Page 56 of Red Masquerade

As we dressed—best we could—I couldn’t help but mourn the kids we’d been. But we’d found each other, despite the odds. He seemingly didn’t need to work anymore, certainly not as a printer’s apprentice. If he had so much money now, so much power, was Lucas even a threat?

I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know.

He helped me up, brushing his fingers through my hair to help right my curls. I knew my lipstick was ruined, my eye shadow. He just used his thumb to wipe away the smudges, to set it to rights. And as he led me back toward the revelry, his hand in mine, I knew something had changed.

Yes, we’d changed. Years apart had done that.

But now…

I couldn’t ignore him now. Not when I knew where he was.

Couldn’t deny that I wanted him, that all those feelings were brought right back, like we’d never separated.

We rounded the corner of the house and my sight narrowed on Dixon and Flora, waiting, like they knew. Dixon’s eyes narrowed, glared at us—at the man next to me—and Flora gave mea knowing grin, though she seemed a bit dazzled when Adam stood next to me.

He pulled me to a stop. “I’ll let you go on,” he said, eyeing Dixon warily. The lord’s glare was tangible even at this distance.

“Okay.”

“Promise me,” he said, pushing my hair from my eyes, cradling my face once more, fingers on my jaw, angling my face to him.

He didn’t need to finish the sentence.Promise me you’ll come back. Promise me you’re mine.

I leaned into his touch, breathing in his scent, the whiskey and iron now mixed with a sweet muskiness. And I didn’t want to leave.

“I promise.”

Eighteen

When Flora and Dixon pulled up to my house well past midnight, I half-expected Mother to be waiting on the stoop. But her bedroom window was dark, the curtain drawn. The whole house was dark, save for the window to the parlor, the electric lights within still turned on.

“Good luck,” Flora whispered with a grin as I got out of the car.

I shut the door behind me and returned her smile. When my eyes met Dixon’s, something passed between us, an understanding perhaps, and he nodded before he put the Duesenberg into gear. Flora waved as they sped off.

Standing alone at the front door, my legs missing their stockings, my hair loose and undone, I steeled myself against what would be inside. Turning the unlocked handle—Mother never locked the door if I was out—I stepped over the threshold.

If it was not Mother who stayed up, then…

“Lucas.”

The foyer and parlor were open to each other, no door to close off the room from the entranceway. Lucas reclined in an armchair, a cigar lit in one hand, puffing mindlessly as he watched me enter. He still wore his evening clothes, and his light brown hair was still slicked back, the only indication he’d been waiting awhile the undone tie that hung around his neck, his collar open.

His stare on me felt like knives, cutting right through me. His eyes paused on my legs, slowly moving upward toward my neck. Creeping, checking every inch of skin. Like he knew. His cheeks hollowed as he dragged on the cigar.

I wanted to just turn and go upstairs, to fall into bed. But I knew him, knew he’d have something to say, and he’d force me to hear it, one way or another.

The house was quiet, all our servants having been dismissed, only a low crackling fire in the hearth to keep away the late spring chill.

And still Lucas said nothing, just watching me, inspecting me. I stood in the doorway, wondering if he could hear my heartbeat, wondering if he could smell what I’d done, the dried sweat, the evidence of my time with Adam between my thighs, under my dress.

Did he even know Adam and Vince were one and the same?

His expression turned ugly, a sneer of disgust, as he pulled the cigar away from his lips.

“You’re late,” he said. Not a question.

I shifted uncomfortably in my shoes.