Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

O ne of Sebastian's favorite places in London was the Donville Masquerade, a notorious underground hell that provided to its members the unabashed freedom to explore sin. He came here to play, to forget, to bury himself in pleasure when pain came to visit.

But tonight, standing at the bar with Delacourt, he didn't feel his usual sense of calm and excitement as he looked across the writhing, sensual crowd.

No, he felt the opposite. He felt…wrong.

"Are you brooding to attract the attention of the ladies, or is something truly on your mind?" Delacourt drawled as he sipped a drink. It was his third of the night and his friend's voice was slow with the edges of drunkenness.

Sebastian drew a long breath as he looked at Delacourt. They'd met here for a night of careless fun, but he felt awkward around his best friend now. Guilty, even though he hadn't really done anything wrong.

Only that wasn't true. Three days ago, he'd gone against what he knew were Delacourt's wishes and spent an afternoon with Marianne in his boxing ring. He'd teased her and taught her and felt more than he should about the exercise. Not to mention, he'd kept the gloves she'd left behind that day, even though he could have sent them back to her once he realized they were still in his pocket.

Worse, in that moment when she'd stumbled against him and everything had become close and hot and slow, he'd wanted to kiss her.

Actually, that wasn't the right word for it. He hadn't wanted to kiss her. A kiss could be chaste and sweet and romantic. What he'd wanted to do was dig his fingers into her dark hair and tilt her mouth up farther and devour her. He'd wanted to cup her backside and grind her into him until there was no doubt what he wanted. He'd wanted to push her down onto the floor of that boxing ring and lick her until she convulsed in pleasure. He'd wanted to roll her over and flip up her skirts and fuck her so that she truly understood the word he'd taught her over a week before.

"Ramsbury. Sebastian !"

He blinked to clear those erotic, unexpected, unwanted thoughts from his mind and refocused on Delacourt, who was now staring at him with true concern.

"My apologies," he said. "Woolgathering, I suppose."

"About what?"

He almost laughed. Delacourt would have an apoplexy if he knew the answer to that question. After he'd punched Sebastian to a bloody pulp that was. "Nothing of consequence," Sebastian lied. "How is your sister?"

"Marianne?" Delacourt asked, his brow wrinkling at what he must have seen as a change of subject even though it was decidedly not. "She's fine, I suppose. Still mourning her old friend, I think, but otherwise well."

Sebastian frowned. "Yes…Lady Claudia."

"Broadsmoore's sister, though he seems to mourn her little enough. Marianne has been friends with her since her disaster of a coming out all those years ago."

"Yes," Sebastian said softly, and tried to picture Lady Claudia. He was ashamed to find he couldn't, despite the fact that she was so important to Marianne.

"Spinsters of a feather, Marianne always said," Delacourt continued. "I had always hoped that my sister might have a chance at a marriage in the future, someone to protect her better than I can. But she seems resigned to her life as it is now."

Sebastian wrinkled his brow. He might have said the same about Marianne if pressed a few weeks ago, but her recent actions made him question that statement now. He realized all her odd behavior had come since her friend's untimely death. Did that mean Marianne actually did want more and Delacourt hadn't seen it? Or was it merely grief driving her…well, some might call at least a few of them reckless actions?

"Why the question about Marianne?" Delacourt asked, his gaze narrowing and becoming harder.

"She's my friend, just as you have been, so I'm always curious about her welfare," Sebastian said with a dismissive shrug even though that explanation felt sour on his tongue. Wrong.

"Hmmm," Delacourt said as he looked out into the crowd. "Just don't take advantage. It's the one thing I've ever asked of you."

"Yes, I know," Sebastian said. "I assure you I'd never go too far."

Except even as he said those words, he saw Marianne's face again, turned up toward his, her dark eyes fluttering shut on a sigh as she waited for him to do the impossible and take her lips.

"Excellent. But I don't wish to talk about her anymore, not here," Delacourt said. "We came here to get our cocks wet. I intend to do so and I suggest you do the same." He patted Sebastian's arm before he eased into the writhing crowd and into the waiting arms of a comely woman in a mask who had been watching them from a table for the last ten minutes.

