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Gloria claps her hands over her mouth, trying to hide her laughter as if she’s afraid he’ll hear it even though he’s nowhere near the room. Except, a knock startles us, and I clap my hands over my mouth as well, trying to prevent the fit of laughter from erupting through my fingers.
“Are you quite done yet? We should be leaving soon.” Adam’s voice booms from the door.
Gloria fusses with my dress again. “Aye, yes, sir. She’s quite dressed,” she shouts, patting me on the back to hurry me along.
“Okay, okay.” Gripping the skirts of my dress, I head to the door, pulling it open.
My heart stops beating at the sight of him. My throat starts to close. Oh, no. He looks delicious.
Everything fits him to perfection, cream-coloured trousers accentuating strong legs and a matching vest for his exquisite upper torso. The gold buttons across his chest match the gold detailing on the hem of my dress and in the stitching.
A fitted deep-red tailcoat sweeps the back of his knees and hugs his biceps. A white cloth is tied just around the turned-up collar of his shirt. The collar sweeps across his trimmed jawline, brushing across the edge of his modest sideburns. His hair is pulled out of his face with a small tie, and he looks every bit the picture of his wealth. Though everything is so fitted to his form, he’s not bursting out of his clothes. No, he wears them as if they were made specifically for him.Well, Olivia, obviously they were.
With his hair pulled back, it’s hard to keep my eyes off the symmetry of his face. If I were truly Jane and had never met the beast before, I’d be inclined to think that Adam Molotov was too good for me. That would be a shocking thought for Jane. But I suppose I am thankful I’m not Jane, because I know him. Never mind all the things he’s done to me. He’s the man, who in one week, murdered seven men before me. No, eight, including the man in the cellar.
He is rabid. Before witnessing those murderers, I’d have thought his madness lied only in sex, picking on the weak and making empty threats. But now, I know, his madness extends much further. He needs to take blood, even more than he needs to have sex. He’s sick. And yet.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks.
“Yes.” My lips tremble foolishly as I speak.
He extends his elbow toward me so that I may hook my arm in his. My heart thumps as my gloved arm brushes against the heat of him, seeping through all those layers of clothing. The nub between my legs quiver, and I dampen. I swallow past the pulsing in my throat and internally swear at myself. I must be quite sick, too.
Outside, waiting for us, is one of those large fancy carriages with the polished black wheels that I never thought I’d ever ride in. He extends his hand and helps me into it. He should wear the fancy clothing more often; it seems to have turned him into a gentleman. He might be a rogue and a rake but tonight, there’s no hiding his origin. I find myself wondering as the carriage rocks with his entrance, what he might have been if he hadn’t lost his mind.
He hadn’t looked at me properly until now. He raises his head, and his eyes catch fire as they move over my face. He drags them further down like a soft caress. I shiver as they settle on the top of my breasts. The low-cut fabric doesn’t even pretend to be willing to cover them up modestly. My heart races, and that sick part that must be inside me too, pulls my shoulders back and my chest out, tempting him.
He hisses before clearing his throat. There’s a knock on the carriage door, and my cheeks flush from the wanton thoughts. Irritation swells in me at the interruption, and I curse myself as I look out the window. I must say, the sight of Lucian holding a delicate white and gold fan does a lot to chase the irritation away.
“Feeling a bit dainty, are we?” Adam says.
“Ha ha, you’re quite the jester, aren’t ye?” Lucian mocks. “Gloria sent me running with it. She’d suffer heart failure if I didn’t make sure Olivia got this flimsy thing.” He shakes it as though it might be vile to touch.
Adam grins, and I jolt. For the love of heaven and earth, why is he doing this to me? He grabs the fan from Lucian, before tapping the top of the carriage and looking out the window. That’s it? No stolen touches? No lingering glances? Huffing, I turn my head to face the other window. The wheels grind the gravel as the carriage heads down the slanted path. Behind us, however, it’s like a stampede of hooves and wheels.
“Um, I’m guessing we’re not going to the ball alone?” I ask, craning my neck out the window.
He turns to look at me with a raised brow and a smirk. “I never go anywhere alone.”
And there goes the end of our conversation the entire ride to the ball, during which time I’ve held my breath, suffocating. He jumps from the carriage when it comes to a stop and extends his hand. My heart gallops as I take it.
“Watch your step,” he says just as I’m about to step into a pile of horse crap.
I can’t help but grin. “That wouldn’t have been good,” I say.
He lifts me over the pile of crap, and my cheeks heat. Stubborn, unwavering pride swells within me, despite my best efforts, as we walk side by side toward the entrance of the large estate. Ridiculously, I’m giddy at the thought of everyone thinking we’re an item. As we step through the entrance and into the ballroom, however, he walks away and leaves me alone with the reminder that I’m nobody to him.
I try to appear unshaken by the brick that he just slammed into the pit of my stomach. Noticing a shadowed spot against the wall, I hurry toward it, eager to become a fixture. But on the way there, a host of women stop me, marvelling over my dress, wondering who might have made it, and whether they could have one made for them. I have no clue who made the dress, so I invent a name, a different one for every person who asks me and before long, I’m having fun telling stories.
“Oh, what’s your name, dear?” An older woman in an elegant soft pink and pale blue dress laughs as she approaches me. Her dress twinkles as if studded with diamonds. Her neck and ears are adorned in delicate but divine pink gems set in silver. The dress is of the highest fashion, with longer sleeves falling at her elbows and befitting her maturity.
“Olivia.” I smile, extending my hand to meet hers.
“My, Olivia, you are quite charming,” she beams. “Are you betrothed?” she asks.
My cheeks flush. “Me? Oh no.” I lower my eyes, studying my white-gloved hand.
“A girl from your standing and exquisite beauty must be swarmed with suitors then. I imagine there must be much to choose from.” She grins. “A difficult choice, indeed. No wonder you’re hiding away amongst us older women. Well, you must meet my guest.”
