Page 1 of A Duchess to Unravel (The Devil’s Masquerade #3)
CHAPTER ONE
EARLY SUMMER
“ D oth my eyes deceive me, or dost the lovely Lady Calypso finally grace us with her presence after such a long absence?”
Her cat mask fixed firmly to her kohl-rimmed eyes, Theo Blackwood’s red lips drew into a sultry smile as she let the masked man before her draw her hand to his lips.
Feeling burst from within as he took a deep bow before her, making every small hair on her body tingle and stand to attention, and she reveled in it.
For her brother’s sake. For her friends.
Even for her own, Theo had tried to hold to her promise to never visit the Devil’s Masquerade again.
But it was nearly a year later. She was now four and twenty, and that numbness she’d felt taking hold of her before her mother, the Countess of Blackwood’s death had grown into a monstrosity; so vicious that it stole her taste for everything.
For food. For laughter. For dreams. It had even distanced her from her friends.
It had encroached upon every aspect in her life.
For a while, she was content with its existence.
It was the cause that had allowed her to miss nearly a year of boorish balls and the forced hunt for a husband.
She was content to stay in such numbness until, one day last week, she’d looked at herself in the mirror.
Theo had taken many glances at her reflection over the last year and had always seen the same thing.
Blue eyes framed by delicate brown brows, small, angular porcelain cheekbones, a button nose centered perfectly above the cupid’s bow of her plump lips, and a pointed chin.
The only imperfection on her face was the long, thin scar that raced from her left temple to the edge of her brow.
So small; its existence caused by the removal of birthmark in her younger years. Yet it was a constant reminder of every single one of her imperfections--physical and otherwise. Of why the other London nobles, especially the eligible gentlemen, would rather mock her than befriend her.
Yes, she’d glanced that reflection many times and had paid no mind to it--until that day.
For that day she could see what the numbness had been doing to her.
Her gown was loose-fitting from not nourishing herself.
Her eyes, once sparkling with mischief and love for her friends, were flat and empty.
Like her mother, she had turned into a shell and that realization frightened her beyond measure.
She decided then to break her promise to Tristan. To make the numbness stop. To go back to the one place where she never felt more alive. Where a mask to cover her imperfections and feelings was not worn just by her, but by every guest.
The Devil’s Masquerade.
“Forgive my absence, Lord Poseidon,” she purred, noting the tridents carved into his silver mask, recalling how she’d once traced them with her fingertips long ago, “Mortal issues called me away, but I am happy to finally make my return.”
“Not as happy as I,” the man posing as the Greek God of the sea replied, brushing his lips across her hand.
Theo laughed playfully, batting him away.
“I am surely the tamest of the ladies that frequent our little reprieve from society,” she replied, letting him take her arm, “You cannot have missed me that much.”
Lord Poseidon, a man she did not know in her real life nor had any interest in doing so, smirked beneath his mask and leaned in closer as he escorted her deeper into the nefarious soirée.
He looked at her from the side, his bright blue eyes sweeping with appreciation down her sleeveless, clinging black dress that accented the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips.
“Ah, tame you may be in the more seductive ways of hedonist friends, little Calypso, but I have never met a better dancer or conversationalist. I have missed your wicked, witty tongue and your graceful, ebbing movements. So very much like the water I command.”
Theo felt another burst of life shimmer through her veins as she laughed with him.
She loved this world. The dark, hypnotic underground that hosted not mere nobles, but fabled gods and goddesses of old.
The ones with appetites unable to be sated by the strict rules of their society.
True, she did not dally as the others did, but this was where she felt beautiful and at home in her own skin.
Her mask did not hinder her; it brought out her true self.
“And I have missed you,” she replied, allowing him to spin her into a dancing step, “Come, Lord Poseidon, show me how you’ve missed me.”
A handsomely devilish smirk grew upon the man’s face, and he swept her up into the dance.
As if no time at all had passed, Theo fell into the steps easily, loving the freedom of it.
There was no delicate propriety to uphold in these dances.
No scant touch of hands on shoulders and hips.
Their bodies touched fully, sweeping in hypnotic, curving moves that made her feel alive.
