Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

" H as the list of attendees been finalized yet?"

The sound of heavy papers rustled behind Gideon before a gravelly voice spoke up. "Yes, Your Grace. All invitations sent have been responded to. Everyone will be in attendance as per usual. They are all very eager."

Those words made Gideon smile a little. He didn't bother to turn around, enjoying the evening breeze wafting through his study window. His fingers traced idly along the edges of a white mask, giving him an odd sense of comfort.

"And I take it all the preparations are finished?"

"Yes…" The gravelly voice trailed off and Gideon stilled, turning his head slightly in waiting. "Almost everything."

Gideon didn't respond right away. He let heavy silence seep into the study, so thick that he could almost smell the sweaty apprehension emanating from his butler. Slowly, he turned to face him, taking in the thin elderly man with cold hazel eyes.

To his credit, Thomas held his composure. Gideon remembered a time when this wiry old man had been the closest thing to a father figure—but that was during a time when Gideon did not know the power he possessed. Now that he stood in the position of duke, he was all too aware of the disparity between the two of them. And clearly, Thomas knew it as well. The butler who would once smile and sneak him treats as a child, now tried his best to bravely meet Gideon's eyes.

It was not a sight Gideon enjoyed. So he sighed and softened his features, hoping that it would put the man at ease. Though he would make no such effort with the other servants, Thomas was different and he could at least show him some grace.

"What is causing the delay?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"Not all the refreshments have yet been brewed, Your Grace," Thomas answered, maintaining his composure. "As the guest list was added to this year, it has been difficult to keep up with—" he replied before interrupting himself, "I will speak with the cook to ensure that they are ready before the commencement of the ball."

Gideon nodded. He did not appreciate excuses, and his butler understood that. "We still have the hour, will it be enough time?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Thomas answered instantly.

"Then there is no cause for worry." Gideon's features relaxed again as he grinned. He had no patience for uncertainties too.

Satisfied with that response, Gideon faced the window again, continuing to stroke the white mask. "You are too tense, Thomas," he drawled. "Relax. It is a wonderful evening, the end of yet another perfect Season."

"Once more, you have outdone yourself, Your Grace."

"You flatter me," Gideon chuckled. "But it is yet another duty of mine to ensure that the Terrell name is always spoken with the utmost honor and respect."

"As it will be for generations to come, Your Grace."

"Of course, of course." Gideon could not allow anything but. He'd had enough of his family name being dragged through the mud. After all the time and energy he had put into bringing the Terrell name and the dukedom back to a place of honor, he would be damned if a slight mishap at the most anticipated ball of the Season were to ruin everything.

Which is why everything must go perfectly.

"Ah, that reminds me." He picked up the mask, idly wandering over to the front of his desk where he perched on the edge. Wherever he went, the mask did too. It was an extension of himself, a piece of him that he could not be without. "Mademoiselle Dubois has sent her acceptance to my letter, has she not?"

Thomas nodded. He'd hardly moved from his spot by the door, gripping sheets behind his back. "She has, Your Grace."

"Marvelous." Unable to help himself, a devilish smile stretched across Gideon's face. "Then I take it you have already put our other plan in place."

Thomas hesitated for such a brief moment that it almost went unnoticed by Gideon—almost. "Upon her arrival, a footman will escort her through the parlor to the ballroom. When the time is right, she will be informed of your request to meet with her, where she will then be taken back to the parlor and led up the back staircase to the balcony."

"And the balcony doors?"

"—will be locked from the inside so that no one will be able to go through. A footman will stay nearby to ensure that no one makes the attempt."

Though he was satisfied by how thoroughly Thomas had broken down the plan, Gideon raised a brow at him. "You do not sound pleased, Thomas."

"It is not for me to be pleased… or not, Your Grace."

"Oh, enough of that. You have known me since I was a child. You know I value your opinion. Now, out with it. What bothers you?"

