Chapter 3

Chapter Three

" F or God's sake, Edmund, would it kill you to look a little less like you're marching to your execution?"

Edmund Pemberton, the Duke of Holbrook, shot a withering glance at his companion as their carriage rattled over the cobblestones. Even behind his simple black mask, his long-time friend Daniel, the Viscount of Ravenshaw, had an irrepressible grin.

"Remind me again why I let you drag me to this circus?" Edmund growled, tugging at the high collar of his costume.

The fabric felt suffocating, much like the social obligations he'd been desperately trying to avoid since inheriting his title.

Daniel's laugh echoed in the confined space. "Because, my dear Duke, you've become a veritable hermit since returning from the war. It's high time you remembered how to enjoy yourself."

Edmund's jaw clenched, his gray eyes fixed on the passing scenery. Enjoy himself? As if he had time for such frivolities when Holbrook was teetering on the brink of financial ruin, thanks to his father's years of mismanagement.

The carriage came to a halt, and Edmund's stomach knotted with dread. Through the window, he could see the grand townhouse ablaze with light, masked figures flitting about like exotic birds. His hand tightened on his cane—a remnant of his war injury that he usually tried to ignore.

"Come now," Daniel said, his voice softening. "I only wanted to give you a proper welcome back to London. One night of revelry won't bring Holbrook to its knees."

Edmund sighed, feeling a pang of guilt at his friend's obvious concern. "Very well," he conceded. "But I reserve the right to leave the moment some scheming mama tries to foist her daughter on me."

Daniel's grin returned in full force. "Deal. Now, let's see what delights await us behind those masks!"

As they ascended the steps, Edmund couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking into enemy territory. The war might be over, but the battles he faced now were of a different sort—no less dangerous, but far more insidious.

The moment they entered the ballroom, he felt the weight of countless eyes upon him. His title might be hidden behind a mask, but there was no disguising the command in his bearing, the power in his stride. He could practically hear the whispers beginning, the speculation about his identity.

A group of young ladies nearby tittered behind their fans, their eyes gleaming with interest. One, bolder than the rest, detached herself from the group and approached.

"Good evening, Sir," she purred, her voice pitched low and sultry. "Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

Edmund's spine stiffened. This was precisely what he'd been dreading. "I believe the point of a masquerade is anonymity, Madam," he replied coolly.

The lady's smile faltered for a moment before returning, brittle and forced. "Of course. How foolish of me. Perhaps you'd prefer to let our dance do the talking?"

She extended a gloved hand, invitation clear in her eyes.

For a moment, Edmund was tempted to accept, if only to avoid causing a scene. But Daniel's words about enjoying himself rang hollow in the face of this blatant social maneuvering. What harm could one dance do?

Plenty, he realized, if it encouraged more unwanted attention.

"I'm afraid I must decline, Madam," he said, his voice polite but firm.

The lady's smile faltered for a moment before returning, more determined than before. "Oh, come now, Sir. Surely one dance won't kill you?" She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a sultry whisper. "I've been told I'm quite light on my feet… among other things."

Edmund stiffened, bristling at the implication in her tone. Did she think him so easily swayed by a pretty face and a few suggestive words? The wound Joanna had left might have scarred over, but it still ached in moments like these.

"While I'm sure you're a delightful dance partner," he replied, taking a step back, "I'm afraid I'm not in the mood for dancing this evening. If you'll excuse me."

The lady's hand shot out, grasping his arm. "But Sir, the night is still young! Surely you didn't come to a masquerade ball just to stand about? I could show you a much more… stimulating time."

Edmund gently but firmly removed her hand from his arm. "Madam, I appreciate your persistence, but my answer remains the same. I wish you a pleasant evening."

With a curt bow, he turned on his heel and strode away, ignoring the lady's huff of indignation.

Edmund scanned the room for Daniel, eager to remind his friend that this excursion was to be brief. The sooner they made an appearance and left, the better.

