Page 5 of The Hood and his Thief

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” the man prompted, drawing Rhosyn from what she realized had been an embarrassingly long perusal.

“Allow me,” Benedict chimed in. “Mr. Ansel Blakely, this is Ms. Rhosyn Walsh. Rhosyn, I had the pleasure of making Mr. Blakely’s acquaintance on my unsuccessful quest to fetch my wife some lemonade.”

Mr. Blakely inclined his head politely, although his gaze remained trained on Rhosyn’s face. The lantern-light flickered over his hair with the movement, revealing a single streak of silver running through his otherwise dark hair near his temple, although he couldn’t be much older than her.

Rhosyn gave a small bow in return, before realizing a curtsy would be more appropriate for the occasion and her dress. She smiled ruefully at her new acquaintance and tried not to think about how bending over probably afforded him a view straight down her bodice. To his credit, his polished smile did not slip an inch.

“Well then, Ms. Walsh, I’d be happy to save you from…how did you put it? Ah—standing in the corner completely out of place.” Mr. Blakely offered his hand.

Rhosyn took it without hesitation, although she looked over her shoulder as her new partner led her onto the dance floor. Benedict waved her on encouragingly, while Scarlett bit her lips in contained amusement.

Mr. Blakely swept her into his arms as the musicians started a new song, and Rhosyn’s hands automatically rose to the appropriate position at his shoulders, thanks to the begrudging afternoons of dance lessons with Contessa on the days when Rhosyn could see that knife fighting practice would frustrate her more than it would help. While Contessa argued that she was not coordinated enough on the dance floor to be a good teacher, those afternoons had led to a surprising amount of giggling as they both attempted to follow, neither familiar with leading. Rhosyn picked up dancing faster than Contessa had picked up fighting, finding that they weren’t really that different.

However, afternoons stumbling around the parlor with her friend had not prepared her fully for the intricacies of dancing as a social pursuit. Rhosyn had no idea if she should talk or smile or simply school her expression into one of pleasant vacancy. She didn’t have nearly the skill for vapid beauty as those raised in high society, taught to keep their opinions hidden behind bland smiles.

As Mr. Blakely’s fingers curled around her waist and the heat of his touch seeped through the delicate material of her gown, Rhosyn decided conversation was a must—something to distract from the unfamiliar fluttering beneath her sternum.

“I have to thank you for saving me from my evening of standing in the corner,” she ventured. “My height tends to scare away many men.”

“Well, that’s foolish. A skilled partner can handle any amount of woman.” Mr. Blakely demonstrated the truth of his statement by guiding Rhosyn into a slight dip, despite the top of his head being level with Rhosyn’s eyeline.

His hand spread across her lower back as he did so, pressing her to him.

Rhosyn swallowed to combat the sudden dryness in her mouth. “Even if the woman is a woefully inexperienced dancer herself? I must admit, I don’t come to these parties often.”

“And what could possibly be keeping a lovely lady like yourself at home when there is revelry to be had?” Mr. Blakely asked.

“I’m not really a lady,” Rhosyn admitted. “I’m an officer for the Royal Police, but I’m fortunate in my friends.”

Something sparked in Mr. Blakely’s eyes. It wasn’t the disapproval that Rhosyn had come to expect from the admission, but she couldn’t place the expression.

“I’m glad you chose to come out tonight, then, because I hear the entertainment is supposed to be incredible.” Mr. Blakely’s smile was mischievous as he nodded to a stage erected at the far end of the garden. Currently, scarlet drapes hid it from view.

“What is the entertainment?”

Just as Rhosyn asked, the song ended. Mr. Blakely stepped back. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

The sparkle in his eye as he bowed caught Rhosyn’s attention, as the glimmer seemed to come from behind the poreless mask of proper manners. She wondered what else he might keep behind the glass.

Before Rhosyn could think of an argument to persuade him to tell her about the expected show, for she was not known for her patience in waiting for surprises, Mr. Blakely had turned away and melted into the crowd of dispersing dancers. Rhosyn’s gaze tracked his receding back, but he was swallowed by the milling partygoers despite the vibrancy of his attire.

Rhosyn blew one of the curls that had fallen into her face aside with a disappointed huff, turning toward the edge of the dance floor where she was sure to wait for the rest of the evening. The three men she knew in attendance who were taller than her were unlikely to take to the floor with her. Benedict liked to dance, but threw propriety to the wind and insisted on stepping out with Scarlett for every single song at most balls. Nate refused to dance on principle and would spend the entire evening hovering over Contessa’s shoulder as she constantly elbowed him to stop glaring.

Chief Thorne wouldn’t be seen dancing with one of his own officers, determined to keep his professional reputation as spotless as could be. However, Rhosyn had noted with interest that he had taken Benedict’s sister, Lottie, for several turns at the last few parties they attended. She hoped he would do so again tonight, as he always seemed a little less exhausted after a dance with the statuesque blonde.

Rhosyn edged her way to the table of lemonade, determined to at least enjoy some refreshments when Joseph intercepted her, apparently not dancing yet, taking her by the elbow.

“I have somebody for you to meet,” he said, guiding her away from the lemonade. Rhosyn looked longingly after it as she followed, already sweating in the layers of her dress and her mouth watering at the thought of the cold liquid. Still, she dutifully followed her Chief.

“Who would you have me charm with my less-than-ideal manners?” Rhosyn asked.

“Mr. Gower. He’s one of the biggest supporters of the Talented in society at the moment. He’s already sponsored about a dozen of them, including Paul and Olivia.”

Rhosyn’s eyebrows rose in interest. After Scarlett had brought to the crown’s attention the difficulties of Talented criminals reintegrating into society, Contessa had the inspired idea to encourage noble households to sponsor them. The socialites would pay the expenses of their pardon with the crown and give them a position in their household where their Talents might be put to use doing honest work.

Very few socialites had taken the bait in the first few years, but after Contessa mentioned that the Woodrow’s famously beautiful rose bushes were the result of their gardener, Gregor’s Talent, a few wealthy citizens had chanced to sponsor one or two Talented. After all, there was certainly no harm in hiring a coachman who was so uncannily good with the horses it was as if he could talk to them, or a seamstress who could tailor a dress perfectly without even looking at a measuring tape.

It was an imperfect system, leaving out those with more intimidating Talents, like Scarlett, but it was a start. One household sponsoring a dozen Talented was unheard of, though, and a costly proposition.