My Wicked Little Lies

by Victoria Alexander

  “Daring?”

  “Your bosoms, dear.” Evelyn nodded at the other woman’s bodice. “Another quarter of an inch and you will pass daring and slide right into tomorrow’s gossip.” She adopted a falsetto voice. “My goodness, did you see Lady Dunwell’s bosoms spring free from her gown? And at a charity event, no less. The woman has no sense of propriety.”

  “Oh dear, I hadn’t thought of that. But as you didn’t recognize me, no one else will.” She cast Evelyn a wicked smile. “I shall have to take off my mask should my bosoms escape their confines. I would hate for gossips not to have the correct information.” Beryl glanced down at her impressive display of décolletage. “Although I would think my bosoms would be recognizable to any number of people even with my mask on.”

  Evelyn stared. “You really have no sense of propriety at all, do you?”

  “I certainly hope not.” Beryl huffed. “I have put a great deal of effort into my wicked reputation, and I should hate for it to have been a waste.”

  Evelyn laughed. Good Lord, Beryl was scandalous and immoral and destined, no doubt, to come to a bad end. Still, there was something Evelyn quite liked about her. Perhaps it was because she was so unlike anyone else she knew.

  “But how did you know who I was?” Evelyn said. “I thought I was quite cleverly disguised.”

  “Ah yes, about that.” Beryl glanced from side to side although with her mask on it was difficult to tell. “I shall explain but not here.” She plucked Evelyn’s glass from her hand and passed it to a waiter, then took her arm and steered her toward the entry.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere we won’t be overheard.”

  “Why?”

  “I may not care about my reputation, but I do have concerns for yours. You are such a proper sort.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh. “And I am such a good friend.”

  Evelyn stifled a smile. “So I see.”

  “I told you I would be.” They passed through the entry to the ballroom, then Beryl paused and glanced around. “The ladies’ receiving room is down that corridor so we shall take this one instead.”

  Beryl headed down the hall, Evelyn by her side. Not at all easy given the width of their respective gowns. “Why are you being so mysterious?”

  “I’m not being mysterious, dear, I’m being cautious. It’s not nearly as much fun. And as I am, well, certainly not older but definitely wiser, I feel you would benefit from my advice.”

  “Do you?” Evelyn bit back a grin and silently thanked the department. In spite of her work for them, and any number of questionable activities, she had emerged with a public reputation which, while admittedly not spotless, was, as her mother-in-law put it, not especially blemished. Respectable enough to marry an earl. Her brows drew together. Where was he anyway?

  Beryl pushed open a closed door and peered inside the room. “This will do.”

  Evelyn followed her into a fair-sized salon, tastefully appointed for both comfort and style, but then she would expect nothing less. “I must say your secrecy has quite piqued my curiosity.”

  “Secrecy is essential when one plays these sorts of games.”

  Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “What sorts of games?”

  Beryl ignored the question and closed the door behind them. “As you know, there was a time when I had my cap set for Adrian.”

  “And?”

  “I only mention it because I do know the type of man he is. It’s of no significance really.” Beryl shrugged. “You were his choice after all.”

  “When we met ...” Evelyn chose her words with care. “Adrian said nothing that happened in our lives before then mattered.”

  Beryl stared. “Why, what a dear, sweet liar the man is.”

  “He is not.” Evelyn huffed. No matter how annoyed she might be with her husband, she did not wish to hear anyone else speak ill of him.

  “Goodness, dear, a man only says nothing in your pasts matters when he has more to hide than you do.” She studied her for a moment. “Unless I’m mistaken.”

  Evelyn’s stomach tensed. “Oh?”

  “Well, I had thought you were extremely proper and I do know Adrian worships the ground you walk on—”

  “Does he?”

  “Of course. He tried to catch you in flagrante delicto.”

  Evelyn raised a brow. “And that means he worships me?”

  “Not all husbands make the effort,” Beryl said with a casual shrug. “Only a husband who truly cares or one who views his wife as nothing more than a possession would go to the trouble of tracking down his errant—”

  “I was not errant!”

  “Wife. Adrian has never struck me as the sort who would think of his wife as something he owns.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “I told you I know the type of man your husband is. You do realize how lucky you are?”

  “Yes, I do.” Evelyn pulled her brows together. “What on earth are you trying to say?”

  “I’m trying to say that you should not follow in my footsteps.”

  Evelyn stared. “I should not what?”

  “You have far too much to lose,” Beryl said firmly.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  Beryl studied her for a long moment. “You don’t, do you?”

  “No.” Evelyn huffed. “And I thought you were going to tell me how you knew who I was.”

  “It all ties together, dear.” She paused. “Are you certain you don’t know—”

  “Would you please tell me what you are going on about,” Evelyn said sharply.

  “You really don’t know.” Astonishment sounded in Beryl’s voice. “How very interesting.”

  “Beryl,” Evelyn snapped. “Out with it.”

  “Patience, my dear friend.” Beryl grinned in a wicked manner. “Oh, this is delightful.”

  “Beryl!”

  “Very well then.” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “If you insist on taking all the fun out of it.”

  “And I do.”

  “I knew what you were wearing because you were pointed out to me.”

