Chapter Twenty
Arden stifled a yawn as he escorted his aunt up the front steps of the Benitezes’ sprawling mansion.
Hundreds of brightly colored candles covered the stairs on either side, not one flickering out despite the tempestuous wind whipping along the beach behind them.
Arden hadn’t met Horatio Benitez, the man whose birthday was being celebrated, but he assumed, from the candles alone, that the man had a gift for controlling fire.
That assumption was confirmed when two servants in bright-red-and-gold livery opened the doors for them, revealing a foyer with two grand marble staircases and a great brazier the shape and size of a giant tortoise, holding a fire with flames so high, they reached the second-floor landing.
“It is lucky that Horatio’s birthday has fallen on one of the milder nights,” his aunt said as they followed the line of other guests making their way to the ballroom. “A few years ago, the house felt like an inferno.”
“Surely Mr. Benitez could put the fires out just as easily as he lit them?” Arden asked, noting that the sconces that lined the walls were all torches rather than the new electric lights most Luster houses were fitted with.
“And miss his opportunity to show off?” His aunt snorted. “Horatio couldn’t bear that. Gods of Old, Arden, am I that much of a bore?”
Arden, caught halfway into another yawn, managed a sheepish smile. “A bore? You? Of course not, Aunt Phi. I had trouble sleeping last night.”
“Oh?” His aunt’s mouth curved into a smug grin. “Well, that I understand. Ms. Symone certainly kept me up reading far later than I ought to have been.”
In truth, Arden had been up half the night finishing the blasted book, tearing through the last fifty pages like a man possessed.
Despite his aunt warning him there was a twist, he hadn’t seen it coming either.
But even after the last page, he’d been tossing and turning for hours after, his mind insisting on replaying one particular scene where Ms. Reed and Mr. Valance found themselves caught in a rainstorm, forced to take shelter in an abandoned barn where they proceeded to make passionate love amid bales of hay.
In the book, Miss Reed was described as being uncommonly tall and as thin as her name implied with hair the color of a raven’s wing, but when Arden read that scene, he saw copper hair and freckled skin and soft curves.
He felt the slant of her mouth against his when they’d kissed the other day, the way she arched her body against him, like she couldn’t get close enough.
No, he hadn’t slept well last night at all.
The whole ordeal highlighted just how long it had been since Arden was with a woman—the last time was five years ago, with Mavis, a fact he would never tell her.
It wasn’t an intentional choice on his part, but with all the stress that came with the family’s diminishing finances and his increasingly desperate attempts to woo someone else, sex was not something that had been at the forefront of Arden’s mind these last years.
Oh, he had wants and needs, of course, but it had been easier to see to them himself, and he’d always thought about Mavis—or rather, Arabella.
When they reached the ballroom, it was so brightly lit that one could be forgiven for forgetting that night had long since fallen.
A large chandelier shaped like the sun hung from the ceiling at the center of the room, lit with more candles than Arden could count, and there were braziers burning at each corner.
Despite the chill in the air outside, the room was quite hot, and it was no surprise that most of the guests were gathered as far from the braziers as they could get, with a lucky few hovering near the open double doors that led to the terrace.
Every woman he saw had her fan out and fluttering, and an instant later, his aunt withdrew hers too.
Though he told himself he wasn’t looking for her, he found Mavis right away, his attention catching like a fish on a hook.
She wore another dress he assumed she chose to look hideous—a clash of black and daffodil yellow stripes covering a wide skirt with a matching top dominated by three comically large black bows at her neck, chest, and waist. If hideous was her goal, though, she missed the mark.
Oh, the dress itself was so garish it was surely dangerous to stare directly at it, but Mavis was as beautiful as ever.
He imagined untying those ridiculous bows the way Mr. Valance untied the ribbons of Miss Reed’s chemise in the barn, watching the dress fall away from her flushed and freckled skin, baring her to his gaze—
Arden cleared his throat, forcing his eyes and thoughts away from Mavis.
“I’ll fetch some cold drinks,” Arden told his aunt, peering around the room and tugging at the collar of his jacket, which suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.
“Cold might be too much to hope for. I’ll settle for strong.” His aunt waved at someone across the ballroom. “Oh, there’s Horatio—I’ll get greetings out of the way before this place gets any more crowded.”
