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Cameron shivered. “Macabre.”
“My father has a dark sense of humor.”
“The gargoyles might have tipped me off.”
“Oh, those were my idea. Perhaps the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”
Cameron stopped in a shaft of moonlight stretching in through a wrought-iron-accented window. “I changed my mind.”
“You want to go home?”
“You’re not very nice.”
Henry buckled with a laugh. “I thought we established I wasn’t a gentleman.” He gestured toward a set of double doors. “Shall we?”
When the doors opened, brilliant light from a large room with high ceilings and chandeliers assaulted Cameron’s eyes. He blinked rapidly. Two massive turkeys, stuffed chickens, and at least fifty savory dishes covered a long table, grapes and apples filling every space. Costumed guests—elegant, spooky, or sexy—helped themselves, carrying mounted plates back to the round tables stamping the room.
Amidst the chatter, laughter, and clinking of cutlery, a live string quartet played popular classics.
“This is more than all out, Henry. Are we crashing a royal wedding?”
“With guests dressed like this? I could only wish.”
“You know what I mean.” He pivoted toward Henry and hushed his voice. “Someone’s looking at me.”
“We just entered the room.”
“No, I mean . . . staring. Good looking, older but not too old, sure of himself.”
“I’m unsurprised.” Henry spoke softly, uttering the words only for him. “When a rose walks into a room, bees notice. Who eyed you?”
“The man standing under that massive clock. Dark hair, red wine, Phantom of the Opera mask and cloak.”
Henry startled and rubbed his nape. “While I stand by my statement that you are very noticeable, I amend my insinuation of sexual attraction.”
“Oh?”
The man nodded, a wooden smile planted on his face. “That is Darcy William Henryson Tilney, my father.”
Oh. Cameron heated. “I suppose he wants to know who you invited? Why you left?”
Henry grabbed two flutes off a passing waiter’s tray and handed one to Cameron. “He’s beckoning me.” Henry knocked back his champagne. “Please, eat. My sister is at the table by the far door. She’s looking forward to seeing you.”
With a short smile, he strode off toward his father.
Cameron assembled a modest plate and wound around guests, making for Georgie—
He was yanked to the side and forced into a chair, barely saving his gratin dauphinois.
He set his plate down and met Isabella’s pale face and sly smile. Red hair cascaded over her shoulders, locks catching on the four strings of pearls choking her.
“You sneaky creature, coming after all! And in such an intricate costume. You planned this all along. Did you want to scare John and I? Sorry, you only managed to shock.” She turned to John, adjusting his BMW cap beside her. “Isn’t Cameron looking rather extra tonight?”
“I thought you weren’t coming,” John said, scanning the room with a scowl. “If I’d known, I’d have taken you with me to get paired costumes.”
Isabella ate a grape off Cameron’s plate. “Do you like my gown? The antique feel and slightly ripped sleeves screamed vampire. I wish your brother could see me in it.”
“He’s busy at work. We’re under a tight deadline to—”
“I know. He said you’ve been working so hard you needed the night off, which frustrated me a little when you refused to come tonight. But here you are, so it’s all forgiven and forgotten.” She waved a hand toward the giant clock and Henry and his dad conversing quietly beneath it. “Handsome family. I heard talk that there’s another son. In the army. ‘Quietly intense’ someone said, and I couldn’t wrap my head around what that might look like. What with Henry being so . . .”
“In your face?” John suggested.
“No . . .”
“Smug?”
“That’s not it . . .”
“Warm and quick-witted?” Cameron said with a tight look at John.
“Lurid,” Isabella said.
John nodded enthusiastically. “Gaudy, even. It’s his stupid English accent.”
Cameron gritted his teeth. “He modulates his tone for humor and grammatically correct emphasis.”
“Your friend Georgie’s accent is more bearable.”
Cameron stood abruptly. “Speaking of Georgie, I wanted to say hello. Thank her for inviting me.”
Isabella snagged his hand. “She just rolled out of the room. Don’t listen to my brother, he doesn’t understand the lure of a foreign accent like we do. Lurid was the wrong word. I meant Henry has a bright countenance. Sparkly. I can’t imagine a brooding brother.”
Cameron reluctantly sat. “His name is Fred.”
“Oh, no. Now I understand.”
John leaned in, frowning.
Cameron glanced at his creamy potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, and chicken breast. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Just, I tried those potatoes. A lot of cream.”
“Good. I love cream.” Tonight, at any rate.
John paused, and nodded. “Once you’re done, we’ll hit the dance floor.”
Young couples Swing danced with abandon across the black-and-white tiled floor. “You can Swing?”
“I can attempt to.”
Nothing about that sounded remotely enticing. “Fun.”
Isabella bopped his nose. “You are so adorable. I want to dance with you first.”
She waited barely three mouthfuls of potato before she squee’d and dragged him to the dance floor. “‘Don’t Stop!’ I love this song.”