When they finished, those gathered in the dancing hall applauded, and many men rushed forward. Some regaling Theo on her talent, others touching and massaging parts of Poseidon, who, like her, was more inclined to the attention of men rather than women.
One man grasped boldly at Poseidon’s sculpted jaw, drew his head back, and kissed him. Another trailed his hand down over his naked chest, down to the v of his vest.
“You always draw the most wonderful attention, Calypso,” Poseidon praised, his eyes alight with arousal as he let the two men lead him away. “Welcome back.”
Theo curtsied deeply toward him, her fiendish smile gracing her lips, and turned her attention back to her own suitors.
She accepted more dances, all with different partners, one after another until her feet grew weary and her head grew dizzy.
Yet when she finished and she was asked to follow them to a more private room, she politely refused as she always did.
“Come, make time for me,” one masked man implored.
“You move like liquid fire on the dance floor,” another praised, “Pray, let me discover how you move upon a bed.”
“It is not you that will bow to me, Lady Calypso, but I that will bow to you,” another confessed, “Let me worship you as you deserve.”
“I thank you kindly for the dance and the offer, my lord,” she answered each time, “But my place is here. Yet look anon and you will see how many women wish to take my place.”
She received looks of great disappointment each time but never anger.
Instead, they would only bow deeply, turn toward the women so readily waiting for their chance, and take their pick.
That was another aspect she loved about the Devil’s Masquerade.
No was a powerful statement that was always respected.
To not do so meant immediate lifelong rejection to the secret society.
This was a party of debauchery and animalistic urges- but it was also a place of mandated consent.
At one time, she had been curious for more than dancing.
A time where she sat in laps and conceded to small, quick kisses that made her feel giddy and empowered.
But in her time of numbness that urge grew into something else.
Something more intense she did not yet understand. Something she did not entirely trust.
Needing a moment to catch her breath, Theo curtseyed politely toward the three men who held their hands out to her in anticipation, and waved them off.
“Forgive me, gentlemen, but I am in need of rest and a moment to myself,” she apologized.
“Another time,” one gentleman said, bowing politely before heading off to dance with someone else.
“It is my loss,” another stated, dipping his head in respect as he stepped away.
The third man, his mask a black, carved piece that resembled a lion’s fanged mouth, did not step away, but instead move toward her.
“Allow me to assist you, beautiful lady,” the man implored, taking the liberty of grabbing her elbow. “Whatever you need I shall supply it. Wine? A seat? A fan?”
Theo laughed coyly, wrestling her elbow out of his grasp in the most polite way possible.
“I wish to acquire such things for myself, Lord-” She paused, trying to remember his mask, and what false name he used. Yet as she stared, she could not recall him.
“I am sorry, I cannot fathom your moniker.” She finished.
Though she could not see the man’s eyes through the thin black silk that covered the mask’s eyeholes, she could sense his indignation in the way his body went rigid. He tilted his head slightly, only serving to make his black mask appear even more unsettling.
“I have long awaited your return, Lady Calypso,” he replied, “It saddens me that you cannot recall my name.”
A shiver of discontent, something she’d never felt whilst being a guest of the Devil’s Masquerade, moved down Theo’s spine. His mask was frightening. Unique. If they’d met before she surely would have recalled.
“You will have to forgive me, lord,” she answered, forcing a calm tone. “Much has happened to me since my list visit the Masquerade.”
“It is Vulcan,” the lion-masked man answered after a moment of predatory silence.
His tone was flat, gone was the flirtatious edge it held but a moment ago.
Theo took another step back. To be fair the last two times she had attended the masquerade her time had been interrupted by Dominic looking for Amelia, but even still, her memory remained sharp. She had not met this man before.
Not met. But watched by.
The thought sent another chill down her spine, and she took another step back.
“Well, Vulcan, as I said, I offer my apologies.” She offered.
“Have a drink with me and I shall forgive you,” he replied.
“A kind offer, but no,” Theo retorted.
Anger joined her unease. The Masquerade was where she’d felt most free, yet he was making her shrink; just as all those men did at the regular balls and galas she was forced to attend in the outside world.