Chapter 14
L ydia’s heart pounded loudly in her chest. So loud, in fact, that she could barely hear the horses’ hooves and the rattle of the carriage against the cobblestones. She nervously picked at the tips of her fingers, ruffling the fabric of her gloves.
She felt as nervous as she had during her very first ball. She was supposed to be an experienced lady now, the fearless thief. She was supposed to walk into a ball and know exactly what to do, act as though none of it bothered her. But her heart harbored a pinch of trepidation.
What was she to do when she met Art? What if he asked her to dance?
She had dreamed of dancing with him at a ball since the day she met him. And she always thought that the first time she attended a ball, she’d arrive with her hand on his sleeve.
But dozens of balls had passed without his presence, and Lydia thought that she’d been disenchanted with the notion of it… Apparently not.
She was still that young, dreamy girl of seventeen, believing the maudlin sentiments of a boy she loved.
Lydia squeezed her eyes shut so hard she saw the sparks. She needed to concentrate on the task. And her only task was to get the ring from the lying viscount and give it to Miss Monroe.
After that, she’d be free.
The rustle of skirts reminded her that she wasn’t the only one in the carriage. Honoria sat silently across from her, watching the passing London scenery. She wasn’t a chattering type, but her silence today was especially quiet. Almost deafening.
Perhaps it was just the reflection of Lydia’s own nerves. Or perhaps she could see the same trepidation mirrored in Honoria’s eyes staring back at her.
This was the first ball Honoria was to attend as a guest since the two women met. No doubt she was just as nervous about entering Hades’ Hell.
Lydia wanted to say something, to offer reassurances to her friend, but no words sounded comforting enough in her mind.
At least, it’s going to be over soon.
She didn’t say the words out loud. Because as much as Lydia would mourn the proximity to her first love, who also happened to be the man who had betrayed her, Honoria would miss the family she had lived with for over three years.
Yes, both women were running from something, but they also had things they’d be leaving behind.
The carriage came to a halt, and Lydia pulled on a tight smile. “Here we are.”
Honoria let out a breath. “Here we are.”
The door opened, and both ladies made their way out of the carriage and into the hell.
They stopped at the entrance to the main hall, observing the proceedings in awe. The crush in the hall was almost unbearable, and the goings-on at this masquerade weren’t exactly respectable. While it wasn’t as untoward as what she had observed in this hell during her first visit, the people at the masquerade had visibly lowered their inhibitions for the night.
Lydia tilted her head toward Honoria. “Do not wander away from me.”
Honoria’s eyes were wide as she studied the hall. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
Lydia smirked. Honoria was clearly shocked out of her wits. Well, their last night in London was already well spent.
They walked deeper into the hall, looking around. Thorn was supposed to meet them by the main entrance, but he was obviously not there. Had he not arrived yet?
Or perhaps the crush of bodies was so significant that it was difficult to make out who was where. Lydia just hoped that she wouldn’t lose Honoria in her pursuit. So far, her friend walked closely behind.
“Oh, no!” Honoraria suddenly grabbed her by the arm.
“What’s wrong? Do you see Art?” Lydia directed her gaze toward the place Honoria stared.
“No!” she exclaimed in horror. “The earl! My employer is here.”
Lydia frowned at Honoria. “So what?”
“You don’t understand! He can’t be here. He doesn’t know I am here.”
“Yes, and he still won’t know because he won’t recognize you,” Lydia reassured her, a bit surprised at the panic in Honoria’s voice. “Nobody will.”
Honoria squeezed Lydia’s arm and dragged her toward the edge of the hall. “You don’t understand,” she hissed. “I didn’t know he would be here. I never leave the house at night if I think he might be away. Little Rosie has nightmares.”
“What are you on about?” Irritation showed in Lydia’s voice.
Honoria let out a breath. “One of earl’s wards, the youngest one—she has nightmares, and she always goes looking for him at night. If she can’t find him, she comes to me.”
“And she will tell him that you were gone?” Lydia spread her arms, confusion still warring in her mind. “Why does it matter? We shall be gone from London by morning.”
“Because!” Honoria cried and turned her pleading face toward Lydia. “Lydia, I care about those people. I care about little Rosie. I don’t want her to suffer. She will be so scared.”
Lydia let out a breath. Honoria’s bleeding heart always found a way to get hold of her. But that was one of the reasons Lydia loved her friend. “Well, you can’t go back now, it’s too risky. Besides, we are leaving in less than an hour.”
Honoria nodded distractedly, chewing her lower lip, all the while not taking her eyes off the earl. “Then I’ll persuade him to leave.”
