Page 2 of A Duchess to Unravel (The Devil’s Masquerade #3)

“A lady has asked for her space, Lord Vulcan. Do so kindly respect that.”

Her tone was polite but firm, and Theo did not stand still long enough to hear a retort. She turned her back, head high, and began to walk toward the nearest waiter carrying a tray of wine. She was about to reach for one when a hand shot out before hers, grabbing two of them.

“Go away,” Vulcan commanded to the waiter taking away Theo’s chance to simply grab another. He held out one of the glasses toward her as the waiter quickly disappeared.

Theo drew in a tempered breath, growing tired of his presence, and ignored the offered glass.

“If you are attempting to be charming, sir, I must inform you that you have failed most miserably,” she said with apparent displeasure.

“I am not a man to be ignored, Lady Calypso.” Vulcan replied, still holding out the glass. “You have offered your time to many partners this evening, why not to me?”

“ Dance partners,” Theo quickly clarified. “And I do not need to explain myself. The Masquerade’s rules dictate that I have a right to my decision. Clearly you have not been here as often as you wish me to believe, or you would know that.”

Vulcan dropped the glasses, not flinching a muscle as the shattered glass and wine spilled at their feet, and stepped up to grab her so fast that Theo did not realize he’d done so until she felt his vise-like grip around her upper arm.

“You think rules can stop me?” Vulcan growled. “I am the God of fire and iron; I bend all things to my will.”

“Let go,” she bit out, trying to wrench herself away.

Something was very much wrong with this man.

While they had all assumed names of the Greek or Roman Gods and Goddesses for cover, no one she had yet met had tried to assume the actual identity of such an immortal.

Yet this man was speaking as if he was not human at all, as if he truly believed that he held such powers.

His level of disillusionment startled Theo, and for the first time since attending the Devil’s Masquerade parties, she wondered if she had made a mistake.

She looked around for Poseidon, hoping that he had finished his dallying, but who she found walking toward her instead had her eyes growing wide behind her mask and her pulse jump.

A man, taller and broader than any she’d every seen before was stalking straight toward them.

His horned skull mask hid every part of his face but his lips and chin, the painting of it so detailed that it had Theo wondering if the thing had actually been made of human bone.

She tried to catch his eyes, but they were not aimed at her. They were trained solely on her captor.

“The lady has requested ye stop,” the large man stated.

He did not hold the proper and tight clipped tone of an English noble’s voice but instead had a Scottish brogue that somehow sounded both sophisticated and wild.

The deep, rough tone of his voice slid against Theo’s ears, making her shiver for a new reason.

He reached for Vulcan’s hand, not waiting for him to let up on his own, and pried the man’s fingers from Theo’s arm before shoving Vulcan’s hand down to his side.

A sigh of relief left Theo’s lips as she felt the release of pressure from her arm, and she quickly moved her other hand up to rub the bruised spot as the two men glared at one another.

Vulcan was noticeably shorter and smaller-chested than the skull-masked man, but that didn’t stop him from being rude.

“Who are you to interrupt the lady and I?” Vulcan demanded, curling his hands into fists.

“The Masquerade has those that ensure the rules are kept,” the skull- masked man replied. “I am such. So, I say again, the lady has requested ye to stop.”

“You do not know the rules of which we play together,” Vulcan retorted, “she does not need your help.”

“Oh, really?” The smooth Scottish brogue rumbled. “Let us ask the lady then, shall we? Make it clear what her wishes are.”

The skull-masked man turned to Theo, and it was only then that she caught his near black irises. They startled her; intrigued her. Yet they did not frighten her.

“Do ye know this man?” He asked, nodding toward Vulcan. Speechless at the sight of his strange eyes, Theo shook his head.

“Do ye want his attention?” He asked next.

Again, Theo shook her head.

“There ye have it then,” the skull-masked man said, turning back to Vulcan. “The club has rules. You are in violation of them. I suggest ye leave, before I make ye leave.”

He took a step toward Vulcan, peering down at the much smaller man.

“Ye dinnae want me to put me hands on ye again, Lord,” he practically purred the threat. “I can promise ye, ye willnae like it.”

Theo stood tensely to the side, watching as the two men stared at one another in silent standoff. Then Vulcan’s masked face slowly turned to her, followed once more by that eerie tilt of his chin.

