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Emily blinked, staring down at it. They’d struck a bargain. She had five days to decide whether she was going to marry this man or not. At the end of it, if she said no, he would doubtlessly expose her as Anon, or forceherto exposeherself.

I can do it. I can weather the scandal. I’m braver than I think I am. Or perhaps I’ll simply force myself to be brave. Is that not what bravery is, anyway? Forcing oneself to do something while one is terrified?

She breathed in deeply and took his hand. His palm was rough and warm against hers, his long fingers curling over the back of her knuckles. She’d expected him to squeeze, like in a proper handshake, but he only held her hand as if he were holding something delicate.

“We have a deal, Miss Belmont,” he murmured. “I shall do my best to speed up your decision. Five nights from now, we shall meet and discuss your decision—and the consequences.”

Consequences. What a reassuring word.

Emily wrenched her hand back.

“Very well,” she snapped. “But you’d better not hire any actors to pretend to be Anon, or else I shall kill you myself.”

He turned away, but he didn’t manage to hide a grin. “Agreed, Miss Belmont. Agreed.”

CHAPTER6

FIVE NIGHTS TO HER DECISION

“Ow! It is not going to fit, Anna!” Daphne complained. “Ouch! You poked me with that pin or purpose.”

“Well, perhaps I wouldn’t have to if you stopped wriggling,” Anna shot back.

Emily smothered a smile.

They were gathered in Beatrice’s huge, fine bedroom. Privately, Emily did not think she’d like to sleep in such a large space. There would be shadows everywhere. She much preferred her small, cozy bedroom back home.

Beatrice and Stephen, the Duchess and Duke of Blackwood, were throwing a masquerade ball. It was a rather larger event than they had initially intended, it seemed, and half of London was invited.

Emily had intended to simply wear a mask—a black domino, probably—but her sisters disagreed. No, she would dress up.

“We’re all going as figures from Grecian and Roman mythology,” Beatrice had explained, “and you must join in, or you’ll look like the odd one out!”

Emily had a few snappy retorts to that, but she wisely kept them to herself. And now she found herself sitting on the floor of Beatrice’s bedroom, swathed in Grecian robes and wearing sandals that pinched her ankles, watching her sister get pinned into similar robes.

There was a little pedestal in front of the mirror, on which they’d all stood, one by one, and been sewn into their complicated costumes. Anna did the sewing, her brow furrowed and her mouth bristling with pins.

Emily remembered how skilled a seamstress Anna had been when they were younger. Anna had had to, for at some point they had no money for new clothes. Now, of course, the women could summon a veritable army of maids to carry out their instructions. Still, they seemed to prefer to do the work themselves.

“Stephen and I are dressing as Zeus and Hera,” Beatrice explained. “Stephen complained most heartily—apparently, Zeus is not a particularly pleasant Grecian god. But then none of them are, are they?—and so that’s that.”

“Theo wanted to be Poseidon, mostly because he has a trident he wants to wave around,” Anna chipped in, “which makes me Amphitrite.”

“I can’t help thinking that Daphne and I have our roles the wrong way round,” Emily remarked, finishing braiding a long strip of thin gold rope that she was supposed to tie the waist of her Grecian robes with. “She ought to be Aphrodite, and I will be Athena. Besides, they aren’t even sisters!”

“I’d like to be Athena. Look, I have a bronze owl figurine I shall carry around with me,” Daphne responded, turning this way and that in front of the long mirror.

Anna took the pins out of her mouth before she spoke. “You’ll make a perfect Aphrodite, Emily.”

“Aphrodite doesn’t wear spectacles,” Emily muttered.

“Yes, and you weren’t born from sea foam. It’s just a bit of fun,” Anna admonished. “There, Daphne, you’re done. What do you think?”

Daphne pursed her lips, inspecting herself. The robes, which looked so very simple on the figures in paintings and statues, were harder to put together than one might have thought. Still, the freedom was pleasant. Emily did not miss her corset.

“I should have warned you before,” Beatrice spoke up, looking a little anxious, “but I invited the Duke of Clapton.”

Daphne spun around to glare at her. There was an ominous tearing sound, and Anna threw her hands up in despair.