by Ashley March
Yet beyond these two very real possibilities, the last reason he considered was the one which concerned him the most. She could be here for the Madonna dye.
A nd if that were the case, then he must take care to discover what she knew before the night was over, before she slipped away. The only thought that offered any consolation was that if she’d had anything to do with Woolstone’s disappearance, she wouldn’t need to be here at the masquerade. Perhaps she’d come here looking for the dye’s creator instead. Perhaps she—
Lunsford’s fingers snapped in front of his vision.
He looked to his friend, who stared at him quietly, expectantly. A lex winced.
“A pologies. You were speaking, weren’t you?”
Lunsford waved a hand. “Oh, only for the past five minutes or so. A nd you were thinking of the Lady in Diamonds, were you not?”
A lex nodded. Indeed, he was. Or rather, the woman on his mind certainly wore A lex nodded. Indeed, he was. Or rather, the woman on his mind certainly wore enough diamonds to display her ill-begotten wealth for all to see, but she wasn’t a lady at all. She was a miss. With the proper adjective, she was Miss Willa bloody Stratton, and no matter the reason why she’d come to London, this time he’d be damned if he let her get in his way.
This was the last waltz of the evening, the midnight waltz, and for the moment Willa Stratton was his again. A lex thought about shoving her away.
She shouldn’t have felt so perfect in his arms, shouldn’t have come to just the right height to put the top of her head at his shoulder. When she looked up at him, the light from the chandeliers above reflected in the blue of her eyes. If she were another woman, whom he actually admired, he would need to lower his head only a few degrees in order to touch his mouth to hers . . .
“You needn’t continue pretending,” she said. “I know who you are.” He stumbled, his foot landing on the hem of her dress and nearly sending both of them crashing to the floor.
But he successfully righted them again—her fingers digging into his shoulder and hand rather unnecessarily, he thought—and met her narrowed eyes. No, her glaring eyes.
“Why did you send the flowers?” she hissed.
For the first time ever in their brief acquaintance, A lex considered the possibility that Willa Stratton might be a bit mad. Usually a woman was pleased to receive flowers. They made her happy; it was a flattering gesture, as if comparing a woman’s appearance to that of the beautiful specimen she received.
But Willa was obviously neither happy nor flattered as he’d intended so that she would remain unguarded. He might have believed she’d become offended at the bedraggled state of the begonia, but the obvious answer presented itself immediately: Jo.
Jo had told her who he was.
Though he wasn’t certain why she would, unless she did it only to aggravate him. It wouldn’t be the first time tonight she’d taken pleasure in being contrary.
“I asked you a question, Mr. Midnight,” Willa said, her voice smothering his alias with equal parts mockery and disdain.
A lex patted his mouth as he feigned a yawn. “Hmm. If you are correct in having uncovered my identity, my Lady in Diamonds”—he could inflect his voice with arrogance and condescension, too—“then I must say that I’m entirely surprised to find that you are the one angry with me.”
“You gave me flowers when you know that they make me ill.”
“I know no such thing.”
“I told you in Italy.” A h. It hadn’t been Jo, after all. “I’m sure you remember, because you—”
“I know it’s rude to correct a woman’s assumptions, but I can promise you that I remember nothing. Your words are not such pearls that I collect each and every one as treasured mementos. However, I’m sorry if the begonia made you ill.” one as treasured mementos. However, I’m sorry if the begonia made you ill.” She glared at him. “No, you’re not.”
A lex allowed a slow, wide smile to spread over his face. “No, I am not.” She tried to tug her hand away from his, but he held it firm as they continued dancing. “It’s a shame that we have to remove our masks in a moment,” she said,
“for I don’t believe I’ll like you very much then.”
“Oh? I was under the impression that you didn’t like me very much now.” Her lips tightly pressed together. “How very true.”
“It’s just as well, I suppose, for I don’t like you, either.” A nd then, because he couldn’t resist besting her: “In fact, I happen to dislike you far more than you dislike me.”
