Page 2 of Twelfth Night Sorcery (The Cambion Club #2)

“Madam, do I know you?” His voice sounded exactly like what she would have expected: deep, cultured, a little lazy. Typical English aristocrat. What was it, then, that constantly drew her eyes towards him?

“I do not think we have ever met.” Honora would have remembered him, if only for his unusual aura. “But perhaps we ought to become better acquainted?” She had planned her script ahead of time, but the words sounded patently phony.

To her surprise, though, her feeble attempt at flirtation worked. A smile lit up his face as he bowed to her. Half his face was hidden by a mask, but even so, she could see that his smile transformed his face, making him far more handsome.

“In that case, would you care to dance?”

She returned his smile, relieved by the success of her plan. “I would like that very much.”

They joined in the next country dance. He danced very well, which initially surprised her, until she reasoned that there was no reason why a large man should not move lightly. Wasn’t a tiger just as agile as a housecat?

Bacchus asked her for another dance after that, and she accepted, because she increasingly suspected he might be the ideal accomplice.

At least, he seemed more attractive than her other options.

He spoke and acted like a sober man. He did not reek of liquor or stink of unwashed body.

He touched her politely and respectfully and, though he looked at her appreciatively as she danced, his eyes met hers rather than wandering about her body as some men’s eyes did.

After the second dance, Honora thought there was a real danger she would pass out from sheer nervousness.

She’d not had so much as a single drink tonight, but all the lights and sounds of the crowded room were making her dizzy.

Now was the time to act, but she had no idea how to accomplish her goal.

She had never done anything like this before.

She opened up her fan in an attempt to cool her flushed face.

“Can I get you a drink, perhaps?” her unknown swain offered. He certainly had good manners.

Yes, he would do. Best not to put it off.

“What I would really like,” she said hesitantly, “is to go somewhere quieter and cooler to catch my breath.” She fanned herself furiously. That, at least, was not pretense. She was burning up.

He stared at her, as well he might. Genteel young ladies did not ask unknown gentlemen to leave the ballroom with them. “Do you wish me to escort you to the gardens?” he offered doubtfully. “It is rather cold tonight.”

Much too cold, she silently agreed. A January night was no time for lingering outdoors, no matter how attractive the grounds might be. More importantly, the garden would be too private for her purpose. No one else was likely to roam the grounds at this season.

“Perhaps an uncrowded corridor, if we could find one?” Frankly, Honora was amazed she could utter those scandalous words.

All of this was so very unlike her. All her life, she’d done her best to follow the strict rules governing young ladies of the gentry, though they often confused her.

Her inquisitiveness sometimes led her to ask questions her mother considered inappropriate, but she had never deliberately transgressed the bounds of propriety the way she intended to do tonight.

“As you wish.” The stranger offered her his arm, and they slipped out a side door into a hallway bustling with servants. The servants glanced past them, apparently not at all concerned about guests leaving the ballroom.

Bacchus seemed to know where he was going.

He led her up a narrow back staircase, then into a long corridor.

Belmont Court was so large that although she had toured the public rooms yesterday, Honora had not seen this hallway at all.

Judging from the rows of doors along the wall, these were probably bedrooms.

Once they were out of earshot of everyone, Bacchus turned to her. “Does this suit? No one is likely to disturb you here.”

“Yes.” In fact, she worried it might be too private for her purposes. Her assignation would only be useful if other people learned of it. “Thank you.”

She peered up at him doubtfully. She had chosen her accomplice and gotten him alone, but she had no idea what to do next. None of her lessons on etiquette had ever covered seduction.

“Is there something I can do to help you? Or—” His voice sounded hesitant, uncertain. “Were you looking for a little Twelfth Night diversion?” He gave the last word a suggestive emphasis.

Honora hoped her mask concealed the shame burning in her face.

“Yes.” She felt immensely relieved that he had suggested it himself.

She would not have known how to ask. “If you don’t mind.

” The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back.

She was beginning to feel sick to her stomach.

Her heart pounded so loudly, she half-worried Bacchus would hear it.