Thomas opened his mouth again and Gideon prepared himself to hear his standard response. But instead, he said, "I do not think it is the best idea to meet with the Comtesse, Your Grace. She is the widow of the Count of Palouse. It would do nothing but destroy the reputation you've worked so hard to build if the two of you are caught. Worse, if it is revealed that you are the Masked—"

"Which is why we won't be caught," Gideon interrupted confidently. "I know I have never personally invited a lady to spend time with me during a ball, but I have corresponded with the Comtesse in the past. And I have planned everything to perfection. You said it yourself, Thomas. She is a widow. We break no laws by seeing each other."

"What of the Countess of Blair? She will also be attending the ball."

"Lady Blair and I have respectfully broken off our courtship ," Gideon said dismissively. "And she will not know what—or rather who—I have taken interest in."

"But perhaps it would be best not to engage in such activities during the ball, Your Grace, when it is so crowded. You have always ensured to never allow your public life as the Duke of Stanhope to clash with your private life…"

Gideon smirked a little at that. He looked down at the mask in his hand, wondering if Thomas was referring to his secret life as the Masked Rogue. It certainly would not do if someone were to find out that he was the one who bore the name. However…

"We won't be caught, Thomas, don't worry. I am confident. And Mademoiselle Dubois is smart enough not to speak about the time we share together. It is in both of our best interests."

Thomas released a low breath. "Very well, Your Grace. I suppose I cannot convince you."

"And there is no need to." Gideon grinned. "I have been hiding my endeavors from the ton ever since I inherited the dukedom. They will be none the wiser. I've learned over the years that they are oftentimes quite content to see exactly what you put before them and nothing else."

"Understood, Your Grace."

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Gideon called for the person to enter and a footman slipped in, hardly glancing at Gideon before he bowed deeply. "Please forgive the intrusion, Your Grace. You have a visitor."

Before Gideon had a chance to process those words, a hand pressed against the door, pushing it further open. Panic and frustration seized Gideon so firmly that he nearly cursed aloud. He tried to hide the mask but the person was already stalking in as if he was lord of the manor, bearing a broad grin.

Gideon finally exhaled when he saw who it was, not bothering to hide the mask any longer. It would have been too late anyhow. Lewis' eyes fell on it and he raised a brow at Gideon.

"Leave us," Gideon commanded. Thomas and the footman promptly slipped out of the chamber.

Lord Lewis Rowley, the Earl of Janesbury stopped in the center of the room, his brown eyes darting from the mask to Gideon and back.

"You've gotten far too careless with that thing," he commented at last with a vague gesture, as he swept back his blond hair behind his ear.

Gideon lifted the white mask, studying its diamond-embedded linings for what felt like the millionth time. He knew every groove, every dent, every hole carved into it. The mask was mostly white, save for the black stripes around the eyes, and with it on, Gideon became another person.

The Masked Rogue.

Ironically enough, it was Lewis who had come up with the name. Gideon put the mask aside and faced his friend. "There's no need for me to hide in my own home," Gideon commented. "I don't expect anyone I'm not close to, to make it all the way to my study without my knowledge."

"Is that so," Lewis said drily, sounding skeptical. "So says the man who had nothing but panic in his eyes when he saw me walk in. Don't think I missed your attempts to hide it."

Gideon didn't bother to deny it. Lewis knew him too well. This was the only person in the world who understood Gideon's struggles, who knew why he did the things he did. Only with Lewis could he truly reveal the dark void that had been eating him alive for years. And only Lewis could help him get rid of it.

Their friendship began at a time that neither of them could remember, when their days had been nothing but easy and playful. Lewis was the second son of the fourth Earl of Janesbury, and had spent nearly all his life doing whatever he pleased. Unlike Gideon, he didn't have to think about inheriting a title or any other pressures that came along with it. But as fate would have it, both his father and his brother died in a carriage accident. Leaving him with an unwanted title.

Rather than acknowledge Lewis' apt observation, Gideon put the mask aside and asked, "Have you found the name of the last person on the list?"

The mirth that had glowed in Lewis' eyes disappeared. "Straight to business, is it?"

"I assume that is why you've come," Gideon said. "If it is my company you seek, you would have simply waited until the ball."

If Lewis had an argument for that, he didn't voice it. "I will have the name to you on the morrow, old boy."