“No.” Lydia shook her head, then repeated louder. “No! How are you going to do that?”
Honoria nervously smoothed her skirts. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe you should leave it alone then. It’s not your responsibility anymore.”
“I have to try.” Her features were resolute now as she squared her shoulders.
“Fine, but I’ll go with you.”
Lydia looped her arm through Honoria’s and they headed in the direction of the earl. And that’s when she saw him.
Art.
He stood by the table with the champagne fountain, his gaze fixed on the entrance. He was wearing all black except for a white shirt, a crisp white cravat, and a red lily peeking out of his front pocket.
A lily.
Lydia faltered.
Honoria leaned toward her. “What’s wrong?”
Lydia discreetly pointed at Art and whispered, “He’s here.”
Honoria slowly disengaged from Lydia. “Then you should go to him.”
“I can’t leave you alone,” Lydia started to protest, but Honoria shook her head.
“We can’t afford to waste our time. You do what we came here to do. I’ll do what I think is right for the family I am leaving behind. And we shall meet in the carriage once we are done. Do you concur?”
Lydia hesitated. “I can’t leave you alone.”
“I won’t be alone. I shall be with the earl. No matter what happens, I trust him. He is an honorable man.”
“But how will you—” persuade him to leave? Lydia didn’t get to finish the question as Honoria stepped away and quickly weaved her way through the crowd.
Damn and blast.
What could possibly be her plan? How would she approach the earl in her disguise and persuade him to leave the masquerade without disclosing who she was? Because if she did disclose her identity, there was no doubt the earl would insist on bringing her back home.
Lydia watched as Honoria stubbornly made her way toward her employer. Then, with a growl of frustration, she turned back to Art.
Now, she had no retreat. She needed to do what she came here to do, and then she would be able to assist her friend in escaping from the masquerade.
She had no time to waste.
Putting on a tight smile, she pivoted toward the man she used to love. Her knees felt weak, and her vision blurred before her eyes as she moved.
Thorn stood a few feet away, sipping champagne. His gaze raked the people in the hell. Suddenly, he turned and looked straight at her.
That gaze stopped her in her tracks.
Lydia felt hot, her palms perspired, and her mind went numb.
She could recall every little decision that led her to this very moment. The moment she would have to face the man she used to love.
* * *
Thorn slowly sipped his champagne, watching the people around him dance, flirt, and drink. Some people were indulging in shameless flirting, others were openly kissing.
Thorn was on his first glass of drink, although he would have finished the entire bottle from nerves. And yet, he knew that it wouldn’t aid his cause.
His hands shook, and sweat lined his forehead. Whether from anticipation or from the heat of the hell, he did not know. His gaze roamed the hall, looking for the woman who tricked him into coming here. He was angry and irritated, wishing he could just go home and get to bed. Perhaps finish a bottle of whisky and fall asleep for a long, long time.
And then he saw her.
A goddess in the costume of a vixen. How fitting.
Instead of red or orange clothing, however, she wore a medieval-style blue gown covered in red and orange gems. Instead of a tail, she carried a long, gauze shawl. She still wore the mask of a vixen, however. Her dark brown hair—a wig?—was collected in an intricate coiffure, a single red rose attached to the side.
And that’s how he knew it was her.
The woman he’d been corresponding with. The woman who stole his heart through the letters. His fingers tightened on the drink, and he forced himself to relax lest he shatter the glass. His faux fiancée made her way toward him with a beguiling smile. She didn’t say a word, she just glanced into his eyes, took him by the arm, and tugged him away.
Thorn paused by the edge of the dance floor, holding her hand tightly in his grasp. “And where are you leading me, pray tell?”
She didn’t answer, just flickered her eyes toward the private room covered by thick curtains.
So, she wanted a tryst, then? Or did she just want to get away from people’s eyes? Thorn would be damned if he let her get away with her plan. No, they were staying exactly where they were. And he would unmask her before the end of the night.
He tugged on her arm, drawing her closer, until she stood only inches away. “What, not even a dance first?”
A nervous chuckle ripped from her lips. “You know I can’t dance.”
Thorn leaned closer. He knew that voice. Or at least, it sounded familiar. Sultry, low, breathy. He needed to keep her talking. “I know you can. We have danced before.”
She swallowed. “I am too nervous now. I am certain I shall fall.”
He smirked. “I shall catch you.”
His hands slid down her arms and then he entwined his fingers with hers. “Just one dance,” he whispered.
