Page 57 of Red Masquerade

When I didn’t answer, he just scoffed, then pulled on the cigar once more before setting it down in a tray. Smoke wafted toward the ceiling, the heavy smell crowding my senses. The air was so hazy he must’ve had a number before I arrived.

“Should I tell Mother?” He stood languidly, mashing the tip of the cigar in the tray. Peeking at me through his lashes, waiting for my panic, waiting for my groveling.

I hated him. “I imagine you will.”

“Hmm.” To him, it was inconsequential, if I was in trouble with Mother or not. She’d likely gone to bed hours before, whenever Lucas arrived home, pinching his cheeks and thanking him for watching out for me. And he’d have given her that smile that said he had everything under control.

He hadmeunder control.

It took everything in me not to turn and walk out the door, not to return to the manor and ask Adam to hide me, to keep me there forever.

I schooled my features.

“I know where you went,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know where you and Flora get off to when you’re out. But Mother? Does she know?” She didn’t, and he was aware, voice lilting. He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “What will we do with you?”

“You aim to marry me off,” I said before I could stop myself.

His eyes flickered at the anger in my voice, the feeling I couldn’t push down. “Ah, you’re displeased.” He stepped closer to me, and it was the second time that evening a man had tried to intimidate me by cornering me.

“You must know that no matter how you act out, you’ll not get out of it?” Lucas stopped before me. The doorframe was to my back, and he crowded my space, and though the fear I always felt of him raced through me, there was anger there, too, a frustration that didn’t want to be shoved down anymore.

Yet I knew once I raised my voice at him, all bets were off.

“You’ll do as we say,” he continued, voice dangerously low. “Wright is already on his way.” He checked his watch as if that mattered. “A few days’ time. And this little act, this littleflapperthing, will end.”

“I’m not Lucy.” My nails dug into my palms.

“No,” he said, and I felt his breath on my face. He glanced toward my lips, then looked me right into my eyes. “But you should be.”

Nineteen

Lucas didn’t tell Mother where I’d been, but he told her that I was not to be believed regarding a curfew, that I clearly couldn’t be trusted to come home on time—or at all, even though there was no evidence otherwise. Mother agreed with him that it would be wise to keep me at home until Wright came. And thus began my true house arrest, as it were.

I could only reach Flora by telephone. Our first conversation, in which she was begging me to sneak out so I could at least sit with her while she readied to go out that evening, was cut short when Mother walked into the room. “Who are you talking to?” Hands on her hips, like she knew the answer.

“Flora,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“No more.” She waved her hand at the telephone. “She’ll only drag you into more trouble.”

“What trouble?” I demanded.

Mother raised her brow, but didn’t back down. “She may not soon be a married woman, butyouare. Hang up.”

I sighed, and told Flora I’d talk to her later, before placing the receiver on its hook. “Are you happy now?” I cursed that we only had the one telephone in the house, so should I want to sneak down and speak to her in the evening, Mother likely would hear from upstairs.

“I will be,” she said, turning and leaving the room. “You must ready. Lord Highsmith is arriving.”

All my blood rushed to my feet, my stomach dropping. I had thought I had a few more days.

Lucas lied.

He stood in the foyer, apparently having watched this all go down. He smirked, watching as I paled. He hadn’t told me the truth the night before, just so he could revel in my reaction, take his twisted glee in how unprepared I really was.

“Yes, sister,” he sneered. “Go get ready. Your fiancé awaits.”

The maid raked her fingers through my hair. She was becoming a familiar, almost comforting, face in my home. I knew whatever I said wouldn’t make its way to Mother or Lucas.

She focused on her task, brushing all the knots out of my waves, adding a barrette to hold the curls away from my face. She had set out the gown Mother ordered for me, completed as quickly as the dressmaker could manage, just for me.