Chapter 5
“Remember your purpose.” Her father pinched her elbow.
The ballroom was crammed with bodies. Thalia adjusted her mask, trying to see through it. Anna and Simon were hosting the masquerade, and it was one of the events of the Season, meaning everyone who was anyone was in attendance.
“Use my natural allure to attract potential suitors,” Thalia recited in a bored voice.
“Enough of your cheek! You and I both know that I forked out a pretty penny for this dress.”
The gown was especially extravagant, a sparkly silver that draped across her form in a way that felt somewhat revealing, despite the fact that it wasn’t more immodest than any of her other dresses.
The dressmaker had heard her father’s request, and she had delivered.
Thalia rather wished she hadn’t.
It wasn’t as though she disliked looking her best, and she knew she did, with her moon goddess costume. When she had entered the room, everyone around her gasped.
She hated that this was not for her; it was for her father’s machinations.
“I won’t endure this disappointment for much longer,” her father growled. “You will dance at least three dances with gentlemen.”
Her nostrils flared. “And if I don’t?”
“Then you can bid goodbye to your pin money. As for freedom to attend the opera? All that will end if you cannot assure me that your escapades have a purpose.”
The purpose was for her enjoyment, but that did not matter to her father.
Fortunately, as always, Anna knew the exact moment to arrive and save Thalia from committing public violence. She and Simon, dressed as a shepherd and his shepherdess—and looking very much in love—led Thalia away.
“I don’t know how you put up with him,” Anna said.
“I hardly have a chance if I am to remain in the house and home.”
“Perhaps you should consider marriage, after all.” She sent an adoring look at Simon, who returned it in kind. “There are some gentlemen who make such a sacrifice worthwhile.”
Thalia smiled at the happy couple. “If you find another Marquess of Bloomsby, then let me know, and I will be sure to jump with alacrity.”
Anna laughed, slapping her arm, and the party stopped as they came face to face with a familiar brooding figure.
Of course they did.
Thalia really should have predicted the Duke of Marrowhurst would be invited to an event like this; perhaps some part of her had known and had been excited to see him again.
Her stomach swooped at the sight of his costume for the evening.
Technically speaking, he was wearing a wolf’s mask. The painted wood sat atop his features, and he wore a gray fur costume that draped about his frame.
Thalia caught a glimpse of skin behind the wraps, and her face immediately flushed.
“Marrow!” Simon said, clapping him on the shoulder. “What a delight!”
“You invited me,” the Duke said dryly.
“But you never used to accept my invitations.”
“That’s because before they were sent by your mother, not your wife.” The Duke bowed to Anna. “A pleasure, Lady Bloomsby.”
“We are coming to see each other far more often, Your Grace,” Anna said, dipping in a slight curtsy. “And, of course, you recall my friend, Lady Thalia.”
The Duke glanced in her direction. “She is hard to forget.”
Even his eyes were dark, like a wolf’s. His arms were bare, and her mouth went dry at the sight of bulging muscles.
Heavens above, he has more muscles than Michelangelo’s David.
To escape the flush that spread up her cheeks, she turned away from the Duke and searched the crowd for someone who might ease the tension.
Naturally, the first person that she caught sight of was Elliot, largely because she knew the Duke disliked Elliot, so she beckoned him over.
“Mr. Calloway,” she said, her smile as coquettish as she could make it.
He was dressed like the sun, wearing gold so blinding she almost squinted. It was just like him to be so overtly theatrical.
The Duke gave a stiff bow and led Miss Parsons away.
Success!
So why did it feel like such a hollow victory?
Maxwell did his best to focus on Lydia, who was smiling at this newest gentleman who came to investigate the new debutante on the scene.
He eyed the man up and down. Well-dressed, although he had a bit of a smirk that did not endear him to Maxwell.
And although he treated Lydia with every deference, Maxwell suspected it was because he had heard rumors of Lydia’s dowry—true rumors. Maxwell had been determined to help his niece out as far as possible, and he had given her a very satisfactory dowry.
Unfortunately, it also had the unwanted effect of attracting every fortune-hunter in the city.
The gentleman glanced at him, and his smirk slid away. He paled a little, stuttered something vague, and nearly scuttled away.
Coward.
Evidently, he didn’t like Lydia that much.
“Maxwell.” Lydia laid a hand on his arm. “You’re glowering again.”
“I’m not,” he said, the words a knee-jerk reaction. “I never glower in public.”
She sighed. “I am grateful for all the things you do for me, and the way you protect me, but you are also being a little… cold to the gentlemen who come by to chat.”
“Cold?”
“Yes, Maxwell. You scowl at every gentleman who dares approach me, say no more than two words together, and glower at them until they finally leave again.”
She smiled up at him winningly, and in her face, he saw a ghost of his brother, always so easy and charming in a way Maxwell had never found himself able to be.
“That man wanted nothing more than your dowry, Lydia,” he said. “If I am scowling, then it’s only because I want to look out for you.”
“I know that, but don’t you think I can make my own decisions?”
At seventeen, he very much did not. At seventeen, he had been a fool. Lydia liked to think she was worldly and wise, but she had seen very little of the world; if a gentleman wanted to take advantage of her, he probably could.
Of course, he could say none of this.
Simon approached from the side, grinning down at Lydia. “Well then, how are you enjoying your first masquerade?”
Lydia, dressed as Aphrodite—at the advice of her mother and not at Maxwell’s recommendation—beamed in positive delight. “I am enjoying it very much, my lord.”
“Excellent. May I steal the Duke from you for a moment? I promise to deliver him back to you safe and sound.”
