Most, if not all, of the ton were present this evening, dressed in their finest costumes. The hall was heated with hundreds of bodies and candles, dancing and conversing alternately. Rhys eyed the large French doors that opened onto the terraces and out into the large, candlelit gardens.
“Good God, I would have thought the devil himself wouldn’t have been able to drag you out of that castle,” a familiar voice said from behind him.
Rhys turned around and reluctantly grinned. “Sinclair,” he returned. “Are you a pumpkin?”
The man had grace enough to look ashamed. His bright orange attire clashed glaringly with his overall arrogance and his sudden sheepish smile caught Rhys off-guard. “Uh… I believe so,” he explained gruffly. “The wife, you see…”
“Wife?”
Gabriel gave him a strange look. “I’m sure you were sent an invite to the nuptials,” he said tautly. “If you didn’t receive it-”
Rhys shrugged quickly. He’d told Grayson years ago to dispose of invitations the ton might send him. Honestly, he didn’t need to see correspondence he had no particular interest in… anymore. “I’m sure I received it,” he assured. “Your sister, was it?”
Rhys chuckled at the dark look Gabriel threw him. “Not by blood.”
“You were saying why you’re here as a vegetable?”
“She’s… er… a bit on the possessive side and doesn’t really approve of my sordid past, so she dresses me up in horrendous outfits to stay some of the more amorous ladies.”
“Clever girl.”
Gabriel cocked his brow dryly. “You haven’t mentioned what you’re doing here.”
“Ah. I’m not here.”
Sinclair narrowed his eyes. “Just what does that mean?”
“James Sutton is.”
“Are you being deliberately obtuse?”
“No. I don’t want word to get out that I’m here.”
“Ah. I see.”
“Good.” Pointedly, he scanned the crowd for any glimpse of a curvy brunette with a soft, inner smile. “You wouldn’t happen to know a Miss Danielle Carmichael, would you?”
It’s a good thing Rhys had his face turned towards the crowd as the expression of shocked amusement on his friend’s face would have probably planted the seed to punch him. “Danielle?” Gabriel repeated, rather dumbly Rhys thought. “She’s my wife’s best friend. They’re by the punch bowl, I believe.”
Rhys swivelled his gaze to the general direction of the aforementioned table and his eyes riveted to the woman he knew was Danielle. She was breath-taking in a gown of black and silver that clung to her ripe figure in silken ribbons. Silver, gossamer wings were sown to the back of the gown and her chocolate curls were left to trail between them to her waist. The ensemble had a swooping neckline and left much of her shoulders bare and Rhys wasn’t too shocked to note an unpleasant tang of jealousy invade his body as he spotted several admirers about her.
God, he hadn’t really expected her to have none. She had just enough attributes to draw some attention to herself although she certainly couldn’t be classified among the glamorous women Rhys had previously associated with. Danielle had her own unique charm that set her apart, that almost blinded him with wanting her.
“You’ll excuse me, of course,” Rhys told Gabriel, not even bothering to wait for his response as he waded into the crowd.
Gabriel, however, grinned wryly and began to weave his way towards his wife.
“Oh, there’s Gabriel!” Vicky murmured into Dani’s ear and gestured towards the tall man heading towards them.
Dani turned towards him and inwardly grimaced. Poor man resembled an over-ripe tangerine. Really, Victoria could be cruel.
She supposed she understood why the other woman insisted dressing him in such a humiliating manner. Just this evening, despite his horrid costume, Gabriel Sinclair was receiving a lot of attention from some of the more loose women at the ball. Victoria noticed it with a grim expression and occasionally she would disappear in the direction of one of these notorious women. Dani didn’t like to reflect what Vicky did then.
“I’ll be back shortly. I want to have a word with him about Desdemona Fitzgerald!” Vicky snarled, hitched up her skirts, and made towards Gabriel with purposeful intent.
Dani stifled a chuckle into her lemonade
“May I have this dance?”
Her spine stiffened at the sound. It was him! A smile on her face, she spun around and it wavered. Well, she couldn’t be sure exactly. She’d never seen him before and this man was wearing one of those masks that covered every inch of his face except for his mouth and chin. He was tall with dark hair that was cut short. Rhys’s hair, she recalled, remembering the night a lock had slipped forward and curled from the shadows of his hood, had been long. His eyes were… gold. Well, no, that couldn’t be quite right. A light brown, perhaps, or liquid amber. They were quite spectacular. She’d never seen such a colour before. Other than that, the only features she could discern were the strength of his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, the corded muscles in his legs… Oh, drat. She couldn’t be sure if he was Rhys. If he was, he’d surely tell her, wouldn’t he?
“Uh… I think Mr… um… the Pirate has already asked-”
Swiftly, and without hesitation, the man turned to where the Pirate stood chatting amiably to a Fool, he said, “Would you mind terribly if I steal away this treasure for a waltz?”
A look of comical display crossed over the Pirate’s handsome face but Dani could hardly protest. She found him to be a self-absorbed twit.
“Er…”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” the other man returned suavely before turning back to her, gently grabbing her arm and leading her to the dance floor where the first strings of a waltz were beginning to resound from the orchestra.
