After committing every current detail to memory, the duke released the banister of the six-foot wide promenade encircling the ballroom and made his way to the marble steps.
The head footman met him on the stairway.
Julian murmured instructions. His staff was used to these constant improvements. If it was possible to perfect the art of the masquerade, Julian intended to achieve it.
A dancer with tired feet? A plush chair, comfortable slippers. Too hot? A footman to relieve milord of his coat or cravat. Too cold? A shawl for madame’s shoulders and a pearl pin to keep it closed. No need to return the brooch. A token of the masquerade, compliments of His Grace.
“Presenting Lady X!” called the night butler.
“Lady X!” shouted the crowd, lifting their glasses.
This Lady X was the ballet dancer determined to become the duke’s long-term mistress.
Julian did not have a long-term anything, other than his dukedom. Not even his cherished masquerades. Someday soon he would need to take a bride, and that would be more than enough disruption to his schedule, thank you very much.
He could have hurried down the stairs and out of sight before Zylphia glimpsed him, but Julian did not hide from anyone or anything.
She bounded up to him, breathless. “I missed you.”
“Good evening, Lady X.”
She giggled. “You know it’s me.”
“And you know the rules,” he reminded her. “Anonymity. Freedom of choice. If you are determined to break either of them, your invitation will be rescinded.”
“I can understand not wishing to bed the others a second time...” She trailed her fingers up his lapel. “But with me…”
“You should find someone less busy.” He removed her hand from his chest. “I’ve a party to attend to.”
She twisted her lips. “I would ask if you ever relax, but we both know the answer to that.”
He frowned at the edge to her words. Of course herelaxed.He’d spent forty minutes with her in one of the upstairs chambers last month. If that wasn’t taking a respite, what was? Normally he did not allow himself a minute over half an hour. Not when there were guests to be looked after. He had been positively negligent.
“I have responsibilities,” he reminded her.
She pouted. “And no heart. I pity the woman you take as your wife.”
So did Julian, frankly. It was one of the many reasons he had not yet acquired one.
It was not that he didn’t believe in the concept of love. He believed in it very much, and created a magical midnight world specifically to bring a sense of romance into the lives of others.
It was the duke himself who was incapable of emotion.
He was exactly as coldhearted as Zylphia accused. He did notwantto see her again, naked or otherwise. He did not want a mistress. He did not want to confront the same face again, day in and day out. And he definitely did not want to becomeclose. Love was for those who could not control their hearts.
There was nothing Julian could not control.
He arched a brow. “If your situation is such that you must acquire a wealthy patron posthaste, three different guests tonight have authorized me to point interested parties in their direction.”
She brightened. “Who? Where?”
“Do you see the mask with the hooked nose and the emerald feathers?”
Within minutes, she fluttered off toward a strapping young man whose family had made a respectable fortune on horseflesh. What he and Miss Zylphia arranged outside of this ballroom had no bearing on Julian. He wished them both luck.
He was no rake. Not in the ordinary sense. He did not set out to seduce or to romance. Women were attracted to his power, not his poetic words. This suited him very well. Neither party wishing for more than each was willing to give.
Julian certainly didn’t lack for more. What would he wish for? He had everything. The highest title, short of royalty. Enough gold, he might as wellberoyalty. A grand London residence, several country estates, the most well-run households in all of England.
