Chapter 16 Livy
Livy
Livy couldn’t believe she was doing this.
The carriage rolled along the cobblestones, jostling her when it hit a particularly deep rut. She wrapped her wool cloak tighter around herself, the faint light from the streetlamps flickering through the seam of the curtain covering the conveyance’s window.
If you’re a good girl and do as you’re told…
Oh, she could strangle the man. Livy didn’t have a habit of planting facers, but Lord Dunmore was making a strong argument for developing one. He was so presumptuous. So arrogant. He thought to crook his finger and she would come running?
He was so stupidly correct.
Livy growled. She’d attended another ball last evening, and it had been an utter failure.
The only two men who’d agreed to dance with her…
a shiver crawled down her spine. Not good.
Not good at all. One was older than her father—and Papa had long since turned sixty.
The other had wooden teeth. Which was fine, she supposed.
She didn’t want to appear prejudiced against those who had wooden teeth.
They deserved love too. But there had been something about the way the man had looked at her, a glint in his eye, that had unease slithering over her skin.
Other than those charming gentlemen, she hadn’t danced any other sets.
The only small positive was that Warren hadn’t been present at this particular ball to witness her flounder.
Livy had noticed the company in general had consisted of…
lesser members of society. More persons in trade.
Less well-regarded aristocrats. She let out a heavy sigh.
It wasn’t the set she needed to be seen with if she wanted to impress upon Warren.
And it didn’t appear she’d even impressed on them.
They were all seeking some sort of advancement, wealth or title, or both.
Once again, it had been glaring—Livy had nothing to offer.
So here she was. Traveling to who-knew-where in the middle of the night after she’d received the summons from Lord Dunmore. The note had been on her pillow. How in creation had he managed that?
She’d slipped out of her rented rooms, Aunt Mellie none the wiser, considering she slept like the dead, and made her way down the street to where an unmarked carriage awaited, a footman standing at the ready.
Livy was sure she’d been making the biggest mistake of her life when she’d stepped foot in this carriage.
It was a huge risk. But she’d evaluated her options.
And while tonight could very well end in her ruin…
What was her alternative? She and Aunt Mellie weren’t having any success.
Warren would be married and long gone by the time Livy started digging herself out of the trenches.
If she ever managed to do that. She couldn’t do this without Dunmore’s help.
And to keep his help, she had to play his game.
Whatever his game was, she was determined to win.
Livy stepped from the carriage and glanced both ways down the dark alley.
In the moonlight, she could just make out a door to the building in front of her, but everything else was a black abyss.
Where in the fractions and figures was she?
The footmen approached the door and did some odd knocking—clearly a pattern.
Livy’s gaze narrowed. He did it again. She copied his movements on her thigh. Interesting.
The door swung open, and the servant ushered her forward. Another servant, this one dressed in navy and forest-green livery, greeted her the minute she set foot inside.
“Please follow me,” the young man said.
Livy blinked slowly as her gaze swept over the space. The outside had given the appearance of an…abandoned building? Unremarkable at best. Anything but this.
The floor was marble tiled in pale cream. Gleaming mahogany hall tables stood against pristine white wall moldings, the upper walls covered in blue silk patterned with arabesques. Gilt-framed paintings and elaborate candelabras lined the corridor.
The servant was already halfway down the hall, and Livy hurried to catch up. Goodness, this place was opulent. If she didn’t know better—granted she didn’t since she had no idea where she was—she would assume she was in a peer’s townhome in Mayfair.
They halted before a set of dark walnut double doors.
The wood was intricately carved, half of a face splayed across each door, together forming the visage of what could only be the devil, complete with curling horns and jagged teeth.
Gems glinted in the candlelight, set where its eyes should be. One blue sapphire. One green emerald.
The servant knocked twice and then entered.
Livy followed, and her mouth promptly fell open.
She gaped, a strange, choked sound coming from her throat.
A blue and green gaze locked on her, a sly smile curving the man’s lips as his gaze raked over her from where he sat behind a large gilt-covered onyx desk.
He slapped the arse of the man atop him.
Naked arse. Naked man. Oh my sugar and pies.
“We’ll resume this later, Niccolò,” the blue-and-green-eyed man murmured, gaze still locked on Livy.
The naked man—Niccolò—shrugged into a robe, though not before Livy saw quite a bit more of Niccolò’s naked golden skin.
Dear heavens. The man exited through a door on the far-right wall of the room.
A room, which appeared to be a study of sorts.
The walls were covered in gleaming ebony wood, two side walls holding floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the back wall covered in tapestries.
What have you gotten yourself into, Livy? Where in the world was she? And what had she just witnessed?
The man behind the large desk chuckled. “Never seen a man with another man before, lovely?”
She swallowed hard, her hand coming to rest over her racing heart. The man’s grin turned wolfish, eyes sharp.
“You’re curious,” he said slowly. She swallowed. She wasn’t… Was she? “Interesting. We have rooms for that here. I’d be happy to show—”
“Absolutely not.”
Livy whipped around, eyes clashing with a pair of familiar forest-green irises. Relief flew through her, some of the tension leaving her frame. She never would have guessed she’d be happy to see Lord Dunmore, but right now even his cynical grin was comforting.
“She was supposed to be brought to my private room,” Lord Dunmore gritted out. His eyes flashed, and an angry flush tinted his sharp cheekbones. “No one was to see her until she changed. I gave you specific instructions.”
“Tsk tsk, Dunmore. You’re one of the few noblemen I don’t have any secrets of. You should know better than that. I would never pass over this opportunity.”
Lord Dunmore’s nostrils flared. “You don’t need my secrets.” The look he shot the man behind the desk was full of meaning.