Almost effortlessly, he pulled her into his arms and began to lead her around in a series of twirls and steps. So confident and sure and graceful was he that the exertion hardly extended to her back at all. The only other dance she had that evening was an obligatory one with Gabriel and that hadn’t been too pleasant. She frowned up at him quizzically, wishing he would reveal himself to her. But if he wasn’t about to, then she would have to broach the subject.
“Do I know you?” she asked suddenly.
The corners of his mouth twitched as if he were hiding a smile. “I don’t believe you do.”
“Are you sure?” she blurted, then blushed, then hurriedly amended, “You remind me of someone I know.”
“Is he devilishly handsome with a winning smile?” For effect, he grinned, and Dani felt her legs turn to jelly.
The man could kill with a smile like that- wide, suave, decisively gorgeous, engraved into swarthy cheeks and exposing two straight lines of white teeth. They were perfect, those teeth, except for those two canines that looked rather pointy.
“I wouldn’t know,” she murmured resignedly. If this man was indeed Rhys, he’d tell her. There was no reason to hide his identity from her here. “What is your name?”
“Now, now. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Aren’t we supposed to enjoy the anonymity of each other’s company at events like these?” he teased, smiling down at her and those golden eyes glinted with admiration.
“What should I call you then?”
“Impertinent wench,” he muttered. “I suppose you could call me James.”
“I don’t know any James’s.”
“And we’ve already come to the conclusion that you don’t know me, so it is rather fitting.”
“Is that your real name?”
He laughed. “What’s your name, then? It is only fair that you impart with it as I have mine.”
Dani hesitated for a moment, gnawing on the implications of such an endeavour. It was unlikely that she’d partake in any of the more risqué fraternisations of the more adventurous side of the ton, therefore giving her name to this stranger could hardly cause her any long-standing repercussions. Shrugging mentally, she d
ecided to tell him. “Danielle Carmichael.”
For a moment, he looked surprised- as if he couldn’t quite believe that she’d willingly give him her real name. Then he grinned again and her stomach fluttered crazily. “James Sutton.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She smiled up at him.
“Trust me,” he murmured huskily, “the pleasure is mostly mine.”
“Are you ever in London, Mr Sutton?”
“No.” He glanced away for a moment. “I reside in the country. I prefer it here.”
“I do as well,” she admitted.
“Isn’t it every girl’s dream to do the Season?”
She gave him a dry look. “It grows tedious for a wallflower,” Dani told him. “You can only try to resemble the draping for so many years of your life.”
He snorted. “How old are you?” he nearly demanded.
“That’s very rude, you know,” she admonished lightly, “but I’m three and twenty.”
“Oh, well, then there’s certainly no hope left for you.”
She gasped as his boldness. He was teasing her with a familiarity that confused and… well, delighted her. There were very few people who could be so comfortable in her presence. “You’re quite insufferable,” she remarked with a crooked smile, “but very correct. I’m firmly on the shelf. In fact, I’m glued there. Quite impossible to pry me off.”
His smile was warm. “I think with enough force, someone could get you off.”
“I doubt it somehow.”
Their dance came to an end. She curtsied. He bowed. He took her arm and led her away, winding slowly through the crowd.
“You have little faith in your own abilities,” he stated.
“It’s not a matter of faith, sir, but rather that of fact. I would have been in London every year since I was sixteen had my mother not died this year. As it is I’ll be missing the Season this year. Next year I am four and twenty. By all accounts, I’m already a hopeless spinster.”
“You are far from hopeless, Miss Carmichael.”
“Are you offering for me then, Mr Sutton?” She glanced around as they were suddenly engrossed in darkness. So enamoured had she become with her escort that she hadn’t paid much attention to where he was leading her-outside apparently, onto the dimly lit terrace that was also isolated from the rest of the ball. She stopped dead. “Where are you taking me?”
“Fresh air?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re safe with me, Miss Carmichael.”
“I don’t think I should believe you,” she told him quietly.
“Probably not.”
His eyes met hers and something sweet and tangible touched her heart. Here was a man, one of the first in all her life, making her feel more of a wanted and cherished woman than she had ever felt before. If she couldn’t trust that, then she was worthy of her self-inflicted spinsterhood. Oh, she would probably regret her next actions, but something was provoking her to be rebellious and insurgent. It could be the rejection of the one man she was coming to admire, or the fact that her prospects of making a good match dwindled as each year passed, she didn’t know. But she sighed and continued to walk towards the gardens with the one man who appeared to want her.
And it felt good.
Chapter 9
Rhys changed his mind about kissing her.
It was her sudden acquiescence to his compromising her reputation that probably did it. Whatever the reason, he knew he could not bring himself to do so. If he kissed her, he wanted to kiss her as Rhys Ashcroft, not James Sutton. He was he realised, an utter fool.
“I thought we were going into the garden, Mr Sutton,” Danielle enquired when he slowed down his steps substantially.
“Maybe you were right,” he told her gruffly. “Maybe you’re not safe with me.”