Uncertainty flashed in her gaze as he took a step, guiding her in a slow, sensual waltz. She didn’t seem like a worldly seductress. Then who was she? And what was her goal?
She looked away, unable to hold his gaze. He couldn’t quite decipher her expression with her mask on and in dim lighting, but she held herself stiffly in his arms. Her movements were tense, too, almost wooden. As if she truly couldn’t dance. Or maybe she was extremely nervous.
Why? What game was she playing?
“The letters you wrote spoke to my heart,” he said.
She cleared her throat delicately. “Truly?”
“Quite.” He spun her around, and she tightened her fingers over his hand. He caught her tighter against his body, but she stiffened again, not letting him draw her close. “What you said in those letters… Was everything true?”
She glanced at him once more before hiding her gaze again. “Why would I lie?”
“I don’t know.” That’s what I am trying to figure out. “After all, we are to be married soon.”
She didn’t say anything. Thorn stopped abruptly, and she stumbled into him. Her body colliding with his brought on a long forgotten feeling, the need, the ache, the longing to fill another’s body and soul.
He raised his hand and traced her cheek with the knuckles of his fingers. What game are you playing? “All I wanted to do all this time was to have you in my arms again,” he whispered. “To kiss you. To consume you. To—”
She lunged at him and kissed him on his mouth. Hard. It wasn’t an artful kiss, it was a kiss of desperation. Was she desperate to have him? Or was she trying to hide her true agenda behind that kiss? Perhaps she just wanted to silence him.
Either way, her mouth crushed against his, their teeth clicking. Usually, Thorn would have eased her away and laughed. But for some reason, this artless seduction surprisingly worked. His arms closed around her waist, and he pulled her closer.
A couple bumped into them, causing their kiss to break.
Thorn led her away from the dance floor and pushed her against the column, then kissed her again. He crushed her lips, pushing his tongue inside her warmth and licking at the corners of her mouth.
She moaned and melted into him. Thorn gentled his kiss, his hands rubbing down her sides.
But she didn’t subside. Her hands were in his hair, her body pressing against his. Thorn groaned and rubbed his crotch against her softness. Damn him. He wanted her. Whoever she was. Whatever her agenda was.
But he couldn’t let her get away with whatever she had planned unscathed. He kissed her cheek, her jaw. “You are so passionate. Just like I imagined you would be.”
“Don’t speak,” she panted and captured his mouth again.
Oh, I will speak. “Your letters made me realize how shallow my life had been before I met you.”
She kissed him again, more desperately this time, obviously trying to silence him.
“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to love my own wife, but I am not anymore. Penelope, I lo—”
“No!” She wrenched away violently and put her fingertips to her wet and puffy lips as if he’d hurt her.
Her eyes were wild behind the mask, and Thorn narrowed his own eyes, trying to decipher what she looked like. His fingers itched to rip the mask away from her face and look at the woman who had deceived him all this time.
Why? Why did you do this to me?
He grabbed her by the arms and crushed her body to his. Her breaths grew shallow, and her eyes fell closed. Her body went pliant in his arms, and his own reacted the same.
He wanted her. Damn all the lies and deceit. She wanted him to want her, and she got it. But she was in his arms now. And he wasn’t letting her go easily.
He took her hand and led her away, cutting his way toward the shadowed alcove, craving more privacy. He shut the drapes behind them, plunging the room into complete darkness save for a sliver of light seeping through a narrow crack.
He crushed her lips to his again and devoured her hungrily. Before he revealed her identity, her plan, he would have a piece of her. She owed him that much.
His hands traveled to her breasts, and he weighed them in his hands, rubbing her nipples through the thin fabric of her gown. Instead of pulling away, she leaned into him, her hips gently moving against him, her warm curves pressed against his erect length.
Thorn moved his arm, his fingers clutching at her skirt and raising it—the need to feel her warm flesh overwhelming his mind.
She instantly covered his hand with hers—not to stop him but to encourage him. She entwined their fingers and raised her skirt, revealing her stocking-clad legs. When they reached her thigh, she pressed his palm against her bare skin over her stocking.
They both gasped as they stared at each other through their masks.
“I want you,” he whispered and crushed his mouth over hers, kissing her savagely. He wanted her. He needed her. Without even knowing who she was. And yet… he hated her, too. For her lies and deception. For making a fool of him.
He was angry at himself for these complicated feelings she evoked in him. He was angry he could not control himself in her presence.
Just one more kiss.
