Page 10 of Red Masquerade

“Let’s hope no one recognizes us,” he said from beside me.

“And why not?”

He leaned in just slightly, so he could lower his voice. “Because you’re holding on to me like I’m your lover.”

I gasped, nearly pulling away, because he was right—the way our fingers nearly intertwined, anyone would think we were familiar with each other. And here I was, in my crisp day dress, and he in his work clothes.

But I didn’t pull away, ignoring the heat in my cheeks. “Well, it’s none of their business,” I grumbled.

“Have you had any boyfriends?” Adam asked, turning onto a different block. We were nearing the neighborhood I lived in, and the passersby began staring at us more, gazes lingering as we passed.

“No, I haven’t,” I said, keeping my eyes forward, refusing to look at any of them. Maybe they wouldn’t notice me, wouldn’t spread any talk that would make its way to Mother.

Adam hummed. “A shame.”

“Oh?” I glanced at him and melted all over again under those hazel eyes.

“Though, if I’m honest, I’m glad, because it means no one is calling on you.”

I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “Why, do you want to call on me?” Nervousness nearly had me covering my face with my gloved hand. “Mother would never let you.”

Adam sighed. “No, I suppose not,” he said, acknowledging the fundamental differences between him and I. The differences that every other person on that sidewalk noticed as they sneered at him, at our joined hands.

“Though I suppose I could do it, anyway.”

His words sent a thrill through me. No boys I’d spoken to at those seasonal functions ever spoke this way—there was a way to do it, rules we had to follow. Calling on each other under the guidance of our mothers and fathers, and if we liked each other enough, perhaps they’d let us go to the next dance together. A stilted politeness, a script we all followed, ensured the utmost propriety.

Maybe Adam didn’t know the rules. Maybe he was used to falling in with girls.

I frowned. “But—have you had any girlfriends?”

He glanced at me and laughed. “Would it bother you if I had?”

“No, of course not,” I said. “I just met you.”

The mirth didn’t leave his eyes. He let go of my arm, only to keep holding my hand as he came to a stop in front of me. We were face to face, inches apart, and he loomed over me, a good few inches taller than me. I hadn’t realized it, but we’d walked blocks and were outside the short gate to the walk up our townhouse.

Mother or Lucas could be watching through a window.

But all thoughts left me as he lifted my hand to his lips, and I finally got to feel that stubble against my skin. I couldn’t move as he pressed a kiss to the tops of my fingers, never shutting his eyes, never looking away from me. The touch of his lips sent a foreign feeling through me, and I almost melted there on the pavement.

“I hope to see you again, Helena,” he said, gently dropping my hand.

The absence of his touch felt like ice water down my back. I nodded, willing words to come out of me.

“You will,” I whispered, and those eyes lingered on me before he turned and strolled back down the street, like he’d never been there to begin with.

Four

One moment, I’m soaring—red ribbons, the taste of wine, the feeling of someone holding me, all reeling through my mind—and in the next, all pretense of dreams were ripped away with the shoving of curtains, the expulsion of darkness from my bedroom. I was abruptly awakened by the maid, rousing me from sleep with the sudden light filling the room. My eyes snapped open to a blinding brightness that sent spears of pain through my head.

“God—” Hands flying to my face, shielding myself from the shooting pain, I pressed my fingers into my eyes.

“Good morning, Miss Helena,” the maid said, setting a tray of coffee on my vanity. The ceramic rattled. “Long evening?”

“What time is it?”

“Oh, only half-past eleven,” she said, as though it weren’t outrageously late. No wonder the sun shone so strongly. “Your mother is waiting for you in the sitting room.”