Page 37 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
Emily felt a genuine flush of warmth. “You are too kind, Lord Sterling. I must say, your mask is quite the masterpiece. The color suits the theme perfectly.”
He offered a small, pleased smile. “If you would allow it, I should very much like to call on you later this week. I believe we have much more to discuss.”
“I would be happy to welcome you,” Emily replied, her voice steady even as her mind flickered back to the uncertainty of her future. “I truly enjoyed our dance.”
He bowed deeply, his eyes sincere as he took his leave to navigate the crowd toward the refreshment tables. Emily stood for a heartbeat, watching him go and trying to force herself to feel the excitement a prospective suitor should bring.
She was about to turn toward her mother when she felt a sudden, discreet pressure against her palm. A hand had slid into hers. Before she could gasp or even turn her head, a small, folded slip of cream parchment was pressed into her fingers.
She caught the scent of sandalwood... a scent that had haunted her dreams for a week and looked up just in time to see a tall figure in a black velvet mask and a charcoal domino cloak melting back into the shadows. Theodore didn't look back. He didn't offer a nod. He simply vanished into the sea of masqueraders like a ghost returning to the dark.
Emily’s heart hammered against her ribs as she unfolded the note, her fingers trembling so violently she nearly dropped it.
We need to talk. In the main library at midnight.
She gripped the paper, her gaze fixed on the spot where he had disappeared. The panic she had felt all evening sharpened into a fine, jagged point.
The prospect of meeting a man in secret, at midnight, no less, sent a cold shiver of apprehension down her spine. It was a reckless move, one that could dismantle her reputation more thoroughly than any rumor Julia might spread. Yet, the alternative was a slow unraveling of her sanity. She was going crazy with the silence, the not knowing, and the terrifying possibility that her future had been traded away in a room she wasn't permitted to enter. She needed answers, and if Theodore was offering them, she would take the risk.
She knew the layout of the house well enough. Rose Kingswell, the host, was a close friend of Yvette, and Emily had been introduced to the sprawling estate during a visit shortly after their meeting at a previous ball.
Still, the tension in her limbs made every step feel like she was walking on thin glass. She took a steadying breath. She made a mental note, preparing herself to go. To listen. Perhaps, she would finally know if she was going to be a bride, a social pariah, or something else entirely.
“A spectacular evening, is it not, Theo?” Julia asked with a smile on her face. “I trust you are finding the company to your liking?”
Theodore didn't return her smile. He didn't even relax the rigid line of his shoulders. He had been standing by a marble plinth that offered him a temporary sanctuary from the stifling heat of the ballroom when she approached him... for the third time that night. She wore a mask of delicate gold filigree, her eyes brightwith a forced, terrifyingly pleasant glint as she tilted her head toward him.
He looked down at her, his expression one of cold, detached appraisal. “I am surprised you find the breath for pleasantries, Lady Birks. Given that we have yet to resolve the matter of your conduct under my roof, I find this sudden performance of friendship rather... exhausting.”
Julia’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, her fingers tightening around the handle of her fan. Before she could retort, the crowd parted, and Lady Euphemia Vane glided into the space between them. She was a vision of silver silk and pale roses, her mask adorned with delicate swan feathers that caught the flickering candlelight.
“Your Grace,” Euphemia murmured, dipping into a deep curtsy. “I was beginning to think the room had swallowed you whole.”
Theodore felt a dull thud of irritation behind his eyes. He had already granted her the courtesy of a dance when he arrived, a concession he had only made because Julia had spent the first twenty minutes of the evening maneuvering him into a corner until a refusal would have been a public declaration of war. He had fulfilled his obligation; he had no intention of repeating it.
He looked at Euphemia, acknowledging her beauty with the same clinical indifference one might show a well-crafted statue. She was exactly what the Ton demanded. Refined, silent, and impeccably pedigreed. But he had no use for those qualifications. His mind was too crowded with thoughts ofEmily. They needed to talk, and he only hoped she would be at the library at midnight.
Just as he turned to Julia, he noticed a sharp, pointed glance Julia exchanged with Euphemia. Almost like a communication of some sort. Euphemia looked away quickly and cleared her throat. Theodore brushed it off. It was certainly another symptom of Julia’s relentless ambition, a desperate attempt to pivot her favor toward a bride who didn't come with the “baggage” of the Pierce family.
“I believe you mentioned the orchestra was playing a set you particularly admired, Lady Euphemia,” Theodore said. “I would hate to keep you from enjoying it on my account.”
“Oh, the music can wait,” Euphemia replied, her hand hovering near his arm with a persistence that made his jaw tighten. “I find the conversation here far more compelling.”
Theodore’s gaze drifted toward the clock on the far wall. The minutes were ticking toward midnight. He had no room left for the games of the ballroom, and Euphemia was sticking to his side like glue. It was easy to tell that it was all Julia’s plan. But Theodore did not want to dwell on it. It was not the place nor the time to speak to his godmother about her absurd antics.
His patience, however, had worn thin. Time was running out. He scanned the passing crowd, his eyes landing on a young, overly eager Marquess who had been trailing Euphemia like a lost pup since they had danced together.
“Ah, Lord Huxley,” Theodore said, as he stepped into the path of the approaching gentleman. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”
“Your...Grace,” Lord Huxley greeted, visibly confused.
“I was just speaking with Lady Euphemia, and she was mentioning how much she loved this set. I recall you to be a fan of the orchestra as well. Perhaps, you both would like a turn about the floor?”
Huxley’s face lit up with unadulterated delight. He turned toward Euphemia, his chest puffing out beneath his gold-embroidered waistcoat. “Is that so, my lady? I should be honored... no, privileged to escort you.”
Euphemia’s smile froze, her eyes darting toward Theodore. She opened her mouth to protest, but the social trap had already snapped shut. To refuse the Marquess now, after the Duke had so publicly declared her interest, would be a slight she couldn't afford.
“I... I should be delighted,” she managed, her voice tight as Huxley practically swept her toward the center of the room.
