by Stacy Reid
With the wig borrowed from her mother’s chamber covering her golden hair, she was not recognizable. She took a deep breath and turned to face Charlotte. “I made this decision two days ago, but I am just finding the courage to act on it, Charlotte. I must see Luca—the duke or I will forever live with this wealth of doubt, pain, and anger inside. I doubt you will understand, but that is all right. I expect no one will understand what I am feeling. But I do ask you to keep my confidence.”
“You cannot head to his residence alone,” Charlotte breathed in shock. “You court complete ruination.”
Constance frowned. “I am already ruined in society’s eyes, and I will not let my actions be dictated by them. Besides, you are forgetting I am in masquerade.”
The silence in the chamber was pronounced.
“Connie…”
“I will be fine, Char. Mother and father are sleeping, and I will be going through the back entrance. When I made the decision to leave, I ordered the carriage to be ready. I have also ensured the crest will be covered. Do not wait up for me. I will be back in a few hours.”
“I think not. I am coming with you.”
“Char—”
Charlotte raised her hand to halt Constance’s speech. “That is the only way I am letting you out of here without raising a ruckus. Allow me to get my domino and mask, and we will be off.”
“I am heading to his club, not his town house,” Constance confessed.
“I suspected as much,” Charlotte replied, before sweeping out of the chamber.
Constance felt a deep sense of relief curling through her. Though she had been sure of what she had to do, she had felt trepidation about her chosen path. The support of Charlotte meant everything, and Constance would tell her so.
The clock struck midnight as they crept down the back stairs, careful to be quiet. They exited to the back gardens and walked with swift steps to where the carriage waited. Her heart thundered, and she prayed she was not making another foolish decision as Charlotte feared. A decision that would complete the breaking of Constance’s heart. But she needed to understand. If only to rout Lucan from her heart, a place she feared he had already been deeply embedded.
Chapter Eleven
Constance walked up to the most luxurious gaming club in all of London as if it were a normal occurrence to do so and knocked. A man who seemed to be the majordomo opened the door. He was dressed in a black evening coat, snowy white undershirt, and white bow tie, with his hair slicked back without a strand out of place. He would have looked elegant and dashing if not for the cold, hard expression on his face.
He raised a brow and ran an insolent gaze over her length. His regard switched to Charlotte and a quick frown chased his features.
“I… We…” Constance bit her lips hard wondering if she should simply say the secret word.
“Your rings?” he asked in a silted voice, his question encompassing her and Charlotte.
Constance swallowed and prayed Lucan had not been jesting. “Revenant.”
The man stiffened, peered at her for a few long seconds, and then sketched a deep bow. “Lord Ainsley, at your service. This way ladies,” he said after taking their coats and dominos and handing it to another man.
The Earl of Ainsley? She wanted to question why he had been the one to open the club door, but she kept her nose firmly to herself. He prowled ahead of them at a leisurely pace. Charlotte adjusted her mask and glanced at Constance. She lifted her chin and walked after the man. They traveled through a long hall, passed several doors, and Constance could hear the din of laughter filtering to the hall. They came upon a massive door, which swung open without the man even knocking. He waved them through, and Constance stepped into the sheer opulence of a grand ballroom. She grounded to a halt and Charlotte almost ran into her.
Three floors rose in stunning splendor. The ceiling was made of stained-glass panels and dozens of glittering chandeliers hung suspended, their lights dancing off the hundreds of men and women in their finery. The masks of the patrons glittered, some fanciful, some exquisitely designed, and some darkly fashioned into looks of darkness and decadence. Couples embraced publicly in several corners on chaise lounges, and those who danced were certainly closer than what was appropriate. Constance swallowed as she saw a man and woman kissing in the most scandalous fashion for all to see. She became painfully aware how much young ladies of society were sheltered. Suddenly her corset felt too tight and fear wafted through her. She was out of her league.