She sniffed, and it somehow turned her entire expression into one of haughty boredom. “I believe the word you’re searching for is despise, Mr. Midnight. You despise me.”
A lex stared. “Surely you didn’t just correct the wording of my insult.” Her teeth flashed, white and gleaming, before she returned to her unwavering glare. “Shall I repeat it?”
“No, I can say it for myself. I despise you, dearest Lady in Diamonds.” Willa refused to be the first to look away. A minute or more passed. Neither spoke, and damn him, he didn’t look away, either. A s the musicians continued playing the third waltz and A lex led her about the ballroom floor, Willa had nothing to do but to memorize the color of his irises: a mahogany with depths, not so dark as to be indistinguishable from his pupils, but dark enough that the longer she gazed into them, the more she felt as if she was seeing a shadow of a shadow. She stared so long she became certain that after this evening she would never forget their color again.
How could he have known first? She’d even begun to convince herself that she’d imagined the familiarity, to believe she had simply wanted to know him better.
“How did you know it was me?” she asked. “We haven’t seen each other in three years.”
“A h, but how could I forget you, my Lady Diamonds?” He shook his head and smiled. “Or should I say—my Lady Rival?” The waltz was ending. One-two-three.
One-two-three.
She laughed, tilting her head back as if he’d said something far too amusing for her mirth to be contained. When she finished and lowered her chin, he was staring at her with his jaw locked, his eyes fixed on her lips.
She smiled. The same trick had worked on him in Italy, too.
Notes were drawn out, a long conclusion to the piece.
A s soon as the last note died they broke apart. The ballroom became hushed with expectation. Lady Winstead stepped onto the ballroom floor. A bove, on the landing, a servant rang a gong. “It is midnight, dear ladies and gentlemen,” she announced. “You may now remove your masks!”
They each hesitated, knowing that the person to remove his or her mask first They each hesitated, knowing that the person to remove his or her mask first would be the first to become vulnerable.
“Well?” he said after a moment. “Do you intend to run away, or are you going to take the mask off?”
“I never run away. I always have a strategy. Perhaps if you hadn’t underestimated me in Italy you wouldn’t have lost Contarini to me.” She smirked; he scowled. A round them, all of the other guests were removing their masks. There was much laughter and glee.
Willa tilted her head. “However, if you’re afraid to go first—”
“Of course not. I was merely trying to be polite by giving preference to the person of the lesser sex.”
“You mean fairer.”
“Hmm?”
“The fairer sex.”
He smiled indulgently. “Of course I did. My mistake.” He lifted his hands to his head. “I can see you are breathless to look upon me again. A nd since you insist—
never say I lose my manners when forced to be near you—” He drew the mask away and bowed. “Here I am, at last.”
Chapter 5
When he straightened, Willa’s heart gave a hard thump in her chest. Yes, he was there. It was him. A lex Laurie.
He might be her rival, but he was still one of the most beautiful men she’d ever met.
Beautiful?
Yes, beautiful. Masculine beauty carved into his cheekbones, chiseled into his jaw. His nose was the slightest bit crooked, as though he’d broken it once or twice, and his forehead was high. His was a face of resolve, of ruthless purpose hidden behind that casual smile. . . . He wore his own masks of expression, his civility and charm a disguise for the strength of his desires and determination.
One woman might have called him handsome, another rugged, and yet another as ordinary as a solid oak tree. But to Willa he was beautiful. She wanted to put her hands to his jaw, to run her palms across every plane and hollow, to smooth her thumbs over his eyebrows.
Instead she lifted her hands to her head to untie her mask, too.
But before she could begin, he frowned and made a little swirl with his finger in the air. “Your hair— Do you need—”
“No, it’s only an illusion.” Reaching beneath the intricate coiffure, Willa found the ends of the mask’s ribbons and untied them. She drew them forward, already feeling the weight of the gold and diamond mask lift from her skin. “Here I am, at last,” she announced, the words and the curtsy she then gave a deliberate echo of his own unmasking.
