one another in their urgency to escape, stumbling and swearing as bodies collided in the press.
I did not raise my voice. I did not pursue them.
Panic had done what no force could. I stood motionless and watched as they fled for the river like rats abandoning a sinking ship.