  “I haven’t told anyone what I was wearing tonight.” Evelyn shook her head in confusion. “Who on earth could have told you?”

  “I have no idea.” She shrugged. “He was wearing one of those white masks with the black hat and cloak. Why, you couldn’t even see his hair.” She thought for a moment. “He was tall, though.”

  “And this mysterious gentleman pointed me out to you?” Evelyn said slowly.

  “Well, he had to, of course.”

  Her breath caught. “He did?”

  “He did if he wanted me to deliver this to you.” Beryl plucked a folded note from between her breasts although where she found room to hide something out of sight was beyond Evelyn. Beryl presented the note with a flourish.

  Evelyn reached for it but Beryl pulled it back.

  “You know nothing about this or who this man might be?”

  “No.” Evelyn held out her hand. “Now, give it to me.”

  “And you are not planning an assignation with a mysterious stranger at a masked ball?”

  “Most certainly not!”

  “No one can feign that kind of indignation.” Beryl grinned and handed her the note. “I’m glad, you know. Aside from your recent difficulties, you and Adrian are very nearly the only truly happily married couple I know. Oh, certainly I can name any number of couples who are content, but you have always struck me as genuinely happy. As such, you are an example to the rest of us.” She paused. “Well, not to me but to others.” She handed Evelyn the note. “Don’t do anything to muck it up.”

  “I have no intention of mucking up anything.” Evelyn stared at the note in her hand.

  “Well?” Beryl said impatiently. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

  Evelyn turned the note over in her hand. “I’m not sure.”

  “If you’re afraid, I’ll read it.” Beryl reached for the note. “It’s bound to be intere
sting.”

  “Oh no.” Evelyn took a step back and shook her head. “I’ll read it.” She unfolded the note and knew, even before she saw the distinctive hand, who it was from.

  At long last, the time has come. Dance with me, Eve.

  “What does it say? Is it signed? Who is it from?”

  Evelyn forced a light laugh. “I do hate to disappoint you, but it’s nothing of significance. It’s not signed, but the handwriting is that of an old friend. He’s simply trying to be mysterious.”

  “An old friend?” Beryl studied her closely. “An admirer?”

  “Not at all.” She shrugged. “Simply someone I haven’t seen in, oh, forever.”

  “That’s all?”

  “He does wish a dance.”

  Beryl sucked in a sharp breath. “Evelyn Waterston, you’re lying to me. How can you lie to your dearest friend?”

  “I’m not lying,” Evelyn said firmly. Indeed, Sir could well be considered an old friend, and as she had never seen him in person, forever was not entirely inaccurate. “It is from an old friend. He does wish a dance and it’s not the least bit important.” She refolded the note and tucked it into her bodice, realizing she had far more room to hide notes than her friend did.

  “Are you going to dance with him?”

  “As I have noted any number of gentlemen in white masks and black cloaks, and it’s impossible to know which one he is ...” She shrugged. “If a gentleman so attired asks for a dance, I see no reason to refuse.”

  “Won’t Adrian mind?”

  “Not in the least.” She scoffed. “I dance with other gentlemen all the time at events like this. It is a ball, after all. Besides ...” She paused. “Adrian has yet to arrive.”

  “He isn’t here?” Surprise sounded in Beryl’s voice.

  “He was delayed. I do expect him at any minute.” Nor was that a lie. She had thought he would be here by now.

  “My, that is interesting,” Beryl murmured.

  As much as she didn’t know her dearest friend well, she did recognize that tone. “What is interesting?”

  “Adrian, who has been known to be jealous, is not yet here. And a gentleman who is completely disguised, with a mask that even muffles his voice, an old friend or so he says, has asked you to dance. And ...” She paused. “This man knew how you were dressed.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “It seems to me, a masked ball presents the perfect opportunity to test a wife’s loyalty. What if”—she paused dramatically—“your admirer is, in truth, your husband?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Evelyn scoffed. “Adrian would never do such a thing.” Besides, she knew exactly who the note was from. Still, why not allow Beryl to suspect Adrian? It was certainly easier than explaining the complete truth.

  “The same way he would never burst into a hotel room where he thought he would find you?”

  “He doesn’t like the word burst,” she said under her breath.

  “No doubt.” Beryl thought for a minute. “There’s really only one way to find out.”

  “And what way is that?”

  “Why, we shall return to the ballroom.” Beryl opened the door and waved Evelyn through. “And you shall dance with every man in a white mask and black cloak until you find your old friend or your husband.”

  “I couldn’t possibly.” Evelyn scoffed. “There must be dozens of men in that costume in the crowd.”

  “Then you have no time to waste.” Beryl started down the corridor. “Come along.”

  “You do understand that usually I wait for a gentleman to ask me to dance.”

  “Good Lord, dear.” Beryl sighed and glanced at her over her shoulder. “This is a masquerade. For the most part, no one knows who anyone else is. Anonymity makes anything possible. You can be anything you wish and tonight you are the epitome of a Venetian courtesan. A mere flick of your fan and any man in his right mind will fight for just one dance with you. You do look exceptionally fetching tonight.”