He had far more pressing matters to attend to than frivolous balls and unwanted flirtations.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Edmund spotted Daniel across the room. He was engaged in animated conversation with a young woman in a vibrant peacock mask. Even from a distance, Edmund could see the predatory gleam in Daniel's eyes—a look he knew all too well.

With a sigh, Edmund began making his way through the crowd. He'd warned Daniel about getting too involved tonight. The last thing either of them needed was a scandal, especially with Edmund's precarious position as the new Duke.

As he drew closer, he caught snatches of their conversation. The lady's laugh, bright and carefree, cut through the din of the ballroom.

Suddenly, Daniel's head turned, his eyes locking with Edmund's over the lady's shoulder. A hint of guilt flickered across his face before being replaced by his usual roguish grin.

"Ah, there you are!" Daniel called out. "Come, you must meet this enchanting creature. She's been regaling me with the most fascinating tales of?—"

But Edmund wasn't listening. His attention had been caught by movement near the terrace doors. Another lady, this one in a midnight blue domino, was watching the scene with obvious concern. As he observed her, she began to make her way towards Daniel and his companion, her movements speaking of barely contained anxiety.

A sense of foreboding settled in Edmund's stomach. He recognized the signs of a potential scandal brewing—the vivacious young lady, clearly out of her depth; his rake of a friend, all too eager to take advantage; and now, what appeared to be a chaperone or a companion, rushing to intervene.

With a silent curse, Edmund quickened his pace. He had to put a stop to this before it went too far. Daniel might treat life as a game, but Edmund knew all too well the consequences of reckless actions. He'd be damned if he'd let his friend ruin some poor girl's reputation for a night's amusement.

"Pardon me," he said, his voice carrying a note of warning. "I believe you promised me an introduction to certain guests. Surely you haven't forgotten?"

Daniel's face fell, recognizing the implied command in his friend's words.

"Ah, yes. How forgetful of me," Daniel turned to the lady in the elaborate peacock mask, bowing low over her hand. "I'm afraid duty calls, my dear. But perhaps we might continue our delightful conversation later?"

"I'd be most pleased, Sir," the lady gave a smile and curtsied before he stepped away.

Daniel grumbled as Edmund steered him away from the intriguing young woman. "I say, old chap, you have abominable timing. I was just about to learn the most fascinating tidbit about?—"

"Save it, Ravenshaw," Edmund cut him off, his voice low and stern. "We're here to socialize, not to cause a scandal. Now, where's Lord Weatherby?"

With a dramatic sigh, Daniel scanned the room. "There," he said, pointing to a large, portly figure near the refreshments table. "You can't miss him, even with that ridiculous mask. It's like trying to disguise an elephant with a lace handkerchief."

Edmund shot his friend a warning glance, but he couldn't entirely suppress the smile that tugged at his lips. Daniel did have a point—Lord Weatherby's substantial girth was impossible to mistake, even in the sea of masked revelers.

As they approached, Lord Weatherby turned, his jovial face lighting up with recognition despite the masks. "Ah, young Ravenshaw!" he boomed, his voice carrying over the music. "And this must be the new Duke of Holbrook. Welcome, welcome!"

Edmund bowed slightly, hiding his surprise at being so easily identified. "Lord Weatherby, it's a pleasure. I trust you're enjoying the evening?"

"Indeed, indeed!" The older man chuckled, patting his round stomach. "Though I must say, these events are more suited to you, young bucks. Now, tell me, Your Grace, how are you finding the management of Holbrook? I heard whispers that the late Duke left things in a bit of a state."

Edmund felt a flicker of annoyance at the casual mention of his father's mismanagement, but he schooled his features into a polite mask. "As a matter of fact, I'm implementing new strategies to improve efficiency and yield."

Lord Weatherby's eyes gleamed with interest. "Oh? Do tell, my boy. I've been considering introducing some changes to my own estates."

Grateful for a topic he could discuss with genuine enthusiasm, Edmund launched into an explanation of his latest agricultural innovations.

