41. Claire
Claire
Two heavily armored guards stood at the front gates of Duke Garrick’s estate, both of them towering and imposing. Unfortunately for them, I had already decided I was going in.
“I’m expected,” I declared when it came to my turn.
“By whom?”
I tilted my head as though he was the one being difficult. “Have you been properly informed of all of the duke’s guests this evening?”
He hesitated.
I let out a soft, long-suffering sigh.
“I did think it was odd my name might not have been passed along,” I continued, lowering my voice just enough to suggest importance. “But then again, given the nature of my association with the duke, I suppose discretion would be preferred.”
The second guard straightened slightly, his expression a mix of suspicion and curiosity. It was a delightful combination.
“I assure you,” I added, offering a small smile. “You do not want to be the one who delays me.”
There was a brief pause followed by a look passed between them.
And then, glorious victory when the tallest one stepped aside to let me in.
I swept past them with all the dignity I could muster, which would have been considerably more convincing had I not immediately caught sight of a passing tray of scones just inside the entrance.
Well.
If one was going to infiltrate a duke’s party, one might as well do so properly. By the time I reached the main hall, I had already taken two. For strategy purposes, of course.
No one looked twice at me at tonight’s masquerade, a fact I counted as a personal triumph.
Or perhaps they were simply distracted by the dress.
It was the kind of red that practically demanded an audience, clinging in all the right places and flowing where it pleased.
The fabric split high at my thigh with every step, while the neckline dipped lower than anything I’d ever dared to wear—not enough to cause a scandal, but just enough to hint at one.
Revenge, it turned out, suited me beautifully.
A black mask framed my face with a single curved feature rising from one side like a whisper of danger. It cast just enough shadow to hide me, while still allowing me to see everything.
And I intended to.
I sauntered down the hallway as though I belonged there. Heads turned. Eyes lingered. Not one person stopped me.
Good. Let them wonder who I was. Let them guess.
By the time I reached the main hall, I had already accepted a glass of something sparkling and relieved a passing servant of three biscuits. They were delicious, and I didn’t mind temporarily raising my mask to expose my chin to eat those.
For strategy purposes, of course.
And perhaps a fourth.
Revenge, I decided, was best served with butter and just a touch of honey.
The ballroom was decorated in gold and silver, with large chandeliers glittering from above. Couples swept across the marble floor in dances, and a violinist strummed on a raised platform. It was almost enough to make one forget what kind of man hosted in such a place.
I found Garrick easily, positioned to the right. He stood in conversation with a well-dressed couple, his posture effortless, his smile carefully measured. And just behind him, lingering a touch too close, was the blonde woman from earlier.
His mistress.
My plan was simple and utterly ruinous, but I had no intention of staying in Norwich anyway. Reputation meant little when weighed against her freedom. A man like Garrick didn’t fear blades; what he feared was far more delicate, and far easier to break.
His reputation.
I reached for another biscuit from a passing tray when something caught my eye.
She stood along the wall with the others, still as a shadow among shadows.
The guards were easy to spot once one knew what to look for—watchful, unmoving, positioned with purpose.
She wore dark leathers, stark against the opulence around her, and a plain white mask that did little to disguise her.
It didn’t need to.
I would have known her anywhere. By the way she held herself. By the quiet tension in her shoulders. But especially by the familiar glint of the ruby ring catching the light as her fingers shifted ever so slightly.
Ash.
My pulse quickened. I plucked two glasses of rosé from a nearby tray and made my way toward her, each step unhurried despite my racing heartbeat, as though I were simply another guest drifting through the evening.
When I reached her, I held out one of the glasses.
She didn’t look at me. Her attention remained fixed on the room, sharp as ever.
“You look like someone who appreciates an expensive distraction. Drink up—before the host notices I stole the good stuff.”
Her head turned, and her eyes met mine. Recognition sparked like flame behind the mask, cutting through whatever restraint she had been holding.
I didn’t give her time to question it. My fingers closed around her wrist.
“Come with me.”
For a heartbeat, she paused. Then she followed.
We slipped through the edges of the crowd, past velvet-draped doorways and down a quieter corridor where the music dulled into a distant echo.
My heart pounded from the electric awareness of her closeness.
I pushed open the first door I found—an empty washroom—and pulled her inside.
The door barely had time to shut before she was on me. Her hand caught my jaw, and then her mouth was on mine—hot, urgent, leaving no room for hesitation. I gasped softly against her, fingers tangling in her hair as I pulled her closer, as though the distance could be undone all at once.
And then suddenly, she pulled back. I wanted to cry when her lips left mine. Her breath was uneven, her hand still firm against my jaw as her eyes searched mine.
“What are you doing here? Claire, have you lost your mind? You’re going to get hurt. You’re supposed to be home.”
“I wasn’t going to leave you,” My voice trembled, but my eyes held her gaze. “I don’t care what it costs; I won’t walk away while you’re still here.”
Ash let out a quiet, disbelieving breath, her forehead nearly falling to mine as her composure slipped. Her eyes burned bright, wet with what threatened to become tears.
“Oh, Claire…” she murmured, voice breaking. “You’re so damn stubborn.”
I kissed her again fiercely as I leaned into her, into the solid, familiar presence of her. For a moment, the world outside that door ceased to exist.
No Garrick.
No plan.
Just us.
But then footsteps and voices drawing closer cut through the moment like a blade. We broke apart just as the door handle shifted.
I moved for the door, but Ash was faster. Her hand closed around my arm, pulling me back.
“No, Claire—you need to leave. Right now.”
I glanced down at her hand, then back up at her eyes, a slow smile tugging at my lips.
“You really think I came all this way just to leave?”
Her grip tightened.
I met her gaze with a smirk, pulling my mask down just far enough to expose the unwavering certainty on my face.
“I have a plan. One even a man like Garrick won’t be able to refuse.”