“You will remember me next time, Calypso.”

He said it as if it were a call for her to heel.

Theo raised her chin, refusing to show how he had unnerved her, and made a point of slowly dragging her eyes down his figure before staring into the black fabric that covered his eyes.

“Unlikely.” She stated dryly.

A grumble of agitation rose from Vulcan’s chest. He looked for a moment as if he were going to step toward her, then seemed to think better of it as the mammoth of a man shadowed his movement.

Without another word, without a look toward the man that had stopped him, Vulcan turned away, walking through the dance floor occupied by other Masqueraders and straight to the exit.

Theo let out a pent-up breath of relief as he disappeared, and let her shoulders slump.

Perhaps Tristan had been right. Perhaps that Masquerade was more dangerous than she thought.

This was the second time now a man had tried to force himself on someone.

First it was Amelia, targeted by her former suitor.

Now this Vulcan fellow. Something was changing within the secret club.

Or perhaps, in the men that were joining it.

“Ye know I was told that London society was more sophisticated than the Scottish,” the behemoth, skull-masked man stated, reminding her of his presence. “Now that I am here I dinnae see how that is true.”

Theo, despite the tension, let out a weak laugh.

“It was not always this way,” she replied, then shook her head. “You know I cannot say that for sure. Perhaps our society has always held its own form of savagery.”

She smiled at him, the gesture feeling false, empty, and curtseyed.

“I thank you, though, for your help, Sir,” she told him. “You did in fact come at the perfect time. I had assumed that the Masquerade had some sort of guardian; up until now I had not seen the need for one to act.”

Behind his skull mask, the man smiled, the gesture appearing somewhat fiendish.

“And ye still have yet to see so,” he replied in his deep, brogue, “As I have lied. I am not such a guardian. I just cannae stand bullish men.”

This time Theo’s laugh was clear and genuine.

“You are quite the actor, Sir! Well done,” she praised.

Again, he smiled, the devilishly handsome expression sending warmth spreading throughout her body.

“With the proper audience, I can be just about anything,” he replied, taking a step closer to her.

“After what ye just went through I can understand if ye decline, but would ye take a moment and drink with me? I am enjoying the music, but I’d like a moment to step away from the crowd.”

Theo blushed beneath her mask, liking that he wanted her company.

“It is the least I could do,” she replied, her tone flirtatious, “Since you were so gallant as to save me.”

The man offered her his arm then, and Theo slipped hers comfortably through it, allowing him to lead them toward the hall where the more private rooms were.

With his massive hand, he slipped two wine glasses from a tray of a passing waiter, and the two of them entered one of the unoccupied rooms. As he shut the door, the music from the ballroom deadened, and Theo let out another sigh of relief.

Though she’d been enjoying it before Vulcan had approached, it had since started to make her head pound.

“Better?” The man asked, extending a wine glass to her.

“Very much so,” she agreed, accepting the glass, then took a sip. The strong, dark red wine served to sooth her nerves, and she took another long drink of it.

As she did so, the man strolled around the room, taking in the setting. It was like the others. Lit with red lamps, although this one also had a fire going in the black marble hearth, and furnished with a wide bed and chaise lounge.

“It is something,” the man mused, taking it all in, “No matter where they are hosted, parties like these all seemed to be furnished and decorated the same.”

“There are others like this?” She asked, surprised.

Theo studied the man’s back as he was turned away from her. Even beneath the black jacket and black shirt he wore, she could see the broad expanse of muscled torso.

A deep, rumbling chuckle broke from the man’s lips as he turned around to look at her.

“Hedonists exist in all countries, my lady,” he replied, “I am afraid your precious London is not that special.”

Theo let out a single chuckle, raising her glass to her lips again, “I never really thought it was special. In fact, I find it quite dull. It is why I sought out this party.”

She paused, her curiosity growing, then asked, “What are you called, Sir? And what brings you to such a dull, yet savage city?”

The man chuckled, as if amused she’d used his own words to ask her question.

“Cernunnos,” he replied, the name rolling off his tongue in a way that made her loins shiver with excitement. “And I am here to claim a rite.”

Theo’s brows perked with interest.

“The Horned God?” She asked.

Even with his mask on, Cernunnos appeared impressed.

“Ye know him? Most here only know the Greek or Roman Gods.”