Crispin smirked. “That’s all right, Darling. I’ll settle for you.”
“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “I’m not mingling with your set again. Lady Laetitia will probably be there, and if I have to rescue you from one more woman using her feminine wiles to entrap you into marriage, I swear to God…”
“How about a man?”
I stared at him. My mouth was open, but no words came out, so I shut it. And opened it again. “What do you mean?”
He smiled. Smugly, irritatingly. “I know where Kit is. I’ll take you there, if you want.”
CHAPTERTWO
The temptation was toomuch for me, of course. I’d been curious about the drag balls ever since Christopher started attending them shortly after we’d moved to London in the spring. But he’d always kept that part of his life separate from the part that included the flat and me.
And I’ll readily admit that crashing the ball with Crispin, of all people, gave me pause. I was feeling more kindly towards him than I used to, but I still wasn’t sure I ought to go with him to an event that was so important to Christopher. What if everything Crispin had said tonight had been a lie, and he had some sort of evil plan that would embarrass or damage Christopher, and I could have prevented it, simply by refusing to accompany him?
Did I believe so? No, of course not. Crispin might not likememuch, but hewasfond of Christopher, at least as far as I could tell.
I did what I could to mitigate the risks, however. “You know that you have to wear a gown, don’t you?”
He looked at me down the length of his nose. “Pardon?”
“It’s a drag ball. You know, men in women’s dresses? Like Shakespeare before women could be actresses?”
“I know what a drag ball is,” Crispin said irritably. “And I’m aware of theatrical tradition, Darling. I did theatricals at Cambridge, you know.”
And then he arched a brow. “Am I to understand that you want me to wear one of your frocks? The apple green you threatened me with last month, I suppose? I don’t think it will fit, Darling. I know that short hems are in fashion, but surely mid-thigh is a step too far.”
“Not mine. Christopher’s.” I grinned evilly. “He has two, in addition to the one he wore tonight. One pink and one blue. And they’ll both fit like they were made for you. No thigh-baring necessary.”
Crispin’s hair is a shade lighter than Christopher’s, a silvery platinum rather than sunny barley, and his eyes were his mother’s cool gray instead of the Astley blue, but other than that, they are practically identical. Same height, same build, same heart-shaped face with pointed chin and cupid bow’s mouth. Christopher’s nose was a shade longer, and Crispin has a small scar above his left eyebrow that I had mistakenly thought was from running into a tree, but which had apparently come about as a result of that incident with the Ballot and the light pole.
Other than that, they look much the same. Christopher’s gowns would fit Crispin like a glove. One that was made for him.
“You can’t be serious, Darling,” Crispin said. “You want to go in drag?”
“It’s a drag ball!”
“Not everyone dresses up,” Crispin said. “As I told you, the Society of Bright Young Persons have crashed the events before, and…”
“You’re a coward, St George!”
“If you think calling me names is going to sway me,” Crispin said coolly, “you’re quite mistaken. I know very well that you don’t like me. What makes you think I would care what you think?”
I scowled at him. “We both know you care, St George. You just pretend that you don’t, and everyone can see right through it.”
He lowered his brows. “You’re awful, Darling. If you can see right through it, why do you?—?”
“Never mind that right now.” I certainly didn’t want to argue with him about it. I was still getting used to the idea that he had feelings at all, let alone the fact that I had hurt them when I took Christopher away from him as a child. I didn’t want to contemplate Crispin’s feelings any further than that.
Instead, I turned my efforts to persuading instead of simply badgering him into it. “It’s a drag ball, St George. And Christopher will be there. Do you really want us to walk in there looking like ourselves?”
“Kit will recognize us even if we go in drag,” Crispin said. “He’ll certainly recognize his own gown.”
“Please.” I folded my hands and made my eyes big. “For me, St George?”
He looked at me. And sighed. “Fine. But if you tell anyone that this happened?—”
“Yes, yes, St George. If I tell anyone that I talked you into wearing a gown and heels?—”