She gave him an adorably puzzled look. “But you said that I was-”
“I know what I said,” he interrupted almost savagely. Cursing silently, he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. It was utterly imbecilic coming here. How could he explain to her that he didn’t want to kiss her because the thought of her kissing another man- even if it were he- left a bitter, unpleasant taste in his mouth? Oh, the notion even sounded idiotic to him in his own mind. He was mad for thinking it. He wanted her- but not as James Sutton. It had to be Rhys Ashcroft who claimed her in the most fundamental of ways. Sod it, what did he even care? It wasn’t like he even cared for the girl… much…
Anger, frustration, desire all warred within, fighting to gain control. It was astounding how little of it he actually had over his own body and suddenly he needed to prove that he didn’t care about Danielle Carmichael in the way his actions were proving to him that he did.
Growling incoherently, he yanked her against him and crushed his mouth down on hers.
She resisted like a woman possessed. A muffled shriek vibrated against his lips as she squirmed violently in his arms, thrashing against him with all the force in her small body.
Abruptly, he released her and she stumbled backwards a step, her palm landing resoundingly against his cheek.
“You said I was safe with you!” she seethed, her blues eyes flashing with a vehemence that astounded him. God, she was beautiful when she was furious.
“I lied,” he snapped succinctly. “You practically threw yourself at me.”
Her fury convalesced into affronted rage. “I did no such thing!”
“You were perfectly willing a moment ago to enter a secluded garden alone with me,” he ground out.
“Only because you told me-”
“Never trust a man, especially when he endeavours to lead you into isolated gardens at a party.”
She glared at him silently a moment. “You had no right,” she hissed. “I would never consent.”
“You were on your way to giving it,” he growled, recalling the way in which she had willingly complied with his gentle coaxing into the garden. “How else is a man to read a woman who allows a stranger to accompany them into a quiet garden?”
Her eyes widened and filled with horror. “I didn’t know,” she murmured desperately, “I would never-”
He snorted derisively. “We both know that that would have taken all but a couple of minutes and then you would have been ruined.”
Back was the effrontery and outrage, an utterly bewitching combination. “I would never have consorted with you because I… feel strongly for another!”
His heart stopped beating altogether. “Why are you out here alone with me then?” he asked raggedly.
She shrugged, making a vague gesture with her wrist. “You were here. He is not.”
“Not very loyal, are you?”
She blinked at him. “Why are you defending a man you know nothing about?” she snapped angrily. “If you must know, he does not return the sentiment. I enjoyed your attention, Mr Sutton, but I was hardly going to act inappropriately on it. I had no idea such illicit thoughts existed in your mind.”
“Illicit thoughts exist in every man’s mind should he chance to glance upon you, Miss Carmichael.”
She snorted and crossed her arms over her breasts, a stance that was decidedly offish. “Don’t be absurd. No man has ever attempted to force himself on me before.”
Deciding it best to let this subject drop, Rhys let out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll escort you back inside,” he told her gruffly. “Let me make amends for my behaviour.”
Her eyes were wide and thoughtful, a little bit sad too, as she studied him. “I think I’d like a few moments alone, Mr Sutton, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He bowed and reluctantly turned away from her. Loathe as he was to leave her to her solitude, he couldn’t very well trust himself to be alone with her for a moment longer. Like her, he too needed isolation, to mull over these new feelings and decide the best course of action to take. For so long he had been so sure of his way of life, his means of survival, and now… well… Danielle had changed all that.
&nbs
p; As soon as he re-entered the hall, his mind brooding with these thoughts, Gabriel cornered him and dragged him off to a small alcove that was separate from the rest of the masquerade.
“Are your intentions honourable?” he demanded.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Gabriel studied him intently through his mask. “Rhys,” he began warningly, “Dani isn’t like your normal-”
“Oh, for God’s sake-”
“You’ve compromised her already, haven’t you?” Gabriel accused, almost threateningly.
Slightly taken aback by this, Rhys cocked an arrogant brow and considered taunting him briefly. This was a side of Gabriel he had never been made aware of. In the past, they had both adopted a devil-may-care attitude, especially when it came to the women they consorted with. The worse sort of rakes, they had paid little heed to the reputations they demolished.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rhys told him after a moment.
“Then what are your intentions with her? She isn’t your normal taste.”
“I haven’t sampled my normal taste in over five years, Gabriel.”
“You know what I mean, Ashcroft.”
Rhys sighed. “I don’t know what my intentions are. I don’t know whether I should even have intentions about her.”
At that, all the tension between them shattered and Gabriel smiled wolfishly. “Good God, man, you’ve got a big problem on your hands,” he laughed.
“You have no idea.”
“Once you’re married-”
“You’re mad. I can’t marry her.”
Gabriel frowned slightly. “Why not?”
Rhys inwardly groaned. He hated bringing up his scars. The topic of his deformities always made him uncomfortable, wary, and uneasy. The only person to have ever seen them had been Gabriel and his reaction fuelled his desire to remain unseen and hidden away. “You know why,” he grated, gesturing at his mask briefly.
Gabriel looked confused for a moment before realisation dawned on his face. “Of course!” he murmured. “Completely forgot about those.” He grinned knowingly. “You’ll learn for yourself but Danielle’s different. She’s not they type of girl to let a few little scars bother her.”
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