If anything, Lydia looked more pleased at this turn of events. “Of course! You may have him as long as you like, so long as you return him unharmed.”
“You have my word, Miss Parsons.” He bowed at her, then at Joyce, who had been watching the proceedings with a stern expression. “Lady Rivenhall.”
She inclined her head, and before Maxwell could say anything, Simon whisked him away.
“Sorry, old chap,” he said as he picked up a glass of wine and handed Maxwell one. “I couldn’t bear to see you stand there and scowl off every prospective suitor for that girl.”
Maxwell grimaced. “Why does everyone say I scowl?”
“Never mind that. You are going to have to let her choose her own mistakes. You can advise her, but allow her to have fun sometimes.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Maxwell spotted Thalia, her head tipped back as she laughed at something Mr. Calloway said. The line of her throat was elegant, almost erotic, and the sound of her laughter reached him where he stood.
She had never laughed like that in his presence. There was an unpleasant feeling in his chest. Although he had disliked Calloway since almost the first moment of their meeting, he had never before wanted to do the man pain.
And yet now all he could think was how satisfying it would be to face Calloway in the ring. That would barely be a fight; he would prevail, and the natural order of things would be reestablished.
“Are you listening to me?” Simon demanded.
“Mm? You were telling me how to manage my own business.”
“I was telling you about how to manage your niece. What experience do you have with young girls, Max? Because, my word, you appear to have none.” Simon followed Maxwell’s gaze to Thalia, and his mouth curled in a knowing smile. “Or perhaps you are distracted? By something you want and cannot have?”
“Not in the least, I assure you.”
“Oh, naturally, naturally.” Simon paused and leaned closer. “She is rather lovely, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She and my wife are good friends, you know. And you could do a hell of a lot worse. The only thing is she’s got a mind of her own. You’d have to handle her.”
“I have no intention of handling anyone,” Maxwell said stiffly, but the words sent a tingle down his spine.
Oh, perhaps not her everyday life, but he could think of some ways he would like to manage Thalia.
“So you say,” Simon said, grinning.
The quartet began to play, signaling the beginning of the first dance, and Simon immediately left in search of his wife.
Maxwell sighed, glancing around for Lydia and Joyce.
Lydia was, naturally, being led to the middle of the ballroom by a young man who looked barely old enough to have left the schoolroom, and Joyce was standing on her own, a glass of lemonade in her hands.
On the other side of the room, the crowd shifted enough for him to see Elliot hold out his hand and for Thalia to take it, smiling up at him.
Enough of that.
Abruptly irritated, he moved to where Joyce was standing and extended his own hand. “Dance with me, my lady?”
“How charming,” she said with a droll smile, but she accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her into the dance.
By some machination, or perhaps luck, he landed in the same foursome as Thalia and Calloway.
She barely seemed to notice him, laughing at something Calloway said.
Joyce’s brows slashed down her face when she saw which lady she had ended up beside, but Maxwell didn’t give a shake of a lamb’s tail what she thought about Thalia or the situation.
They had never been romantically involved, and he knew she had no aspirations in his direction. Even if it were not for his late brother, their characters were so very different; even coexisting took mutual work to stay civil and at least with the appearance of good friends.
The dance began, and he twirled first Joyce, then Thalia. She looked almost surprised to see him, her small, gloved hand sliding into his hesitantly. Her large brown eyes rose to his, and for once, he did not see overt defiance in their depths.
All he could see, instead, was… curiosity.
Heat prickled over his skin. He wanted to pick her up and whisk her away and then do unmentionable things to her.
He wanted her to beg.
It would be so very satisfying if she would beg for him. Proud Thalia, who tilted her chin whenever she looked at him, who never stooped to ask him for anything, would beg for his hands on her.
Focus, man.
The dance changed, and he stood opposite Joyce once more. Thalia and Calloway came together, and Maxwell watched them like a hawk, to see if she looked at the other man the way she had looked at him, but he could see nothing but friendliness in her face.
Calloway was older; could it be that they were nothing more than friends?
He and Thalia came together again, and he clasped her hand a fraction tighter than necessary.
“A moon and a wolf,” he said. “It’s as though we planned this in advance.”
Her chin tipped the way it did when she was feeling especially defiant. “I doubt anyone will think anything. We are not perfectly matched.”
“Did I say we were?” He eased her a little closer to his body, and her breathing hitched. “But to outsiders, it may look as though we aspire to be.”
“At least we know better.”
“At least,” he repeated.
Her eyes locked on his, and it seemed as though she didn’t know whether to remain by his side or sprint for her life.
“Lady Thalia,” he began, but the dance changed again, and he found Joyce in his arms.
“You seem especially captivated by the girl,” Joyce said, a smile curving her lips, though her eyes remained hard. “I’m starting to wonder if you ought to have followed through and married her.”
“I have no intention of marrying anyone,” he said evenly.
She placed one gloved hand on his arm, leaning in a little. “No? You are making people wonder what might be going on between the two of you. Oh, don’t look at me like that. One mustn’t shoot the messenger, you know.”
Elsewhere, further down the line, Lydia laughed. He was here for her, not himself, and it was hardly as though he aspired toward winning Thalia’s hand in marriage.
He had no desire to marry her. Or anyone.
Especially not her. She tempted him altogether too much. That audacious head-tilt made him want to compel her to surrender, and that was an inappropriate mindset.
He said nothing more to Thalia when they met in the dance, and neither did she, though a blush stained her cheeks periodically.
Then, as soon as the dance ended, she practically fled from the floor, putting as much distance between them as was physically possible.