He circled his tongue inside her mouth, soliciting desperate moans out of her. His hand traveled up her thigh, tracing her hot, silky skin. Just to distract her, he told himself. Just to feel her once… At the same time, the fingers of his other hand tangled in her hair, fisting her locks, tugging, and then undoing the ties of her mask.
“Art, don’t!” The cry left her lips before she slapped her hand over her mouth.
It was too late.
The mask slipped off, and so did her wig.
She took a shaky step back, her eyes wide.
Thorn stared at the woman who had deceived him, and he could not believe his eyes. He was staring at a ghost. But it was too dark. He could still be mistaken. After all, he could barely see the outline of her face.
He was so shocked that it took him a moment to realize what she’d said.
Art, don’t! She’d called him Art. Was it really her? He could believe neither his eyes nor ears.
“What did you say?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“I–I said don’t.” She looked away from him, retreating slowly.
“No, before that.” Thorn pursued her step for step.
She swallowed, her throat working, but no words emerging.
“Look at me,” Thorn growled.
She licked her lips and slowly raised her face to his.
Thorn stared into her eyes—those captivating eyes of hers—unwilling to believe what he was seeing. “You are—”
“I am not your fiancée,” she said quietly.
Thorn shook his head. No, she wasn’t his current fiancée, but he couldn’t have been mistaken. Yes, it was over a decade later. Her cheeks had hollowed, her eyes were harder, there were a few more lines on her face, but it was her! He would recognize her anywhere. Even in this darkened alcove. He had been looking for her for years.
“Lily,” he whispered.
Her eyes widened, a tear sliding down her cheek.
It was her. He’d finally found her.
Or rather, she was the one who’d found him . She was the one he’d exchanged the letters with.
And she wasn’t a ghost. She was real.
All this time… she was real.
Of course, it was her! Now, it all started making sense. Her words, the things she wrote, nobody else would be able to touch the strings to his heart the way that she had.
How hadn’t he realized this earlier?
Perhaps deep down, he knew. He had always known. That feeling when he read her letters, that feeling that only one person in the world had ever evoked from him.
But he couldn’t let himself believe it, because she was dead.
“Lily,” he murmured in disbelief.
“No.” She turned away, but Thorn caught her by her arms.
He didn’t dare turn her around. He didn’t dare force her to face him. Not after all these years. But she was here, and that was enough.
He stepped closer, inhaling her lovely scent. Rose blossoms…
She used to always smell like lilies. He had even gifted her bars of soap to match her name.
But underneath the smell of soap, he could recognize the scent of her.
That is the one thing that hadn’t changed, that would never change.
He wondered what had changed, though. Her body had, a little bit, her face—but that was expected. She had grown into a woman. But her kisses were just as sweet.
Where had she been all these years?
He took another step and now her back was touching his chest, her head was just under his chin. She didn’t struggle, didn’t move.
He turned her slowly, still not quite believing that she was indeed in his arms. He tipped her jaw with his fingers, so she could look at him.
Lily.
“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Did you think a silly mask and a ridiculous wig would fool me?”
“It did fool you,” she whispered back.
“Not for long. I know you. I—”
He didn’t have time to finish his thought, for the next moment, her lips were on his. She devoured him hungrily, probing his mouth with her tongue, tasting him, demanding more from him. Her hands roamed his body, leaving traces of heat behind.
Before he realized it, his waistcoat was off. She struggled with the buttons on his shirt, tugging at the fabric.
“Here, let me,” he said against her lips and undid his shirt for her. Her warm palms were instantly on his body.
God, how he’d missed this feeling.
Being touched by her was another kind of sweet torture. She slowly made her way up his sides, then pressed her palms against his chest.
Thorn groaned. His hands traveled up her back, then one hand caught her nape, his fingers fisting in her hair, drawing her closer still, so he could continue devouring her mouth while another hand squeezed her bottom, pressing her closer to him.
His groin pulsed with need, rubbing against her hot body through the layers of their clothes. He needed to feel her, more of her.
“No!” Lydia pushed at his chest and turned away as he took a step back.
His chest heaved with the force of his breaths.
“No,” she repeated again. Her lips were wet and swollen from his kisses, her hair disheveled, her cheeks rosy. She was just as caught up in passion as he was. Why stop? “No. I can’t do that,” she whispered to herself.
With another shake of her head, she turned on her heel and fled.
Thorn rushed after her but stopped cold on the threshold to the alcove. She managed to quickly disappear among the crowd.
“Lily,” he whispered. His hand immediately went to his chest.
His heart beat strongly against his ribs as his palm met his hot flesh unbarred.
The ring was gone.