But she had to admit the place was magnificent. The décor consisted of dark, rich paneled woods, peach and silver velvet drapes lined the walls, and the luxurious orient carpet that covered the floors and the staircase was the richest and most beautiful she had ever seen. The walls were lined with massive gilded columns that were swathed in cloths with oriental colors so vibrant they seemed exotic. Raucous laughter and conversation spilled down the stairs and Constance stared in awe at the dozens of glasses layered on each other in a fountain floating with golden liquid.
“What is it?”
“Champagne,” the earl responded.
A fountain of champagne? The very notion was simply…decadent. “Is this why Mondvale is referred to as the Lord of Sin?” the question spilled out before she could stop herself.
Lord Ainsley glanced at her almost bemusedly. “If you are asking me if Lucan’s moniker was given because he dazzled society with a fountain of champagne you should not be here, Lady Constance. You are ignorant of what is considered sinful.”
Charlotte gasped and Constance froze. How did he know it was her? “I…”
A fleeting smile touched his lips. “Relax, your secret is safe with me. I will have someone attend to you.”
Before she could speak, he melted away into the crowd.
“Oh my goodness, Connie, he knew who you were. I think we need to leave immediately.”
“He said we were safe.”
Charlotte gaped at her. “And you believed him?”
A loud shriek drew Constance’s gaze to a lady slapping a man kissing the globes of her breasts. Constance remembered Lucan had said he catered to Society’s finest. The stunning hypocrisy of everything had a surge of rage firing in her veins. Here they chortled, tossed the dice, danced the most scandalous dances, and they were members of the haute monde. But they felt protected behind their masks. Actions they would judge other people for, cut them for, refused to speak with them for, they were here indulging in liberally. The hypocrites.
A man appeared at their side as if by magic with two glasses of champagne. “What will be your pleasures this evening, madams? The dancers will soon be out in the smaller ballroom if you would like to observe. We have several card parties tonight. Games of Baccarat, poker, Hazard, roulette, Vingt et un, and Faro running in the game rooms, or if you would like to have dinner—”
“I would like to see the Duke of Mondvale,” she interrupted him curtly.
“Very well, this way, Madame.”
They walked around the crush of people to a slim foyer that ran almost parallel to the ballroom. Constance could not help ogling the magnificence of the place. They entered what appeared to be the smaller ballroom, and she slowly blinked. Everyone there was dressed in elaborate costumes and wore masks. It had been a stab in the dark on her part to appear incognito. Never had it occurred to her that everyone else would be similarly attired.
He led them to a chaise near the refreshment table. “I will inform His Grace you are here.”
“Thank you.”
“Whom may I tell His Grace is requesting his presence?”
She inhaled to steady her nerves. “Please inform him that Miss Desiree Hastings is here, and will not leave until she has an audience.”
He sketched another small bow and melted away.
Constance was surprised at how quiet the crowd was as if they waited for something to start. She strained to see where they were all looking. The crowd then roared in approval and her lips parted in as
tonishment as scantily dressed women twirled out in perfect synchronization onto a space made for them on the ballroom floor.
“My goodness!” Charlotte exclaimed.
Constance thought they were beautiful as they launched into a vigorous dance, their legs kicking scandalously high in such perfect unison. With an unwilling fascination she could not control, she rose to her feet and strolled closer for a better view. Her breath caught. She could see the ladies garters, black stockings, and drawers as they kicked and twirled their long red shirts. She gasped as the dancers struck several provocative poses and then bent over, throwing their skirts over their backs, showing their rear end to the cheering audience.
She was certainly standing in a den of sin and decadence, and she was about to have a private audience with the man who lorded over it.
She was definitely out of her element.
…
Lucan still could not credit that Constance was in his club. When Thomas had informed Lucan that a Miss Desiree Hastings was here to see him he had stuttered. His factotum in turn had been intrigued that a woman had rendered Lucan to such a state.
