Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

F inn hadn’t planned to spend an evening alone at the Donville Masquerade. After they sparred, Ramsbury had promised to join him, but Finn had been there nearly half an hour with no sign of his friend. He’d been frustrated by that, but all had faded the moment he’d looked across the crowded, writhing mass of lovers, and found the woman at the bar.

It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. Even from a distance and with the mask half-covering her face, she was the kind of person that drew the eye. With thick, auburn hair that was done in a half-up, half-down fashion made to make a man think of tangled nights in sweaty bedsheets, she was a beauty. She had a wide smile, like she laughed often and loudly. He didn’t know the color of her eyes, but he’d wanted to the instant he saw her.

He hadn’t approached at first. He’d simply observed. Watched her flirt with the barkeep, who seemed equally charmed by her. Watched her laugh with a confidence that Finn had always been drawn to in a lover. She was sure of herself and that was exactly what he wanted. No mincing, no pretending, no playing games.

When she’d looked at him at last, her expression transforming into something heated, something inviting, he’d felt his cock start to harden. And as he got closer, as he realized those eyes of hers were a startling shade of dark green, he’d been even more drawn. Oh yes, this night was going to be memorable.

He reached her at last and smiled. “Good evening.”

Her smile, which had been inviting, faded a fraction. Not much, but he felt the shift. “Good evening,” she repeated, her tone a little flat. Her posture had changed, as well, gone stiffer.

Was she playing a game? Did she invite him over with her smile and then expect him to beg a little for more? Earn a moment perched between those probably spectacular legs?

Perhaps he didn’t hate games quite so much as he had told himself earlier.

“May I join you?” he asked, motioning to the empty seat beside her.

She hesitated a moment and then nodded. “Of course.”

He took his place and motioned to the barkeep, pointing to her glass. The man met his eyes and inclined his head, the message received that Finn would like one of the same.

“It’s Rivers’ best,” she said softly.

A warning, he supposed, that the drink would be expensive. Kind of her, honestly, since those who came here were of varying classes and financial abilities. He inclined his head. “Then I’ll be sure to pay for yours, as well, if you’ll allow it.”

“I never turn down a free drink,” she said.

She turned her face a little and Finn stiffened. Now that they were so close, he could see a dark mark that peeked out just below the edge of the mask beneath her right eye. A bruise, and a rather bad one, he thought. Someone had hit her and a protectiveness rose up in him. He had always despised men who took advantage of women, who hurt them.

“And what is the name of the man who offers me a free drink?” she asked, her tone light. Was it falsely so?

He chose to ignore her injury for the moment. If the chance came later to bring it up, he would. “We’re anonymous, yes?” he said. “Unless you want to give me your real name.”

“Miss X,” she said evenly, and he could feel her judging how he would respond.

“Ah, how perfect, as I am Mr. Y.” He extended a hand. “And I would very much like to dance with you.”

Her breath caught slightly and she stared at the offered hand. Her hesitance made him wonder. He’d assumed she must be a lightskirt or a high-class courtesan. Often they had the confident attitude she exuded. But when she drew away, it made him question that supposition. Perhaps she wasn’t. So who was she? Had she changed her attitude toward him because she wasn’t actually ready to play a game here? Or because someone was forcing her to do so? Even the same man who had blackened her eye.

“I’d be happy to dance with you,” she said at last, and took his hand in her gloved one. When they touched, he found himself catching his breath.

He guided her to the dancefloor and set a hand on her hip. He drew her close, far closer than he would have in a proper ballroom, and she caught her breath. Her green eyes lifted to his as she wrapped one arm around his neck and placed the other in his hand. They began to move, a slow sway in the writhing crowd.

“So, Miss X,” he said, playfully accentuating her pseudonym. “What brings you to the Donville Masquerade?”

She laughed. “Is it your first time, sir? Are you an innocent amongst the wolves here?”

He couldn’t help but smile at her teasing. “And what if I were? What if I lied and told you it was my first time here? What would you say?”

“Well,” she said, her fingers brushing the back of his neck. Even though the wound layers of his cravat he felt a tingle at the touch. “Let me see. First, I’d tell you to look around you.”