"I've been experimenting with crop rotation, my lord. By alternating clover with our usual wheat, we're seeing improved soil fertility without the need for as much expensive manure or other amendments. The clover seems to invigorate the soil in a way I don't fully understand, but the results are undeniable."

"Fascinating!" Lord Weatherby exclaimed. "And what of livestock? I've heard talk of new breeding techniques from the Continent."

As Edmund delved deeper into the intricacies of estate management, he relaxed for the first time that evening.

This, at least, was familiar territory. He might struggle with the social niceties of the ton, but when it came to the practical aspects of running a large estate, he was in his element.

"I must say," he said, turning to include Daniel in the conversation, "your insights on crop rotation are quite—" He broke off, realizing the space beside him was empty. "I beg your pardon, but did you happen to see where Lord Ravenshaw went?"

Lord Weatherby's bushy eyebrows rose above his mask. "Ravenshaw? Why, I believe I saw him slipping away some time ago, arm-in-arm with a rather fetching young lady. Peacock costume, if I'm not mistaken."

Edmund's frown deepened, a sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach. "I see. Thank you, my lord. If you'll excuse me, I should probably?—"

"Of course, of course." Weatherby chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "Can't let the young buck cause too much mischief, eh? Though between you and me, I'd say a little mischief now and then keeps a man young."

With a tight smile and a brief bow, Edmund excused himself and began scanning the crowded ballroom.

Damn Daniel and his impulsiveness!

Where could he have disappeared to with this mysterious lady in peacock feathers? Didn't he realize the risks he was taking, not just for himself, but for the young lady as well?

There, near the door to the ballroom—a flash of vibrant feathers disappearing into the shadows. Edmund's jaw clenched as he recognized the peacock mask of the young woman Daniel had been so enthralled with earlier.

He hastily made his way towards the door, his long strides eating up the distance. As he slipped out of the ballroom, he found himself in a dimly lit corridor. The sounds of the party faded, replaced by the quiet rustle of silk and the distant murmur of hushed voices.

Which way had they gone?

He paused, listening intently. To his left, he heard a burst of muffled laughter—feminine, bright, and unmistakably young. His frown deepened. The girl sounded so carefree, so unaware of the danger she was placing herself in by wandering off alone with a known rake.

Moving as quietly as his size would allow, Edmund made his way down the corridor. It branched off in several directions, each shadowy hallway looking much like the last.

He cursed under his breath. This house was a veritable maze, designed for secret trysts and clandestine meetings. How was he supposed to find them in this labyrinth?

Another laugh, closer this time, followed by the low rumble of Daniel's voice. Edmund quickened his pace, turning down a narrow side passage. The voices were clearer now, but still frustratingly elusive.

As he rounded another corner, Edmund caught a glimpse of vibrant feathers disappearing through a doorway at the far end of the hall. His heart raced. He had to reach them before things went too far, before reputations were irreparably damaged.

Adeline walked swiftly down the hall, peeking into each room she encountered.

A small parlor, empty save for moonlight streaming through gossamer curtains. A music room, the pianoforte standing silent and expectant. A library, its shelves of leather-bound books nearly tempting her to abandon her search and lose herself in their pages.

With each empty room, Adeline's anxiety grew. Where could Isabella be? And with whom? The thought of her na?ve sister alone with some rakehell of the ton made her blood run cold.

At last, she came upon a small study tucked away at the end of the hall. A sliver of light escaped from beneath the door. Heart pounding, Adeline reached for the handle.

The door swung open, revealing a figure silhouetted against the warm glow of a banked fire.

For a moment, her breath caught in her throat.

The man before her cut an impressive figure—tall, broad-shouldered, with an air of quiet authority that seemed to fill the room.

He turned at the sound of the door opening, and Adeline stared into the most striking pair of gray eyes she'd ever seen. They regarded her with surprise, then something that might have been appreciation, from behind a simple black mask.

"Who are you?" he demanded, and every instinct urged her to step back into the safety of the crowd.