"I'll hold you to it," Gideon stated. He would just leave it at that. He had the utmost faith in Lewis' ability to find anyone in England. Before he had been faced with the duties of becoming Earl, Lewis had been a private investigator. The very best in London, Gideon believed.

"Since we are already on the topic," Lewis went on, claiming one of the armchairs near the desk. "Don't you think you went a little too harsh on the last one? The Duke of Crowley?"

Gideon frowned. "And how, pray tell, was I too harsh? I only did what anyone else would have done in my situation. In fact, I would rather say I showed him some mercy."

"You could have left him with a few dimes in his pocket," Lewis pressed. "Now, not only is he suffering disgrace but also poverty at having lost everything. I have even heard that he has had to let go of half his servants."

" Half his servants ? He still has the breath in his lungs!" Gideon suddenly snapped, before calming himself. "Besides, a man who frequents the Serpent's Den as often as he does knows exactly what is likely to happen if he is not careful." Gideon picked back up his mask, studying it as those familiar dark emotions threatened to overtake him. He thought of the look of despair on the Duke of Crowley's face when he realized he'd just lost everything. But Gideon could feel no pity.

All he had to do was think of what the Duke of Crowley had done sixteen years ago. All Gideon had to remember was how his father and brother had suffered at the hands of the duke—and the others—and how they ruined Gideon's life.

For sixteen years, he had harbored anger and hatred in his heart, thinking of nothing else but revenge.

For sixteen years, the duke, and many others, had continued to live a lavish life without any consequences, uncaring of the lives they'd damaged.

And for sixteen years, Gideon had plotted how he would bring about their downfall.

Now that his plan was almost reaching its completion, he wouldn't allow anyone to talk him out of it. Not even Lewis.

"The duke got what he deserved," Gideon stated coldly. "And now that he is out of the way, it is time for me to move on to the last one. Once you find him."

Lewis frowned at him long enough for Gideon to wonder if he truly intended to protest against this. He of all people should know why Gideon had to do this. He stared at his closest acquaintance, hoping that Lewis would not say what he thought he would say.

"Very well," Lewis sighed at last. "As I said, I shall have a name for you by tomorrow."

"Thank you." Suddenly eager to be rid of the tense air between them, Gideon asked, "Do not be late tonight. Or else every lady and her mother will be badgering me for an introduction."

Lewis chuckled, and the tension dissipated like smoke in the wind. "I doubt they will even remember to ask about me once they lay their eyes on the handsome, eligible Duke of Stanhope."

"Oh? Do I sense a hint of jealousy?"

"I'm just stating facts, that's all. Even if they were to find out that you leave nothing but broken hearts in your wake, I'm certain they will still be jumping at any chance to become your wives."

"Then that is too bad for them. I have no intention of marrying until I have fulfilled what I have set out to do. And besides, I am still young. I only intend to enjoy my youth and virility while I can."

"You're thirty years old," Lewis countered. "I'd say you're at the perfect age to get married."

"And what of you? Am I the only one who should be shackled by marriage? Won't you find your countess so that you may have your heir?"

Gideon's amusement deepened when a blush stained Lewis' cheeks. His friend had never been very good at hiding things. For a while now, Gideon had begun to wonder if Lewis was courting someone—and it seemed he might be right on the mark, seeing that Lewis was having a hard time meeting Gideon's eyes.

"You're right," Lewis gave in, leaping out of his chair. Gideon wasn't surprised to see him desperately trying to make an escape now. "Marriage is nothing we men need to think about so soon. Let's just enjoy ourselves, yes?"

"Oh, I intend to," Gideon said, thinking forward to his evening with the Comtesse.

Lewis was already pulling the door open. "Then I shall be seeing you later this evening."

Gideon grinned at Lewis' quickly retreating frame, letting out a small chuckle. One day, he would press his friend a little more to tell him about the belle he was hiding. But for now, there were other more important things he had to focus on.

Tonight, it was the ball… and an invigorating night with Mademoiselle Dubois.

Tomorrow, it would be exacting his final plan of revenge.