  “Yes, I do.” And if she was at last to meet Sir in person, exceptionally fetching was the very least she wanted to look. She cast her friend a smug smile that belied the emotions churning within her.

  Apprehension battled with anticipation. Once she had wanted nothing more in the world than to meet him, to speak to him, and yes, there had been a time when she had wanted more. A time when he had filled her dreams, fueled her desires. Now, the time had come. What would he be like? On one hand, she felt he was indeed an old friend that she knew well. On the other, he was no more than a shadowy figure from her past and she knew nothing about him at all. Was the unease that now lodged in the pit of her stomach fear that he would be less than she’d expected? Or did she fear he might be so much more?

  And more to the point, how would she feel when meeting him at last? Would those nearly forgotten feelings return? As much as she loved her husband, was that love enough to overcome the temptation of a man she had truly known only in her dreams? A man who now wrote of his own dreams of the two of them together?

  She drew a deep breath. She would prefer not to meet Sir at all, but it seemed she had little choice. Regardless, she was not the same woman she had been when she left the department. Then, she would have leapt at this opportunity. Then, she had no idea what love truly was. Then, she had nothing to lose. Now she knew love was the only thing in life worth fighting for. And no matter how adventurous or romantic or intriguing Sir might be, there was only one man who held her heart. Not at all adventurous and not overly romantic and very much an open book. But she loved him and she had had no doubt he loved her and would until they breathed their last.

  “There’s nothing to be done about it then,” Evelyn said more to herself than to her friend. “I shall simply have to adopt my most flirtatious manner and dance with mysterious men who are, no doubt, quite dull without their masks.”

  “Excellent.” Beryl nodded her approval. “And do keep in mind, behind your mask you can be anyone you wish.”

  “And as I can be anyone I wish tonight ...” Resolve surged through her and she lifted her chin. “I believe I shall be me.”

  Chapter 19

  What was Evie thinking?

  Adrian narrowed his eyes behind his mask and continued to observe his wife from a discreet distance, in a nearly concealed alcove, tucked along the side wall of the ballroom. Since she and Beryl had returned, Evie had done nothing but dance with one gentleman after another. Each and every one dressed in the exact same costume he wore and each and every one dancing a bit closer and holding her just a little tighter than he considered appropriate. Of course, they didn’t know who she was and she didn’t know who they were. Not that it mattered. Seeing his wife in the arms of one man after another, chatting and laughing and obviously being most flirtatious, was more than a little disconcerting. As was the fact that she was obviously looking for Sir.

  It was Beryl’s fault, no doubt. It might well have been a mistake to give her his note to deliver to Evie although it had seemed a good idea at the time. He had seen Beryl and Dunwell arrive and had recognized their carriage. Of course, even if he hadn’t, he would have still recognized Beryl regardless of any disguise. It had been a long time but he had seen those lovely breasts before. Besides, Beryl, given her own nature and the dubious fact that Evie now considered them friends, was more likely than anyone else to deliver his message without condemnation. Although she was also more than likely to encourage his wife to dance with every white-masked man in the room.

  No. If there was any fault here for anything, it lay with him. He wasn’t a man used to being wrong and he wasn’t a man to make mistakes. But recently, it seemed he had made any number of mistakes and he had indeed been wrong more often than not.

  He shouldn’t have started this, and he shouldn’t have continued it. He should never have let the idea that she married him because he was convenient fester in the back of his mind. He should never have allowed doubt to lead him to believe she would be unfaithful. He
certainly should not have let his emotions overtake his head. He should have had far more substantial evidence before—he groaned to himself—bursting into a hotel room to confront her. He should have trusted her. Even when he failed to do so, he should have begged, pleaded, groveled to keep her in their house, where she belonged.

  And he should have told her he was Sir right from the beginning. Now, he never could.

  And now, this needed to end.

  The music drew to a close and Evie took a step away from her partner. The gentleman in question might not have realized it, but to Adrian’s eyes, it seemed she did so with a subtle air of relief. Good. He made his way through the crowd toward her. He still had no idea what he would do if she proved amenable to Sir’s advances and hoped—no—prayed he would not have to find out.

  He was still several yards away when she caught sight of him and froze. As if she knew it was him. But which him, an annoying voice in the back of his head asked. He ignored it. For no more than an instant he wondered if she indeed recognized him, then discarded the notion. Beryl hadn’t recognized him and he had always thought her surprisingly perceptive. While it had been some time since he had donned any sort of disguise, he was confident tonight’s was nearly perfect. The traditional Venetian garb was designed centuries ago to provide anonymity. The mask muffled his words, but he had also adopted a change in the timbre of his voice, a feat not as easy as it had once been. And with cork wedges in his shoes, he was a good two inches taller. No, Beryl hadn’t recognized him and neither would his wife.

  He stopped in front of her and nodded a bow. “I believe this is our dance, Lady Waterston.”

  She stared up at him. “Is it?”

  The masquerade made this deception possible, but damnation, it would have been good to see her entire face.

  “It is indeed. I believe you were looking for me.”

  She laughed lightly. “And I believe you flatter yourself. Why, I don’t even know who you are.”

  He held out his hand. “Don’t you, Eve?”