Not even a few seconds had passed when Ainsley strolled into the office.
“Lady Constance—”
“Thomas informed me,” Lucan snapped.
Ainsley smiled. “You need to get down there soon. The lady is oblivious, but I have seen more than a few curious looks aimed her way, hungry looks,” he drawled.
Ignoring him, Lucan left his office with the firm intention of escorting her away from the premises.
“I have told Thomas to escort her to the smaller ballroom,” Ainsley said behind him, laughter rife in his tone.
Their private apartments and offices were on the third floor of the building, so it would take Lucan a few minutes to reach her. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he forced himself to walk down the halls at a measured pace. It would not do for anyone to see him running, especially one of his interfering friends.
He descended to the second floor and walked along the hallway to the door leading to the smaller ballroom. He entered and scanned the crowd from the balcony looking for her unique blond hair. The reckless fool probably did not even realize how recognizable she was. The highest echelons of society were members of Decadence. All of his patrons were gentry mixed with the haute monde. She could be recognized by anyone.
The idea of her being at the club rattled him. Whatever distance he placed between them while he plotted to bring down Calydon was necessary. For Constance made him yearn for the impossible, to put aside his vengeance and pursue a life with her. She was proving to be his most dangerous opponent yet. No other had ever made him doubt his chosen path as she did now. Not even his closest friends had the power to sway him with their arguments. But she had the capability to do so with a mere stare. And she was here.
Lucan stood transfixed when he identified her. She wore an icy blue gown cut to showcase her exquisite charms. He would recognize her shape anywhere, the sharp but feminine shape of her face, and sensually curved lips. She had been ingenious enough to don a vivid red wig that complemented her creamy skin tone in the most alluring manner. The eye mask she also wore served to disguise her even further. If he had not been intimately acquainted with her, he would not have known he was looking at Lady Constance. Not so foolish after all, but still reckless.
A slow appreciative whistle came from his left, and Marcus came up beside him. Lucan gritted his teeth in annoyance for his friend seemed as equally transfixed.
“Who is she?”
“Out of bounds,” Lucan said flatly. He could feel Marcus’s astonishment. It was unlike Lucan to be possessive of any female.
Marcus’ gaze slashed back to her. “My God, is that Lady Constance? I have heard about her charms from Ainsley and the Reverend, but I thought they exaggerated.”
At Lucan’s silence Marcus chuckled. “It is, isn’t it? I had heard the lady to be blond. But from the way your hands are digging into the railings—”
“It is her,” Lucan said cutting off Marcus’ taunting.
Lucan forcibly relaxed his hand and released the balcony railing.
“Fearless little thing isn’t she?”
“I think you mean reckless,” Lucan growled.
Marcus glanced at him in apparent bemusement. “I think her presence here tonight is all you need to draw Calydon into a deeper trap of your making. Yet you seem angry with her.” He continued in his taunting drawl, “Curious indeed. I am beginning to think the Reverend is correct in his assertions. You need to marry the lady.”
Lucan narrowed his gaze, taking in her fascination with the women dancing the can-can. Someone moved to stand beside her, and he recognized Lady Ralston from her posture alone. Both of them were oblivious to the various stares directed their way. All from men, and from the hunger in their regard, he knew without a doubt what they were thinking.
“Damn it!” he was thoroughly annoyed with both women. The risk they took amazed him.
“And who is that?” Marcus asked. His gazed directed solely on Constance’s companion.
“Lady Ralston.”
“Is she off bounds as well?”
“No, but tread carefully. The lady is too fragile for your attentions. I can assure you she is not here for any dalliance.”
Marcus frowned. “Fragile?”
“Her husband was not the most pleasant fellow.”
Marcus stiffened. “I forgot you have a dossier on almost everyone in contact with Lady Constance. So the lady is married.”