His brow lifted. “I expected you to look older. Is deception not supposed to age a person’s appearance?” Though he drawled the words, his gaze was piercing enough to poke tiny holes all along her skin.
“I suppose I shall need more practice, although a kiss does not seem very deceptive to me. A kiss, for any length or manner, is only a kiss, isn’t it?” She raised her mask again, peered at him through the space carved for her eyes. He plucked the mask away. The ribbons dangled from his fingertips, as precarious as her careful facade of nonchalance.
Willa let her gaze drift. She smiled, pretending to see someone beyond his shoulder she recognized. Looking up at him again, she shrugged. “It was business, Laurie. Nothing but business. You mustn’t take it personally.” He stared at her without responding, swinging her mask to and fro by its ribbons. Willa waited, her heart pounding. She could walk away now—he did not block her; she could easily escape from here, in the middle of this large and block her; she could easily escape from here, in the middle of this large and crowded ballroom. Even if he pulled her deep into the shadows of the massive pillars or against the wall—even if he dragged her out to the terrace—there would always be others to see them. Because of this she stayed, her breath fractured as she watched him watching her. She would never run from him.
A fter another full minute of his silence she sighed loudly, darting a glance at him through her eyelashes. Yes, he still appeared as if he’d like to strangle her.
The musicians were preparing for another set. “I’d like to thank you for the waltzes and for the pleasurable company, Mr. Laurie. Unfortunately, now that your identity is revealed, I must be away. There are other, more important matters I must attend to while I am in London.”
When she walked toward the perimeter of the ballroom, he took her hand and placed it on his arm. They strolled together, her fingers captive beneath his hold.
Only she realized too late that he was steadfastly guiding her toward the shadows which clung to the far corner of the ballroom, partially hidden by one of those massive pillars. Yes, others would be able to see them if they peered closely enough. But no one was looking. No one at all.
He stood in front of her, his shoulders eclipsing her view of the room. “I am well aware of the matters you think you seek. I am also aware that you will not find them.”
“You seem very certain of this. I would caution your habit toward overconfidence. It did not serve you well in Italy, either.” She would not be intimidated, though he leaned his body near hers. A nd he knew this; he knew she was not scared of him, just as she knew he was the type to use ruthlessness with words rather than fists. It was this understanding that caused her pulse to flutter, for there could be only one reason why he stood so near. It was the same reason why she’d decided to kiss him in Italy, when never before and never since had she used such a tactic to get what she wished. “I have been searching for matters long before you ever were, Mr. Laurie. I daresay I know much more about such matters than you do.”
“I know the name,” he said, then narrowed his eyes when she stilled. “I see that you know it, too.”
She shifted, trying to see past him, irritated that she gave so much away. If he was here at the masquerade and he knew Woolstone was the dye’s creator, could that mean—
“He’s not here.”
Her gaze lifted to his again, though not before taking a contrary detour to his mouth first. “I do not understand your presence at the masquerade. Is it truly because you wish to marry your sisters to titles? I did not think you were so fond of the aristocracy.”
His lips curled. “I hesitate to admit or deny lest you run back to Papa and tell him my plans.”
Willa felt her cheeks burn. True, most everything she’d done in the past seven years had been on behalf of her father and his company, but she was here in years had been on behalf of her father and his company, but she was here in London for herself. Luring Mr. Lunsford to her father’s company was the agreement she’d made in order to delay the wedding to Eichel. It was of no concern to her if she actually succeeded. No, she was here for the Madonna dye.
A nd this time, the competition was between Willa and A lex alone.
“There you go underestimating me again, Mr. Laurie,” she said softly. “I sincerely hoped you had learned from the last time. My father does not control everything I do. A nd you need not fear having me as competition, for I have no desire to become a pawn in marriage for my father’s alliances.” If she did, she would have been happy to take Eichel, for he was young and rich and handsome, more so even than the man standing before her.
