Not that his habitual pre-party inspection required deep concentration. They had been doing things the same way for years. By now, his servants could prepare the refreshments and arrange the furniture blindfolded. His balls were scandalous, but dependable.
He paused at the first refreshment table and turned to explain its location and replenishment schedule.
Miss Thorne was not at his side.
She had stopped in her tracks a few feet in from the door and was staring about the ballroom with her mouth hanging open in astonishment. She’d even removed her mask, in order to better goggle at the sparkling crystal chandeliers, the gleaming marble floor, the gold-plated everything.
Julian shifted his weight and tried to see the room through her wondering eyes. He could not. This had always been his home. One of his many homes. He was wealthy even by the standards of the ton, but he was hardly the only peer whose residence was awash in crystal and marble and gold.
He could not recall the last time he had gawked at anything. As for his guests... Julian knew his ballroom was impressive. He cultivated it to be, just as he arranged everything about the party quarters to be luxurious and hedonistic.
His guests came for that experience, but did not want to be reminded of the particulars. They knew the chandeliers sparkled, but they did not need to know they were equipped with all-fresh candles one hour prior to the doors opening, so that the flames would glow all night without needing to be changed or relit.
They knew the desserts and canapés were delicious and never more than a few steps away, but they did not need to know how the proper placement had been determined for each table, the best angles, the most enticing combinations, the ideal moment to refresh each platter, itself assigned a specific chef who specialized in that specific dish or arrangement.
The dais, with its orchestra. Musicians of the highest quality, two per position, so that they could be switched out as needed for respites and other concerns without ever suffering the slightest break in the music.
They were set up now, waiting for Julian’s cue, which would come at ten minutes to ten as it always did, thus providing his approaching guests with the promise of a magical night even before they stepped foot on the dance floor.
But he wasn’t certain he had ever seen one of them stop and stare in wonder like Miss Thorne was doing now.
He suddenly yearned to know more about her. Courtesan, she’d said, but not available for him. Why? Was she already some other man’s mistress? It was easy enough to believe. One could hardly look at her without wanting her.
Julian was no stranger to dalliances. Those were not distractions, but carefully planned encounters. Partners chosen by him, during ball hours only, the last hour before dawn. When the masquerade ended, everyone would leave—guests, temporary lover, and all. While the sun was still rising, the servants put the house in order and life returned to exactly how it had been before the ball began, just like Julian liked it.
Miss Thorne did not seem to be nearly so ordered an individual. She fairly crackled with impulsiveness, her unguarded expressions right there for the gazing upon. It was not his fault that he could not stop staring.
What sort of life did this black-haired beauty lead? Sheltered enough to be in awe of a ballroom, yet worldly enough to possess multiple sweeping, dramatic gowns fit for the opera. This one was rich sapphire and dotted with “diamonds” that were almost certainly paste, none of which detracted from her beauty.
He longed to feel those soft curves for himself. Beneath his palms, against his hard body. He wanted her to look at him the way she looked at tall silver trays piled with aphrodisiacs. With surprise and wonder and delight and pleasure.
None of which he would be sharing with Miss Thorne. To admit his visceral reaction would make himself vulnerable, a state that Julian did not permit in his life.
Miss Thorne caught him looking at her and flushed, her cheeks going dark. It made for a very fetching sight. She tugged a small journal from her reticule and hastened to his side.
“A thousand apologies.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “What were you saying, Your Grace?”
This time, when he launched into his explanation behind the process leading to this or that element, she listened with rapt attention, looking up from her madly scribbled notes only long enough to gaze intently at whatever detail he was pointing out.
It was almost as if she were dazzled byhim, he realized. Julianwasthis ballroom. He was every surface and every tray and every drop of champagne. Everything she could see or touch or taste was there because of a decision he’d made. These were his thoughts and plans and wishes come to life.
“This is fascinating,” she said as she scribbled. “Have you thought about offering heartier fare, like potato stew?”
Serve...vegetables?He stared at her, aghast.
“No, I have not thought about that horror, nor shall I. The very idea proves that you—”
“What about chairs?” she asked. “Should there be more of them? Perhaps over here?”
“No,” he said coldly. “The reason we have this precise number of chairs, located in their current position, is—”
To Miss Thorne’s credit, she nodded eagerly and took copious notes on everything Julian explained.
To Miss Thorne’s demerit, she questionedeverything. She could not simply accept that a thing was done a certain way because it was the best way for that thing to be done. She had to poke at it from all angles and ask if he hadn’t considered any number of options that he eitherhadconsidered and discarded after careful investigation and trial, or that clearly weren’t worth considering in the first place.
“And the musicians,” she said. “Why have—”
Whywas her favorite question. Fortunately, Julian was more than equal to the task. He liked having concrete answers. There was not awhyshe could ask that he couldn’t parry with an in-depth, well-reasoned explanation. From colors to arrangements and styles to scarcity, everything had a reason for being exactly where and how it was, or he would not have permitted its presence in his home to begin with.