He did so, watching the surging crowd for a moment and all its erotic games. “It’s stimulating.”

“Indeed. The club is meant for pleasure. It’s unlike any other hell in London. Any other hell anywhere, I’d wager. So if you want something... need something...this is the place to come. If you’re brave enough.”

He gazed down at her, away from the crowd. It was odd how easy it was to make everything else fade away and only see her. He didn’t think he’d ever experienced that with any other lover at Donville.

“You seem very brave,” he said softly.

Her eyes moved away from his. “And you guessed that after only a moment’s acquaintance.”

“Yes,” he said, and the swiftness of the answer brought her gaze back to his with surprise. “Come now. From the few moments I observed you before we spoke, from the short time we’ve been speaking, I think I can read certain things about you, just as I’m sure you can do the same for me. And even if I couldn’t, it seems you’ve been through something and you’re still so confident. So attractively certain.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Been through something?”

He lifted his hand and brushed it against her cheek, up to the edge of her mask and traced the shadow of the bruise that was almost hidden there. “Haven’t you?”

She stiffened in his arms and reached up to adjust the mask, covering the mark fully so he could no longer see it. “It isn’t your concern.”

“I suppose not,” he said, and dropped his hand back to her hip. “But if you’re in danger?—”

“It’s not your concern,” she repeated, but her tone had gentled.

He frowned. That eased none of his worries about her safety, but what could he do? He didn’t know this woman, he wasn’t responsible for her. They stared at each other a long, charged moment before he nodded. “Very well, it’s not my concern.”

“Thank you.”

He let his fingers bunch in the small of her back and felt her shiver in response. Her pupils dilated slightly and the ache he’d felt for her when she smiled at him across the room returned.

“You’re very beautiful,” he said softly. “I wonder if you might join me in one of the back rooms.”

She swallowed hard and her fingers tightened in his hand. He could see that she wanted to say yes. It was in her eyes, it was in the way her body leaned into his for a moment.

But then she pulled away, her fingers dropping from his. She shook her head. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea, my lord. Good evening.”

He stared as she turned away and darted into the crowd without further explanation or even a look over her shoulder at him. And then her words sank in.

She had addressed him as “my lord”. Now, perhaps it was because he put off the air of someone titled. But it didn’t feel like a guess. It felt like the mystery woman had known him. Which left him wondering just who the hell she was and what had just happened.

It left him wondering if he would see her again to figure it all out.

E sme stepped into the small home she had been living in for over a year, and for the first time all night, she was able to breathe. She locked the door, checked the window and pulled the shades a little tighter before she went into the parlor off the foyer, placed her mask on the table and threw a few logs on the coals left from the fire earlier in the day. As she waited for the flames to raise up, she sat down in an overstuffed chair and tugged off her slippers, rubbing her sore feet with a sigh.

She willed her mind not to go to the same place it had been going all the way home from the Donville Masquerade, but she couldn’t seem to make it stop. All she could think of was him . The man who had approached her. The Earl of Delacourt.

She’d recognized his voice the moment he spoke to her and it was like being bodily yanked into another world. Another life. How often had she heard the man speak over the years, murmuring to her father in a parlor late at night while she sat in the hallway listening? Or at supper when she would sit on the other end of the table, watching the two men deep in conversation, entirely forgetting she was there. They’d been friends, despite their disparate ages, but Esme had always known the truth: her father had seen Delacourt as the son he never had.

Her eyes stung with the thought and she was about to get up to find something to distract her when the front door closed in the distance.

“Jane?” Esme called out, willing her fear not to rise up.

“It’s me and yes, I locked the door,” Jane called back.

Relief washed over Esme. She’d shared this home with Jane since Esme found it last year. Her friend entered the room, pale blonde hair a little mussed and her expression tired.

“You look like you had a night,” Esme said. “Did you eat?”

“I did.” Jane flopped herself onto the settee across from Esme and opened her reticule. “And I took some of the food with me, for us to share. The cake is particularly good, so I brought you a slice.”