The unknown gentleman smiled again, but it did not seem like a mocking smile—not that she could easily tell, with a mask covering the top half of his face.

“How could I mind an invitation from so beautiful a woman?” he said gallantly. “I do not typically engage in liaisons with strangers, but I will make an exception for the goddess of love herself. I imagine one of these rooms is empty—” He turned to the nearest door and reached for the handle.

“Not in there!” Honora protested, her voice sounding strangled. He stared back at her, his mouth hanging open in surprise. “Isn’t it more adventurous to, er, stay out here in the corridor?” She tried to keep her voice low, sultry, and seductive. But she merely sounded as if she had a head cold.

He recoiled, his eyes widening. “You want me to take up you against a wall?” Even the mask on his face could not conceal his shock.

“Yes.” Honora felt reckless, terrified, and horrifically embarrassed. But she had to go through with this. It would be better than the alternative. At least, it could not possibly be worse.

He shook his head. “I don’t usually do this sort of thing,” he said slowly. “Madam, have you considered that if we are caught, your good name will be ruined?”

“Yes, I am aware of that.” That was, in fact, the whole point. She needed to blacken her name so thoroughly that the Duke of Belmont would want nothing to do with her. “I am not afraid of the consequences.”

He stared at her in silence for what seemed like an eternity. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed nervously, and she steeled herself for rejection.

Instead, he bowed to her again. “Very well. I do not usually court scandal, but it is Twelfth Night, after all. For tonight, I am your faithful votary, Aphrodite.” He stepped closer and reached for her mask.

Honora opened her mouth to protest. This was humiliating enough with a mask on; she did not want the stranger to see her face.

But she remembered in the nick of time that it would be better if she were unmasked when they were caught.

She needed to be recognized. The duke knew she was dressed as Aphrodite, so he might figure out her identity once he heard rumors about the assignation, but she did not like to rely on that hope. Better to be certain.

So, she made no protest as Bacchus removed her mask and tossed it aside. Instead, she smiled tremulously at him.

Instead of returning her smile, he frowned. “How old are you?” All the gallantry had fled his voice.

Honora cringed at his unexpectedly sharp tone. “Twenty-one.”

His frown deepened. Honora bit her lip. Ought she have lied and given an older age? But people generally thought she looked younger than her actual age. If she claimed to be, say, five-and-twenty, he might not believe her.

“And your husband? Is he here tonight, too?”

Her jaw dropped. He thought she was committing adultery? Well, of course he would think that. An aristocratic wife violating her marriage vows was more plausible than a virginal debutante trying to seduce a stranger.

“Yes, my husband is here tonight.” It was not much of a lie. She was on the verge of becoming betrothed, which was the next thing to being married. And her almost-fiancé was the one hosting the masquerade. “But he will not care what I am doing. We do not interfere with each other’s lives.”

The man stared at her for another long moment. She wished she knew what he was thinking. His dark eyes, shadowed by the mask, gave little away.

“You ought to have chosen a better husband,” he informed her. “A man who leaves you to wander a party alone and dally with strangers does not deserve to be married to you.”

“No doubt you are right about that.” Honora could tell she was about to start babbling, but she could not stop the words pouring out of her mouth.

“You don’t mind, do you? That I’m married?

” At the back of her mind, a little voice began to whisper that this was all going to be very awkward if Bacchus ever found out who she really was.

But would he find out? Surely there must be a way for her to get caught without—no, he would have to find out.

If someone saw and identified Honora, he would discover who she was.

Then he would know she’d lied about being married.

But he might figure that out anyway when it became obvious that she had no idea what to do with a man in bed.

Was this plan going to work? But it had to! She clasped her hands together anxiously.

He did not miss that gesture. He sighed and shook his head again. “You seem nervous. What do you say we go back to the ballroom and forget this ever happened?”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he forestalled her.

“I am not in the habit of dallying with married women, anyway. I really think it would be for the best if—”

Just then, one of the guestroom doors opened a crack, and a peel of tipsy laughter rang out. Bacchus swore. He grabbed Honora’s hand and, before she understood what was going on, he bundled her into the nearest guest room. The door slammed shut, plunging them into darkness.