“Good.” She smiled at him. “Then it’s an excellent costume.”
Which was how Julian Newcombe-Ives, the sixth Duke of Lambley, found himself being cheered by a raucous group of joyful revelers as he and Miss Thorne stepped over the threshold arm in arm.
“Lord X! Lady X!”
Flutes of champagne flashed skyward all throughout the ballroom as the crowd roared with enthusiasm. A pair of footmen appeared at their sides with brimming trays of champagne-filled glasses, so that Lord and Lady X could take part in the fun.
And itwasfun, Julian admitted grudgingly. Fun and awkward and interesting and uncomfortable and eye-opening.
Even with an ugly mask and powdered hair, he attracted plenty of admiring gazes—but no one fawned over him specifically or toasted his name.
Julian could not help but wonder how much of his popularity washispopularity at all. Were they here for him? Or because of his title? Or did they come simply because he threw one hell of a good party?
“Well, Lord X?” Miss Thorne opened her reticule to reveal a small notebook and pencil nub inside. “Shall we begin the ‘masquerade biscuit’ inquisition? Or shall we dance?”
“I do not dance,” he reminded her.
“Our important host is too busy to dance,” she corrected him. “Too busy controlling every tiny detail, no matter how insignificant. You, however, are the carefree and spontaneous Lord X.”
He stared at her. Lord knew he’d like to have her in his arms again.
“Idohave ‘planned spontaneity’ in my diary entry for today,” he admitted.
She grinned at him, and he pulled her onto the parquet.
“Has anyone ever mentioned you are appallingly bossy and presumptuous?”
“You do.” Her eyes twinkled. “Every time you see me.”
“It is a repugnant quality,” he informed her.
Or at least it should be. Instead of repelling him, each encounter only served to make him desire even more of her. What he wouldn’t give for a wife like this! As a man accustomed to getting his way, being thwarted by fate rankled.
If only Miss Thorne had been born to the world of the ton...
Julian nearly stumbled at the direction of his thoughts. He put that nonsense out of his mind at once. Shewasn’tbeau monde. He was.Sheknew she would never be his duchess.
Yet she made him want things they both knew he could not have.
Chapter 13
Unity picked her way carefully down the slick cobblestone street. The rain had drizzled to a stop an hour ago, leaving uneven puddles and rivulets of dirty water in its wake.
Her mind was not on the spring weather. Nor were her constantly churning thoughts centered on the nest egg she was working to amass or the masquerade-themed assembly rooms she intended to one day own on a street just like this one.
She was thinking about the Duke of Lambley.
Again.
Still.
He had pushed the usual topics so far from her mind that thoughts of him hadbecomethe new usual.
Ridiculous. Pointless. They had spent a glorious hour dancing and arguing and laughing together as Lord and Lady X, but he was no carefree anonymous buck.
At precisely eleven o’clock, he had handed her his mask, knocked the powder from his hair, and resumed his role as king of the ballroom.
That had been Unity’s cue to forget about her temporary employer.