She set out several items wrapped in napkins and Esme couldn’t help but laugh as she helped her open the sloppy packets. Unlike herself, Jane had grown up in the streets and had no compunction about taking what she needed. They couldn’t have been more different when they met, but somehow Jane had taken Esme under her wing. Helped her run from her past and the wolves that rushed at her back.

Helped her make a life.

“How was it then?” Esme asked as she tucked her feet up under herself and used her fingers to eat the cake Jane had so kindly brought for her.

Jane sighed and chewed thoughtfully on what looked to be a few cold slices of chicken. “The usual. A few of them were handsome and one was rich, so that’s where I got the food. The handsome ones do make it easier.”

Esme shrugged. She and Jane both made their livings from their bodies, though in very different ways. Her friend’s life as a lightskirt wasn’t one Esme had ever taken to in the short time she’d participated, but Jane didn’t seem to hate it.

“What about you?” Jane asked. “That eye looks nasty.”

Esme lifted her hand to the bruise and thought of Delacourt’s concern earlier in the night. His expression had appeared truly troubled though he’d stopped pushing after she refused to share.

“I caught a right from the new chit Biggs is training,” Esme explained. “There’s nothing to worry about, it will heal up soon enough.” She stared at the half-eaten cake a moment and then back up at Jane. “I went to Donville tonight.”

Jane set her empty napkin away and arched a brow. “Did you now? And did you have any fun?”

“No. Well, not that kind, anyway,” Esme said, and then shifted. “I…I saw a man I knew in passing from…from before.”

That made Jane sit up straighter, her eyes widening. “What?”

“I had my mask on,” Esme said swiftly. “He didn’t recognize me. Even if he’d seen me, I doubt he would have. I wasn’t that important to him back in those days.”

Jane got up and paced the room, her anxiety on the subject plain. “This is exactly why I’m so opposed to you doing that exhibition at Ripley’s next week, Esme! Those exact kinds of men will be there. Men you’ll surely know from your time as Lady Charlotte Esmerelda, daughter of a duke.”

“He was a marquess,” Esme said her softly, and tried not to think of her father’s face, his smile.

Jane sighed. “It’s all the same to us, love. I promise you that.”

Esme shrugged. She corrected out of habit, even two years after she fled her previous life, her title, her money…and the horrors that went along with it since the death of her father.

She took a deep breath, calmed herself, at least outwardly. “Ripley owns the club and he’ll pay me and Betty a good sum for the time. Enough to pay for the house for almost three months and put aside some after. Plus, I get a cut of any wagers and who knows how much that will be. You know those fops love to bet on anything and don’t care how much they lose.”

She could see she was making headway with Jane with those arguments, even if her worry was still plain.

“You’ll still be in my corner that day, won’t you?” Esme asked.

Jane rolled her eyes. “Of course. I’ve been the corner woman for the Hellion since she made her stunning debut. I wouldn’t abandon her now, would I?”

Relief flowed through Esme. “Good. If you’re there you can keep any of them from trying to talk to me afterward. And I’ll be masked anyway, so they won’t have a clue. They only see what I want them to see, don’t they?”

“They do at that,” Jane agreed. “If there’s one thing about those fops, it’s that they could never imagine someone like them falling so low as us.”

Esme bent her head. “That’s definitely true. Anyway, I’m sure they’ve all forgotten the old me. Or believe her to be dead. All that’s left of me now is the Hellion, London’s Bruising Lady Champion.”

“I hated that board,” Jane said with a laugh. “And the drawing they had of you was awful.”

“I looked a little like a fiend, I agree,” Esme said, and now she was laughing too, despite the emotions any talk of her old life brought up. “Come on, let’s take the rest of your treats to the kitchen and eat them there and then I just want to collapse in my bed and sleep off this day.”

Jane smiled at her and motioned for the door. “Agreed.”

Esme followed her friend from the room with her smile falling. She feared that her encounter with the Earl of Delacourt wouldn’t be so easy to forget, but she had to do just that. Her life was here now, completely separated from his. And if she was lucky, she’d never see him ever again.