He placed his hands on either side of shoulders, bracketing her inside his arms with her back pressing into the corner. When he spoke, his breath stirred the curls at her temples and ears. “I truly don’t care, actually. There’s only one thing that matters to me that you should know.”
For a moment before he pulled back her breath lodged in her throat. “A nd what is that?”
His eyes bore into hers, his lips mere inches away from her own. “I will finish what was begun in Italy. I am the one who will win this time, Miss Stratton.” Chapter 6
T he next day, Willa smiled across at her English companion, the lovely widow Lady Sarah Carlyle, as the carriage borrowed from Mivart’s Hotel stopped in front of the Marquess of Byrne’s house, the residence where Lady Marianna, Woolstone’s sister, lived with her parents.
“Like this?” she asked Sarah, speaking through her teeth.
Sarah leaned forward slightly, a line creased between her brows. “No, I’m afraid that’s still too much. I can see nearly the entire upper row of teeth. Try to become more subdued.”
Willa rolled her lips inward.
Sarah laughed. “No, that’s not it at all, I’m afraid. Here, cease smiling. No, don’t frown. Try a natural expression, as if you were by yourself and hadn’t a care in the world. Yes, very good. Now, think of something only slightly amusing. It’s a secret you want to keep to yourself, not to share with others. But all the same you wish them to know that you have a slightly amusing secret that you couldn’t possibly share with them, and—yes, that’s it!”
Willa let the smile freeze on her lips as she memorized the shape and feel of it.
Then she sighed. “It’s no wonder I haven’t come to England in so many years, and no wonder you left all that time ago. I never realized the English cared so much about their smiles.” The voice of the coachman soothing the horses to a standstill came as the carriage ceased moving. Willa’s smile turned sly. “Of course, after seeing so many people laughing at the masquerade last night, I can well understand the desire to keep their teeth covered when possible.” She grinned at Sarah’s choked gasp of laughter. The footman opened the door.
“Willa—”
“No need to fear, I will behave myself wi
th an immense amount of decorum.
A nd I promise to not show my teeth—not even once.” Taking the servant’s hand, she stepped out of the carriage. She threw cursory glances at the imposing Byrne town house and the black carriage sitting on the street near their own, then looked back toward Sarah. “I neglected to ask. Is Lady Marianna Woolstone’s younger sister or older?”
“What does it matter?” Sarah walked toward her as the footman closed the carriage door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door of the other carriage open.
“It may indicate how protective she wishes to be, how much information she cares to give us.” A fter Willa’s mother had died when she was fourteen, she’d become both mother and sister to her younger brother, Jeffrey. Even though he become both mother and sister to her younger brother, Jeffrey. Even though he was a grown man now, she would never cease worrying about him.
“I believe she’s younger.”
Willa nodded. “Good. That means—”
A voice at the other carriage stilled her thoughts. Willa’s head turned, her gaze searching . . .
She scowled. Or rather, on the inside she scowled. On her face she wore that slight, secretly amusing smile Sarah had taught her as she met A lex Laurie’s eyes.
He nodded a wary greeting. Willa turned. “Come,” she whispered urgently, then proceeded to rush toward the Byrne town house’s door.
She could have cursed. Somehow he must have devised the same ingenious plan: get close to Woolstone’s sister to discover if she knew of his whereabouts.
Sarah’s skirts rustled behind her as Willa climbed the steps. “Why are we— Oh, good afternoon, sir.”
“Good afternoon, madam.” He bounded up the steps beside Willa, cutting her off at the door. “Miss Stratton.”
Willa drew herself up instantly to avoid crashing into him yet again. He thought himself very clever; she was certain his eyes laughed at her before he turned his back to her. Though she nearly teetered off the edge of the top step, she managed to draw her skirts close to her legs and edge beside him. Her shoulder brushed his arm. “I believe we arrived first, Mr. Laurie. Kindly move out of the way.”