“I’m not sure the heat is good for your health,” Arden said as she dropped his arm.
He expected a rebuke, but instead, his aunt smiled and pointed her fan at him. “Remember that line. If I say something wild like no, I’ve had enough champagne, say it just like that, with your brow all furrowed, and we’ll make our escape.”
Then she was off, crossing the ballroom toward a man in a bright-red suit with black hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match.
Arden made his way toward the drinks table near the terrace doors, avoiding looking in Mavis’s direction again, though with her bright gown, he felt like he was trying to avoid seeing the sun itself.
He took two glasses of champagne from the table, but when he turned to find his aunt again in the sea of people, he saw her taking a glass from a passing waiter’s tray, still deep in conversation with their host. He gave the ballroom another scan, relieved when he saw a flash of familiar golden hair.
He changed course, weaving through the crowd until he reached Oriana standing near the door in a pale-green silk gown embroidered with silver flowers.
She looked lovely, her hair twisted into an elaborate style of ringlets and plaits and her cheeks flushed a pretty pink.
Now that he knew to look for it, he didn’t miss the vague outline of a book showing in the folds of her skirt, giving away the secret pocket that she seemed to have sewn into every dress she owned.
“Miss Mayles,” he said when he approached her, bowing his head. “Would you care for some refreshment?”
He held out the second glass of champagne he’d gotten for his aunt, and she accepted it with a smile brighter than any fire Horatio Benitez could hope to summon.
“Mr. Ryskamp—how thoughtful. I’m absolutely parched.”
Arden considered telling her she looked beautiful tonight or some similar flattery, but he remembered how she’d reacted to that before—with disinterest and a hint of annoyance. That was not the way to win her over. Instead he leaned toward her and dropped his voice to a murmur.
“I see you came prepared for another night of entertainment—what is it today? Another governess in a dilapidated manor?”
Oriana’s free hand went to the book in her pocket, and her smile turned sheepish. “A knight,” she told him, matching his lowered voice. “And a wayward princess who wants one week of adventure before she’s forced to marry a priggish prince she doesn’t love.”
Arden’s smile widened. “That does sound good. Do you think it will end happily?”
“All the best stories do. Sometimes I take a peek at the last page before I start reading to make sure. If I get a whiff of a sad ending, I usually reach for something else.”
Her opinion on happy endings didn’t surprise Arden.
Despite his initial guess that Affair of the Darkest Heart would end tragically for its star-crossed lovers, it hadn’t.
Oh, there had been plenty of struggles, but the book ended with triumph and a wedding and the promise of everlasting love—at least for the main couple.
It was Miss Reed’s dearest friend who was at the heart of the suspenseful ending his aunt had grumbled about, finding herself held hostage by a grief-stricken madman who blamed her father for the death of his brother.
Still, he found himself curious about the second half of her statement.
“Does that not make things a bit predictable?” he asked. “If you know a book will end happily, the excitement is gone.”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Oriana said.
“There’s plenty of excitement in the journey still—and there are times when I do want something a bit more melancholic, of course—but it is so terribly disappointing to think one is reading a romance only to stumble headlong into a tragedy.
A bit like taking a bite of a sandwich, expecting butter and jam, only to find that it’s actually tuna fish.
There’s nothing wrong with the tuna fish, but in that context, how could it be anything other than a horrendous disappointment? ”
Arden considered that for a moment, then lifted his champagne glass toward her. “To happy endings, then.”
Oriana’s gray eyes searched his face for a moment before she smiled and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
“To happy endings.” She clinked her glass against his.
Arden took a sip of his champagne. “Speaking of books you enjoy, I heard Ms. Ariel Ann Symone is visiting Villier’s later this week—I’m going to bring my aunt to meet her, and I was wondering if you might join us.”
Oriana was quiet, occupying herself with taking a large sip of her own champagne, and Arden feared he’d overstepped again. Maybe he truly was hopeless without Mavis’s assistance.
“I’m afraid I’m busy that day,” she said finally.
Arden frowned. “I don’t believe I said the day.”
A flush stole over her cheeks. “No, but I’d already heard about it from Mr. Villier myself.”