Page 45 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)

“ D uchess of Devils” Thrills Society!

A single day after the marriage of controversial Lady Charlotte Harding to none other than the Duke of Devils himself—that is, the Duke of Arkley—Society is rocked by her latest antic.

The very day following the wedding, the new Duchess sent out invitations to a mysterious masquerade party, shocking and thrilling us all in equal measure.

A party thrown so soon after a wedding is almost unheard of, and a Devil-hosted masquerade is certainly something to thrill us all.

All of Society has not been invited—far from it, in fact.

Invitations are worryingly rare, with many great families shocked and hurt at not being invited.

So, what shall we expect from this masquerade? Has this author even secured an invitation?

Why, we shall see. All that can be said for sure is that all Society is watching and waiting, breathless, to see what the new Duchess will do next. Suffice to say, good things await this enterprising young lady!

“Did you see that, Sybella?” Charlotte laughed, tossing the folded paper down on her vanity table. “They called me an enterprising young lady . All I did was get married and throw a party.”

“It’s all about timing,” Sybella admonished. “You got married—to an infamous man—and then promptly threw a mysterious masquerade party. It’s very clever.”

Charlotte snorted. “I wasn’t trying to be clever.”

“No, but you were, nonetheless. Now, what do you think for my mask? The black domino, or this blue silk one with feathers?”

Charlotte glanced up from her mirror and over at Sybella.

Sybella was wearing a blue muslin gown, fringed with feathers and a ruche of whitish lace, so that it looked as if she were dragging a trail of seafoam behind her. The shoulders were pointed and twisted up towards her ears, giving a sense of menace about the whole outfit.

“What are you supposed to be?” Charlotte asked. “A sea-witch?”

“I suppose so. But it’s a masquerade ball, not a costume ball. Oh, but you really should throw a costume ball sometime! We can make the Devil’s parties a little more interesting than a tense ball once a year. What about you? What are you supposed to be?”

Charlotte leaned back, eyeing herself curiously. “I … I don’t know. I had a rather specific idea in my head as to what this gown should look like, but now I don’t know what I intended.”

Sybella nodded thoughtfully, inspecting Charlotte’s gown.

“I think I understand what you mean. And might I say, you look beautiful, my dear.”

Charlotte flushed, plucking at her silk skirts.

Her gown was a surprisingly simple one. It was the color, really, which would attract attention. Was it proper for a newlywed to wear blood red? Probably not.

Her gown was blood red, vibrant and glittering. Black pearls had been sewn around the cuffs and hem, and circled the dangerously low neckline. The neckline swung low around her collarbones, just skimming the tops of her shoulders, leaving the upper curve of them bare.

Sybella had shockingly produced a small pot of cream infused with glitter, and Charlotte had patted a few fingertips of the stuff onto her shoulders, collarbones, and even a dab of it on her cheekbones. When the light caught her skin, she glittered and glowed.

Her mask, of course, would be black.

“I think this one would be dramatic,” Sybella murmured, holding up a small, circular mask that would seamlessly cover her features altogether. “But you’ll have to hold it in place by biting on a button on the inside. You’d be obliged to stay quiet.”

Charlotte snorted. “Give up speaking for a whole evening? I think not.”

“I concur,” Sybella chuckled, tossing away the mask. “A simple black domino for you, then?”

Charlotte smiled, holding up the mask in question. “I’ve had red-dyed pearls sewn onto the edges, as a contrast to my gown. What do you think?”

Sybella beamed. “I think you’ll cause a stir, to say the least.”

Charlotte carefully tied on her mask, tilting her head this way and that to inspect the result.

“I hope so,” she murmured. “I hope so very much.”

She hadn’t told Sybella about her plans for the evening. It would be too awkward, considering that it was all to do with Sybella’s brother.

Charlotte hoped that Isaac would be enthralled by her gown. After all, she did look particularly beautiful tonight. They would dance together, naturally, to open the ball. She hoped to convince him to step out onto the terrace, and then tell him …

Well, she hadn’t quite gotten that far ahead in her preparations. She hadn’t decided what to say to him, because no words seemed good enough.

Yet, she reminded herself firmly. I’ll find the right thing to say, I’m sure of it.

