Page 11 of A Lady of Means (Roses and Rakes #1)

Chapter Eight

London’s second most fashionable ball tonight boasts a guest list not ordered by pedigree. The price of entry? Payment of something dear. What are you willing to sacrifice to avoid the fear of missing out?

- Scandalous Lives of London scandal sheet

* * *

After the ball, was…another ball. Of a different sort. This one was exclusive in the way that gaming hell membership was exclusive, and not in the way that balls were.

Each invitee to the ball had to complete a singular task outlined in their invitation and offer proof of completing said task as their entry to the ball. The whole process made it so that getting there was almost as fun as the revelry itself… almost.

Moria’s favorite part was that each attendant was required to hide their identity behind a mask. This allowed for the semblance of anonymity, as much as a paltry strip of beaded cloth could allow.

The rich and powerful mixed with the ennobled impoverished in a grand swirl of limitless activity in the black and white ballroom of Pomfrey House.

Ladies were allowed to attend unchaperoned amongst gentlemen, and this made for a more illicit tableau than the party Moria had escaped earlier that evening.

Moria had had to sneak out over her own balcony in a hoop skirt, she hoped this night proved to be worth her many gambles.

“Are you sure we won’t get into some kind of trouble for being here? What about our reputations?” Kate asked, coming to stand at Moria’s side at the top of the staircase that looked out over a packed ballroom.

“That’s why Lady Moria’s hair is so big, it’s full of secrets,” Carina said, with a wink.

“It’s not nearly as big as your ego,” Moria shot back, sticking out her tongue as the line to make it down the stairs moved.

“Carina is right. We’re your friends, why would we get you into any trouble?” Lady Gretchen asked, squeezing Kate’s hand for reassurance.

“I’m in no position to pass up friends,” Kate answered, following the line in front of them.

“Why did your parents want you to debut this season?” Carina inquired, smoothing a curl back into Kate’s coiffure.

“They wanted me to get socialized,” Kate said, adjusting her mask.

“And you’ll get socialized alright,” Lady Gretchen said, pulling a flask from the sleeve of her gown.

Kate’s eyes flew to the other two ladies. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a regulation beauty. Own it.” Moria paid her new friend a compliment before she linked arms with the three women, making their way down the grand staircase in dramatic fashion that drew some attention.

Their entrance drew some attention, but it was Lord Tristan Valentine who was the first to recognize Moria behind her fox mask.

“It had to be you.”

From Moria’s side, Miss Herring rolled her eyes at Valentine’s approach. Moria didn’t heed her, pulling her glove higher up her arm so she had something to do to steady her hands. “I thought you were impervious to my charms, Valentine?”

Tristan Valentine lifted back his domino mask and gave her a smile. “Impervious, but not blind.”

Moria couldn’t help herself. “Beauty only gets you so far.” There was a knife’s edge to her voice that she hadn’t been able to restrain. Kate’s face fell, looking at her curiously.

Valentine offered his arm for Moria to take. “Careful, my lady, or someone will mistake you for sounding bored.”

“Is my sister-in-law sounding bored already? What a pity.” Crooned the voice of their host, Moria’s brother-in-law, Fitzwilliam Pomfrey, Viscount Ludlowe.

Moria could hear the familiar thread of sarcasm in her childhood friend’s voice. Even in the crush of people who turned their attention her way, her sister Noelle was nowhere to be seen.

“Good evening, my lord. Will Adelaide be attending this evening?” Miss Herring asked.

“There will be a literary salon this evening to discuss works of fiction with interested parties where she might be in attendance.” There was a twinkle in Fitz’s eye, pride and mischief intermingled.

Moria had attended them before, riveted that her bookish, quiet sister could transform into this different person altogether who conversed about art with great minds and was held in high esteem by other artists.

Moria couldn’t fend off the pang of jealousy that Noelle had all this, including the love of her life, when everything Moria had touched turned to an empty, fleeting gold before it died.

She could never voice such feelings; instead she yawned behind her hand and Carina and Lady Gretchen laughed. Moria felt a little sick making her friends laugh at her sister’s expense, but the thought of vulnerability was worse.

Fitz was addressing the group, but Moria followed a head of dark hair towering over the others in her periphery.

As he came into view, again, the tension in his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, the raven’s wing depth of his dark eyes were familiar.

He wasn’t wearing his red coat, or a mask, but a tailored set of fine evening clothes.

The effect let her see all his unabashed beauty on display.

Her gamble in coming tonight had not been in vain.

She was itching to know how he’d gained entry.

Moria noticed other women notice him, eyes darting his way behind their masks and disguises. Kate grasped her hand to point in his direction. Moria didn’t hear what the other woman or any of her companions said as she’d already left them behind.

The very lines and shape of him was erotic.

Not that he seemed aware of any of that. There was a singular purpose in his movements as he searched the ballroom.

A woman stepped in his path, he moved out of her way.

All mine. Her heart seemed to echo his words at another very different ball earlier that evening.

Moria’s breath caught and her heart outran the pace of the music when he finally caught her eyes, held them. His tell was his eyes. The room descended into a level of heat and noise and madness, but it could have burned down and he’d not have taken his eyes from her face.