The man smiled wider, but there was something stiff in it. “I need everyone’s secrets, Dunmore. Friend or foe.”
“You’re impossible,” Lord Dunmore muttered. “At least you don’t know who she is. We’ll be going.” He turned toward Livy. “Follow me.”
Normally she’d protest being barked at like that. But she found she’d prefer the lesser of the two devils. She turned and hurried after Lord Dunmore’s quickly striding form.
“Ta ta,” the man called. “It was lovely meeting you, Miss Forester.”
She stiffened, and Lord Dunmore’s fists clenched. A soft chuckling was cut off with the sharp click of the double doors. Livy lengthened her stride and caught up to Lord Dunmore’s side. She discreetly glanced at him, startled when she found he was already looking at her.
“How did he know?”
Lord Dunmore’s jaw tightened. “I have a feeling after I put in my request, he had his minions following me until it led to you. Nothing gets by him.” He blew out an exasperated sigh.
“My apologies, Miss Forester. No one was supposed to know you were here. But Mr. Drake… He’s trustworthy.
I promise you that. No one will find out you’ve been here. ”
She looked ahead, biting on her cheek. They turned a corner and headed down a new hall. This one had many more doors in it. She was surprised by Lord Dunmore’s apology. By the care for her reputation. It was…intriguing.
“Where exactly is here?” she asked quietly.
He halted before a door, pushed it open, and waved her in before him. “The Devil’s Eye.”
Her brow furrowed as she spun in a circle in the new room they’d just entered. A bedroom, just as elegantly adorned as the hall—though this one appeared a bit macabre with all its dark burgundies, reds, and blacks.
“This is my private room here. The Devil’s Eye is a…gaming hell, I suppose you could say. It serves many more purposes than that. But that’s all you need to know for tonight.”
There were two more doors on the left wall.
By the size of the room and its opulence, her guess would be dressing and bathing chambers.
Her eyes fell on the mammoth piece of furniture in the center of the room.
The bed had to be as large as her bedchamber back home at Maplehurst Manor.
What on earth could someone need such a large bed for?
Lord Dunmore’s rich chuckle danced down her spine. “I needed to ensure I had a bed large enough to fit all my partners.”
She twirled back to face him, eyes wide. Apparently, she’d asked that out loud. “All your partners?”
“The more, the merrier.” He flashed a grin at her, but then it fell. “Except for with you.” He stepped forward and dropped his voice. “I want you all to myself, little mouse.”
Her brows snapped together. “I’m not a little mouse.” How insulting. “You—you skulking stoat!”
A choked laugh escaped him. “Apt you chose an animal who preys on mice, love.”
She jutted her chin out. “Do I need to re-familiarize you with my right hook, my lord?”
Those rich green irises danced back at her. “You never cease to surprise me. I have a feeling you are going to love tonight. Your garments are in the dressing room. Shall we get you into them?”
She blinked. Shall we get her into them?
A knock sounded on the door.
“No?” Lord Dunmore lifted a brow and let out a beleaguered sigh. “I suppose I’ll have to let the maid have all the fun. Well, try not to have too much fun with her. Unless I’m allowed to watch.”
Livy gawked at him. Pardon?
His sardonic smile flashed and then he turned toward the door. “A moment!”
He walked up to Livy, and she studied him curiously.
This man was difficult to read. He pushed and then pulled back.
It was like he knew the line that would make her uncomfortable, danced over it and then hurried back.
He stopped a hairsbreadth in front of her, green gaze locked on her. So. Unbelievably. Green.
Soft kid-leather dusted over her cheek, and she jumped.
She hadn’t even seen him lift his hand. His fingers trailed down, and she steeled herself.
Heavens, she was being a ninny again. Why did he have to have such pretty eyes?
Why couldn’t they be dull and brown, like manure? Nobody loved gazing at manure.
“We have to hide this pretty face of yours before anyone else sees. Can’t have anyone finding out the angelic Miss Forester frequents gaming hells.”
He abruptly spun and strode to one of the doors on the far wall and then disappeared inside.
She blew out a breath, her skin tingling where his knuckles had just been.
He reappeared a moment later, something gold dangling from his hand, glittering in the candlelight.
She squinted. A mask? She nodded. Made sense.
“You approve?”
“Of protecting my identity for whatever you have planned? Of course. Seems extremely sensible.”
He flashed a quick grin. Her breath caught, froze and crystalized, in her chest. A different grin. One that almost seemed real. His grins always promised danger. But that one had been dangerous for an altogether different reason.
He carefully settled the mask over her face, taking his time to line it up over the bridge of her nose, fingers lingering as he tied the ribbons behind her head, drifting through her hair, trailing over her scalp. His touch scalded even as she saw it for what it was. A clear attempt at seduction.
She shot him a pointed look and winged a brow.
He arched one back. A battle of the brows.
Laughter fluttered through her chest. She tried to hold it back, tried to remain unfazed, but an embarrassing wheezy snort escaped her.
Any mortification was fleeting, eclipsed by the soft, genuine amusement alive in the enigmatic irises fixed on her.
She wondered how often this sardonic man laughed. Laughed in truth.
Then he let his fingers trail down her neck to cradle her nape. Her head instantly tipped back, like he had some invisible pull in the palm of his hand. Her mouth flattened. How in the fractions did he manage that? She glared at him. And the man had the nerve to chuckle.
Then he stepped away, and cold air swirled around her. “I’ll leave you to get ready.”
He strode to the door and opened it. A maid stood in the hall; she instantly curtsied.
“Please assist my guest in getting dressed. Ring for me when she’s ready.”
“Yes, milord.”
“Ready for what?” Livy called.
Lord Dunmore paused in closing the door, gaze clashing with hers. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”