A thought came to Wolfgang, slowly at first but screeching through the air faster and faster until it hit with the force of a twenty-four-pound cannonball. Was Charlotte sneaking out to meet aman? A man too low and sniveling to walk through the front door, who would instead encourage a young woman to meet him secretly at night and—
It’s none of your business.
Except Julian had made it his business, and certainly Wolfgang’s fist agreed, or at least it was already curling toward the military cutlass he no longer carried by his side.
A high note of laughter floated out into the night, and beneath it, Wolfgang heard the low buzz of conversation, the long notes of a violin. His fist unclenched, his guts settled themselves, and the red mist removed itself from before his eyes. Charlotte was headed for a party, that was all.
He squinted up at the imposing white limestone facade of the town house she’d strolled into.
She was going to the Viscountess Hervey’s infamous masquerade.
At least shethoughtshe was.
He stalked up the stone steps after her.
CHAPTER 2
Charlotte stood at the entranceto Viscountess Hervey’s ballroom and surveyed the masquerade crowd, or at least she tried to. She’d attended any number of the viscountess’s tamer events over the years—several balls, a charitable fair or two, and once even a deeply regretted evening of poetry—but she’d never seen the room sodimbefore. With only a scattering of candelabras here and there and the great chandeliers overhead completely dark, Charlotte could barely make out the room’s shadowy corners, let alone the figures kissing in them.
It was the ideal lighting, she noted absently, for terrible behavior.
For finding someone, the darkness was no help at all.
“Still hiding your face, are you, lad? We unmasked at midnight.” A red-faced man lumbered out of the gloom toward her, dressed as a Harlequin in pink satin with shiny black buttons down the front. He crashed into her and his hot hand tightened on her hip, squeezing first in surprise and then with rather sweaty ownership.
“What do we have here?” he murmured, and yanked her closer, swamping her with an acrid, stale smell that was partly booze and partly his own unfortunate odor.
Charlotte flicked an impatient glance at the man’s face. “Really, Major Dumbarton, it’s bad enough that you dress like a pig. Must you act like one?”
She jammed her heel hard onto his foot but didn’t wait around to hear him squeal. Instead, she whirled away into the press of people, her senses on high alert. She’d reached her majority, been out five Seasons and was the toast of the town, and yet it wouldn’t do to be discovered out alone at Viscountess Hervey’s rather notorious annual masquerade.
So don’t get caught, Charlotte told herself, and walked on.
Most of the guests were unmasked now, and the room was a sea of black dominos and oh!—Charlotte lit with pleasure—one woman wearing a domino in bright jonquil, with the rich luster of what she could identify from fifteen feet away as really fine Italian silk. Other partygoers were in fancy dress, with all sorts of vicars, dukes dressed as duchesses, and quite a number of animals, including peacocks, tigers, butterflies, unicorns, and even a rather mournful giraffe, who had to keep one hand up to support his long neck. Several women simply wore less and considered that a costume. Charlotte gave a low, admiring whistle when she caught sight of the Comtesse D’Artois, whose gown was practically transparent and whose figure alone was enough to cause a carriage accident.
A young man in a black frock coat and a wide-brimmed black hat trotted toward the comtesse, his tongue hanging out like a puppy’s. Charlotte hooked him neatly by the arm.
“Dressing as a priest? Really, Marby, is that all you could come up with?”
“I say!” The Honorable James Marby spun toward her with a face like a thundercloud, replaced in an instant by a startled grin. Their family estates lay side by side in Sussex, and they’d grown up practically as twins. “Charlotte? Is that you? What thedevilare you doing here?”
“Shh! You mustn’t say my name. I’m incognito tonight.”
“Yes, quite! Your secret’s safe with me, Char—I mean,good sir.” He frowned down at himself. “What’s wrong with my costume? I think it’s dashed clever! I’mdressedas a priest, but you see, in real life I’mnothing like—”
“Yes, my friend, in real life you’re a complete degenerate. Now, have you seen my—”
“Not half as degenerate as you. Are you here alone? Good God, and in breeches? Your grandmother will string you up by your thumbs.” The thought seemed to fill him with glee, until another thought struck and his cherub face paled. “Egad, what if she strings me up, too? I must get you home.”
“Don’t be tiresome, Marby. The rules for young ladies are ridiculous enough without you spouting them at me. Now, I need you to help me look for—”
“No. I refuse to be lured into your schemes tonight.” He must have been drunk on virtue for once in his life, or perhaps it was Lady Hervey’s rum-and-brandy punch. “But I tell you what, the Lord Mayor’s here dressed as a shepherdess. If you like, we can nick his bonnet before we go?”
Charlotte shook her head. “How you tempt me, but I haven’t the time. I’m sorry, dear Marby.”
“Sorry? What for?”
“For this.”
