Page 2 of Cocky August Rake

Wrapped in a gown of deep claret silk, its skirts whispering around her slippers and its bodice sewn with enough tiny garnets to catch every candle flame, Rose had swept through the entrance as though she had every right to be there.

Tonight, she had left the elaborate wigs behind and dressed her own pale blond hair simply beneath the black mask.

She’d felt more than a little exposed. And yet, for a woman who changed her appearance every day, what better disguise could there be than appearing as her true self?

Not one servant had questioned her. Not one had asked her name, her invitation, or which lofty family had sent her.

Why would they?

She looked precisely as a lady ought to look. And tonight, with every guest concealed behind feathers, velvet, and paint, no one had thought to wonder whether she wasn’t one.

Rose lowered her hand and let her gaze travel over the crowded ballroom.

Somewhere amid the peacocks, queens, devils, and jeweled strangers was Lord Reginald Preston—the man newly returned to London, the man who might already be considering what to do with the gift he had never asked for.

And, more importantly, with the women whose futures were tied to it.

She had not come to admire the spectacle.

She had come to find him.

A simple task, Nell had said.

Charm him, if necessary.

Discover whether The Brazen Belle had printed truth or gossip when it claimed the duke’s sea-roving younger brother was considering ridding himself of inconvenient responsibilities.

“Excuse me.” She interrupted the gentleman who had been regaling her with the tedious particulars of a wager he had won at White’s. “I have promised the next dance to another.” Rose smiled to take the sting out of it. Of course he would forgive her. He was enchanted with her.

But she’d been here for what felt like hours now, with no luck. So she tilted her head and glanced around with exaggerated surreptitiousness. “Before I go, I’d heard a rumor I wonder if you could confirm…”

“Oh?” the gentleman said, still trying to hide his disappointment, still eager to please.

“Is it true,” she asked coyly, “That the Duke of Malum’s brother has returned from the dead?”

The man, a viscount, nodded. “Ah, you’ve been listening to the latest gossip, have you? Well, the story is true in this instance. Ship never went down at all, apparently. Took heavy damages, though.”

Before the gentleman could get into too much detail about his assumptions of what Lord Reginald Preston had been doing all those years at sea, she touched his arm. “Do you think he’ll attend tonight? I’ve never laid eyes on a real live pirate before.”

“Tonight?” The gentleman blinked behind his fox mask. “Well, he did, but he left some time ago, I believe. Barely made an appearance.”

For one dangerous beat, Rose’s smile nearly slipped.

Left.

Thanking the man for the information, and with a few more words of flattery, Rose stepped away, back into the crowd.

She had failed before she had even properly begun. And here she thought the nobility preferred their “fashionable lateness”.

Her sisters at The Domus had trusted her with this—not because Rose could read men better than the rest of them. They all could.

But Rose was quick.

Quick to spot a change in the air. Quick to know when a smile meant trouble. Quicker still to decide what ought to be done about it.

Although, this evening, apparently, she had not been quick enough.

Lord Reginald Preston had vanished before she could so much as look into his eyes.