Sebastian saw plenty of women who would offer the same solace to him. Normally he wouldn't think twice to take it. To drown himself in a warm, wet body that clenched his with pleasure.

Only tonight, as he stood at that bar, he found he didn't…he didn't want to do that. He didn't want some anonymous woman in a pretty mask to put her hands and mouth on him. What he wanted, he feared was destined to destroy him.

So he stayed right where he was, nursing a drink, and trying not to think of brown eyes and soft skin and a smile that seemed to light up the world when he coaxed it. He tried not to think of Marianne.

M arianne stood before her wardrobe, staring at the row of gowns hanging there as she and her maid tried to decide on which one she would wear to the Brighthollow ball in a few days' time. They were all beautiful, of course. Finn had always provided her with a generous allowance for her clothing and she had allowed herself the pleasure of pretty fabrics over the years.

But none of them were daring . Claudia's list said, Wear Something Daring.

"I've always thought the blue was pretty," her maid, Hannah, suggested hesitantly.

Marianne blinked. She must have been staring forever if Hannah had that tone to her voice. It was a mix between concern and mild annoyance.

She sighed. "What do you think a daring gown would be like?"

Hannah turned toward her slightly. "My lady?"

Heat was beginning to flood Marianne's cheeks, so she refused to look at her servant and forced herself to continue. "It's just that all of these are rather…boring, aren't they? What would a lady wear if she wished to be daring ? Would it merely be a bold color? Is it a cut to the gown? Or is it something in her character? A confidence?"

She hoped it wasn't the last, for she couldn't alter herself like she would a gown.

Hannah shifted. "I suppose it's all of those things. Why do you ask, my lady?"

"I don't know." Marianne paced away and stood at her window looking down at the dark garden below. "I'm just wondering if I could use a little more daring in my life."

Hannah was quiet a moment and when Marianne dared to look at her, she was back to staring at the gowns. She fingered the frilly puffed sleeve of one of them. It was cut from a bold pink that had then been covered with lace and ribbon.

"This is a pretty color," Hannah said. "It draws the eye, which I suppose is part of being considered daring."

Marianne took a step closer. "I see."

"I suppose it might be daring to—" Hannah hesitated again and looked at her. "Well, we could remove this lace overlay here."

She motioned to the bodice of the dress and Marianne's eyes widened. "That would…that would reveal a great deal more bosom."

"Not a wrong amount, though. Just enough. I'd also remove some of these frills, let more shoulder peek out at the edge here, you see?"

Marianne came closer as Hannah folded in some of the details. She tried to picture herself in a gown that exposed so much. It was terrifying. But then, wasn't that what Claudia's list was all about? Living life, despite the fear?

"What else?" Marianne croaked.

Hannah seemed much more invested now that her suggestions hadn't been roundly rejected. "When I fix your hair for gatherings, I often do it somewhat plainly. I could fix it differently. Perhaps we could even put some jewels or other decoration woven into the locks."

"Oh," Marianne said, her mind going to her disastrous coming out. "But they'll look at me."

Hannah's gaze shifted to her and gentled. "I believe that is what daring requires, my lady."

"I suppose so."

"Are you well?" Hannah asked.

"I'm not exactly sure," Marianne murmured, then smiled at her servant to reassure her. "Let's make the adjustments to the pink gown if it can be managed before the Brighthollow ball. I would like to try daring at least once in my life."

There was a surprising burst of excitement in Hannah's eyes at that statement. "Yes! Yes, my lady. I'll be sure the gown is ready by the ball. Is there anything else?"

"No, I'll ring when I'm ready to retire," Marianne said, and watched as Hannah took the pink gown and left the room.

Once she was gone, Marianne returned to the window and the garden below. It seemed she would have her daring gown, a technical check off Claudia's list. But could she manage the rest of the costume? Could she find the confidence within herself to bear the potential stares that might follow such a change?

And with Sebastian there, could she bear it if he didn't notice the change at all? Both seemed equally awful results.

"I suppose we'll see," she mused before she took a place before her fire, swept up the book she'd been trying to read for days, and tried to concentrate. But her mind kept shifting to all the possibilities of what could happen when she walked into the ball and showed the world a face she'd never even thought she possessed.