Lucan threw a curious look at Marcus. He sounded disappointed. Too disappointed. Lady Ralston was a fetching young lady. Her dark hair was cropped into short riotous curls, and without a mane of hair distracting an observer, one could easily immerse themselves in the prettiness of her pixie features. But it was her turquoise eyes that were her most stunning feature.
“Widowed,” Lucan imparted. “She married at seventeen to the Earl of Ralston and was widowed two years later. It has been two years since he passed, and the lady has not shown favor to anyone. She has been hounded by a few to become their mistress, a notable attempt was made by the Viscount of Morley, but the lady declined all offers. Instead she chose to work as a ladies companion, despite the amount of debt the late earl left.”
“What are you going to do in relation to Lady Constance? It is evident the lady did not agree with whatever you said to her in the gardens,” Marcus said after a few quiet moments.
“It seems I need to be more brutal,” Lucan mused.
Without waiting for Marcus’s reply, Lucan descended the stairs and headed toward Constance. He did not trust the curl of anticipation that traveled inside of him. He hoped he had the strength to turn her away and not succumb to the raging lust that leapt to life inside of him the moment he had been told she was in his club. If he took her, he would ruin her further when he now wanted her protected. For though the Reverend and Ainsley encouraged him, he would never marry her, no matter how tempting the thought.
Chapter Twelve
Constance felt Lucan before she saw him. She glanced up and spied him prowling toward her. He was exquisitely dressed in black trousers and a pristine white shirt that emphasized the broad width of his shoulders, and a black tailcoat cut to fit his frame superbly. The only dash of color was his dark toned silver waistcoat. She guarded herself against the pleasure tingling through her. The man who walked toward her was coolly distant, and no sign of welcome or even pleasure at seeing her showed on his face.
“Why are you here?” he demanded upon reaching her.
She bit back her instinctive angry retort. “I would like to see you in private,” she said firmly. “I risked much to speak with you, and I would welcome an audience with you.”
His eyes hardened, and she tried not to fidget. She must appear resolute and unflappable.
“Welcome to Decadence, Miss Hastings, I am Marcus Stone. Please allow me to entertain your companion while you confer with Hi
s Grace in private,” the man who had walked up beside Lucan drawled smoothly. Mr. Stone was a handsome sort, but in a rough way. His dark brown hair was long enough to be tied in a queue, and his pale blue eyes seemed to laugh at her.
Lucan’s lips flattened and the glare he directed at Mr. Stone shriveled her inside, even though it was not aimed at her. Mr. Stone only smiled and held his arm out to Charlotte. Constance heard Charlotte’s soft indrawn breath, but she laid her hand on his sleeve. Constance glanced at Charlotte and was surprised to see a blush on her cheeks.
“I…thank you, Mr. Stone,” Constance replied, unsure of what else to say.
He inclined his head and walked away with Charlotte, who looked over her shoulder and mouthed for Constance to be careful. Constance nodded in confirmation and gave her a reassuring smile.
She glanced at Lucan to see him watching Mr. Stone and Charlotte with a neutral mien.
“Will she be safe with Mr. Stone?”
Cold silver eyes looked down on her. “Lady Ralston is a widow. I am sure she knew what Mr. Stone wanted when he led her away.”
She gaped at him. “Are you saying he has designs on Charlotte?” Constance squeaked, wondering if that was what she had seen on the man’s face while he looked at her friend. His regard had been unsettling.
“She is in capable hands,” he said flatly.
Constance considered his closed expression for a few seconds. “Will we go somewhere to converse?”
He stared at her for the longest while without responding and nervousness shivered inside of her.
“Follow me,” he clipped.
She released the pent up breath she had been holding and walked beside him. It had been a gamble that he would accede to her demand. She had fully expected him to put up a greater fight and possibly drag her outside to her waiting carriage. Without speaking, he ascended the stairs that led from the room. After climbing a second flight of carpeted stairs, the din of everything droned away, and she could hear nothing from the hallway along which they walked. Then he opened an oak door and she entered what looked like a library.