“Lady Fox,” he said, bending his frame to lean to her height, to her ear.

“Soldier,” she greeted.

“Yours to command,” he answered her greeting with a playful salute.

“You got my message, then?”

“You owed me a dance.”

“But how did you…” Her voice trailed off, but he picked up the thread.

“The dark-haired woman at the door,” he answered. “I gave her your note.”

Her sister. Dressed as Adelaide. Had she recognized Moria’s handwriting?

“Did you come for me earlier too? At the other ball?”

He took her in his arms, pulling her with him onto the dance floor. She eyed the dancers around them caught up in complicated patterns to a music that seemed to have no end, drunk on champagne that saw no limit.

“As I said,” His fingers twined with hers, his other hand wrapping at her waist. “You owed me a dance.”

“Are we not already? Dancing around one another?” she asked. He gifted her one questioning brow and a smile that tugged at the corner of his delicious lips.

Moria leaned into him, letting him guide her.

She’d been afraid that a man so large and imposing would drag her around the dance floor clumsily stepping on her feet and tripping to the time of the music.

But beyond a long and muscled form, he had an innate and instinctive grace she hadn’t anticipated.

Questions tripped through her mind, she almost stumbled but he adjusted his pace and kept her on her feet.

“Something you want to say, Lady Fox?” he asked, that damn smile tugging at his lips again.

Moria had never once had to resort to counting the time of the music in her head before, but she was doing it now.

Dance had always been a performance, but with him it was something else entirely she couldn’t name.

“Where did you learn to dance, Captain?”

His gloved hands were so large and so warm. “I told you my father was the heir to an earldom, and my brother after him. Believe it or not, I attended lessons in deportment and elocution, and yes, dancing. I think it’s aided in my swordsmanship as well.”

The candelabra above his head shed iridescent light on his night-colored hair.

“You never fail to surprise.”

He let out a low laugh. “Not nearly as much as you, I should think.”

Moria was vaguely aware of people staring in their direction. She changed partners briefly and then was returned to Devyn.

She had to stifle the urge to close her eyes as their hands made contact again.

Her mind conjured images of those hands on her skin, the places he could touch with those hands, with other parts of his body as well.

Drat her corset, she couldn’t breathe. She’d gone from debauched and jaded debutante to wanting to be debauched in a matter of moments.

“Me? What about an army captain seeking out an elusive debutante at two very different balls in one evening? Now there’s a tale.”

He said his next words low enough that only she could hear them. “I think, my lady, the more interesting tale I have to tell starts with finally getting to hold you in my arms after thinking about it for an entire year.”

Her eyes closed briefly, savoring his words and his nearness. She was vaguely aware of the music ending, of dancers applauding. They were likely too intoxicated to notice she didn’t clap; she was intoxicated on something else entirely. Someone.

Not just someone. Devyn. Moria had lauded herself for being sensible, she’d lost her head to a boy before who clouded all objectivity and reason until the clouds parted and revealed how very solidly he’d deceived her. But Devyn was a man.

There was only raw honesty painted on his face when he looked back at her, only genuine affection when his voice caressed her ear to ask, “Would you like to dance again or would you like to talk?”

Her gloved fingers touched the side of his neck near her mouth as she whispered in his ear, “I would love to talk. Just give me a few minutes.”

“Moria.”

She heard her name at her back and knew who it was.

“Fitzwilliam Pomfrey,” she said through gritted teeth, turning toward her brother-in-law.

Fitz had always been one of the tallest men she knew, but he was still more than a head shorter and much less broad than the captain.

The two men made quite a stark contrast as they stared at one another.

Devyn was the first to introduce himself, Fitz followed suit but the keen amusement and curiosity on his face was telling.

“Captain Winter and I were–”

“Already acquainted before this evening, I gather?” Fitz said, a dimple pulling at his cheek. His ocean-blue eyes were rife with amusement. She was sure her sister would be hearing about this. Somehow the thought was…comforting?

Before she could speak, Fitz held up a hand.

“Save your lies, Moria, I won’t tell a soul.

Just stay out of trouble and don’t force my hand, alright?

” but there was a soft note to his voice.

He was her friend, there was a goodness in the young, blonde viscount that understood the weight of secrets and pride in a way that not every man of his station did.

He turned to Devyn, sticking out a hand. “Captain,” he said with a firm shake, “I’m better with a sword or a pistol than I look, so no compromising my sister-in-law on my wife’s rather delicate furniture, I’d hate to call you out.” And with a dramatic flourish he was gone.

A laugh bubbled up from Devyn’s chest. “That was your infamous brother-in-law? This ball’s host?”

Moria put a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. “I’m afraid that is indeed the Viscount Ludlowe.”

“Rather disappointed in him for leaving you alone with a scoundrel like me,” he said, taking a step closer to her. They were not alone, they were still in a crowded ballroom in one of Mayfair’s most coveted parties.

“We aren’t nearly alone enough,” Moria said, immediately biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut at how forward she sounded. But somehow, he could find her in a crowded room and she’d watch it all burn down just to have him all to herself.