That was something to think about later. For now, Charlotte tweaked her mask and rose to her feet, smoothing out the fabric of her skirt. Nerves fizzled inside her, tightening her stomach. She hadn’t been able to eat much, and even the tea Sybella had ordered had tasted like water. Tepid water.

Leaving Sybella to finish getting ready, Charlotte hurried downstairs, wandering through the hallways, ballroom, and other rooms cleared out and decorated for the guests.

Delicious smells drifted through the house, mingling with the armfuls of fresh flowers Mrs. Ribb had brought in and draped thickly around the ballroom. The space almost looked like a jungle, dense with flowers and heavy with greenery.

In short, Mrs. Ribb had worked a miracle. Perling, too, had worked hard. Charlotte made a mental note to plan some sort of special treat for the servants. Afterwards, of course.

Gabriel and Thalia were here already, wearing matching blue-and-green outfits and identical blue dominos, but Charlotte only waved briefly as she passed by, en route to taste the punch to check that it was suitable.

Isaac would be down at any moment, Perling had assured her.

He was helping Mary get Tommy ready—the little boy had a costume of his own and was by all accounts mad with excitement.

Charlotte bit back a smile. She was looking forward to seeing Tommy’s little outfit. Of course, the little boy would only be at the party for half an hour or so, as it was already past his bedtime. She supposed that it would be enough for him.

My first party as a duchess.

It had better be a good one.

Voices drifted along from the doorway, and Charlotte guessed that her very first guests had arrived. Breathing in deeply, she moved to greet them.

To her surprise, Isaac was already in the hallway, ready to greet their guests, too.

He wore black and red, naturally, a black suit trimmed with red and a red domino, one eye covered in red satin to block out his damaged eye.

His gaze landed on her almost at once, even before she could call out to let him know that she was there.

His expression turned dark and hungry, and Charlotte felt an answering shiver down her spine. She came to stand beside him, heart hammering.

“I didn’t know you were going to wear something like that,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble from his chest. Charlotte had to lean closer to hear and breathed in a rich scent of something sharp and spicy, a rich cologne she hadn’t smelled before.

“A red dress? With black trimmings?” she responded, grinning up at him. “Why not? I’m a Devil now, aren’t I?”

“I am not sure the Ton’s Devils accept female members, not like the Orions.”

Charlotte only grinned wider. “I’m sure that you and I can do something about that, don’t you think? I’d like to be part of a club.”

He glanced down at her, his single blue eye glinting. Charlotte was sure, absolutely sure, that she saw real affection in his eyes.

And if there was real affection there, where might it lead? Anywhere. Anywhere .

“I imagine we can,” he murmured, his voice a deep drawl. “You’ll make a fine Devil, Charlotte.”

The first guests were climbing the stone steps outside, talking and laughing excitedly. Charlotte was pleased to see that it was Madeline, escorted by her father, of course.

“I always thought I would,” she said, as a parting shot. Then their first guests officially stepped over the threshold, and the Duke and Duchess of Devils moved forward to greet them.

It was easy enough to get into the house. After all, it was a masquerade ball. Everyone was wearing masks and dressed in unusual clothing. The footmen weren’t even checking the invitations at the door.

Matthew, the Viscount Bentley, moved silently through the halls, careful not to look at anyone for too long. He could still be recognized. And if he ran into his host … Well, that would be that, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t get such a chance again.

Of course, he had not been invited. He hadn’t expected an invitation. He didn’t even know anybody who had received one. Perhaps that was a sure sign that he should concentrate on entering Society again. Life waited for no one, after all.

But no. His life would not be able to move on, not yet. Not yet .

There was one awful moment when a clump of young ladies pointed directly at him and squealed something he could not hear over the music and roar of the crowd. He froze, boots planted to the ground, stock still as the ladies rushed towards him.

They parted around him like water around a rock, and he realized with relief that it wasn’t him they were greeting but somebody behind him. Some chirpy young man in a red Hussar’s coat. He wasn’t sure whether the coat really did belong to the young man or whether it was part of a costume.

Either way, it made him sick.

He hurried over to the window to compose himself. His heart was beating hard against his ribcage, and he felt faintly queasy, almost dizzy. He leaned hard on the windowsill, resting his forehead against the cool glass.