Page 45 of Twelfth Night Sorcery (The Cambion Club #2)

Honora did not enjoy attending balls or parties without Valance, but she had promised to make an exception for the ball that the Earl of Markham hosted at Sherborne Place.

Markham, she knew, was one of Valance’s particular friends.

Valance had expressed the hope that Honora might get to know Lady Markham a little better while the couple was in town for the Season.

The Crosslys picked Honora up to take her to Grosvenor Square in their carriage.

She was glad of their company, because Sherborne Place turned out to be the largest and most opulent London townhouse she had yet seen.

It must have been three times the size of the house she and Valance leased.

Everything from the marble floor to the glittering chandeliers gleamed with wealth.

Sherborne Place contained two reception rooms on the first story that could be combined into one.

When the dividing wall folded away, a space the size of a ballroom opened up.

Lord and Lady Markham stood at the entrance, greeting their guests.

Captain Crossly, who knew Markham from the Cambion Club, introduced Honora.

Honora had known that the countess was a witch, so she was not surprised that Lady Markham’s aura glittered with magic, but she was startled to see the golden gleams in Lord Markham’s aura, indicating that he possessed some form of magecraft.

Valance had never mentioned that his friend was a mage, but she supposed it made sense.

Most of the members of the Cambion Club possessed magical gifts.

But that was not the biggest surprise. Thanks to Jane Crossly’s gossip, Honora knew Lord Markham had been a notorious rake before his marriage. Honora had naively expected to meet a dashing and perhaps sinister-looking man.

Instead, Lord Markham stood only middling high and had a snub nose.

His bronze hair was the only remarkable aspect of his appearance, and even that owed more to his stylish coiffure than anything else.

His smile looked friendly, but far from being an exemplar of manly good looks, he was much less attractive than Valance.

Honora could not help wondering what had persuaded married women to let him into their beds.

But she supposed she would never have the opportunity to ask such a question, more’s the pity.

Though Honora’s party arrived on time, guests already packed the room.

Most of them were strangers to her. Even with the Crosslys for company, Honora felt a little lost as she surveyed the ballroom.

The guests glittered with silks, satins, and jewels.

Her blue and white ballgown, which she had thought very stylish, looked almost drab in contrast to some of the rich colors older women sported.

Jane introduced Honora to potential dance partners, but after only a couple of country dances, she twisted her ankle.

Then she was relieved to find an empty chair near the wall.

Her dance partner brought her a drink, and would have stayed with her to chat, but she could see from the way he watched the dancers that he longed to join the next set.

She dismissed him with thanks, assuring him she would do very well on the sidelines.

“I am an old married lady, you know,” she joked. “I will find enjoyment enough watching the dancing.”

And this would have been the case, if not for the stranger who kept watching her.

Honora had first noticed this mysterious gentleman while dancing.

The watcher was of medium height and slender build, with brown hair.

She thought she knew him from somewhere, but she did not recognize his face.

Honora assumed she had met him at some previous social event and had simply forgotten his name.

That happened rather frequently since coming to London.

She had met so many new people, matching names and titles to faces and figures was a challenge.

But she could not understand why the stranger, whoever he was, kept watching her.

It was not her imagination: the stranger really did keep staring in her direction.

When Jane dropped by to chat for a moment, Honora asked if she knew the watcher, gesturing toward him with a jerk of her head so as to avoid rudely pointing.

Jane peered across the ballroom, squinting. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. But there are plenty of people here whom I don’t know.”

“I wonder why he keeps looking at me,” Honora mused. Though, at the moment, the stranger seemed completely entranced by the punch bowl. She hoped that meant that he’d lost interest in her.

“Maybe he admires you?” Jane grinned mischievously. “You do look very well tonight. Or he might be fascinated by your jewels. It is not often you see someone with a full parure of aquamarines.”

Honora remained unconvinced. Something about the pattern of colors in his aura disturbed her. He did not appear to be a magician, but Honora thought she could see a shimmer of magic about the unknown man, as if someone had cast a spell on him.

That hint of magic was not the strangest thing about the unknown gentleman.

The most maddening thing was that Honora felt she knew this person, though she could not remember having seen his face.

She knew this man and disliked him. It could be an irrational, random disliking, but Honora had never experienced something like that before.

Or had she? That was how she felt the first time she met the Duke of Belmont.

Something about his aura had immediately repulsed her, though she had not understood why.

She had, after all, never been properly instructed in reading auras.

She could tell whether a person had magical abilities, and if so, what kind.

But she had never learned to read people’s emotions or signs of health the way some mages could.

If something was wrong with this stranger’s aura, she could not identify the problem.

Honora did her best to ignore the stranger.

She tried dancing in the next set, but her aching ankle made dancing a misery.

Not only was it painful, but she stumbled and tore the hem of her skirt.

She left the ballroom, shame-faced at having been so clumsy in public.

It could happen to anyone, she reminded herself as she retired to mend the damage.

Fortunately, the retiring room had everything she needed to repair the hem, and a maid stationed there to assist ladies in need.

When the assistant was called away, though, Honora was left to finish her mending alone.

A few minutes later, the squeak of a door hinge made her look up.

To her consternation, the watchful stranger entered the room, looking very much out of place.

Honora sprang to her feet. “This is the lady’s retiring room, sir. You ought not be here.” Her heart pounded and the hairs on the back of her neck rose.

“I beg your pardon! I am only looking for my wife’s fan,” the gentleman explained. “She thinks she left it here.”

Honora stared blankly at him. His explanation made no sense. If his wife left a fan here, shouldn’t the wife herself be the one to retrieve it? Although she did not recognize the stranger’s voice, she still felt certain she knew him. And she feared him.

“Madam?” The gentleman lifted his brows, giving her a quizzical stare. “Are you quite well?” He took a step towards Honora.

“Just a faintness,” Honora babbled. “It happens sometimes. Very likely I got overheated from dancing.”

She edged away from him, moving back and to the side. This close, she could better see the spell affecting the man. It looked familiar, too. She might not have seen this precise spell, but she had seen something very like it before.

Where had she seen magic like this? She frantically searched her memory. It took her entirely too long to identify the spell. By the time Honora remembered, the gentleman stood right in front of her, within arm’s reach.

The spell looked familiar because it was similar to the disguise spell Valance had worked on Twelfth Night.

This stranger must be under a disguise.

A shiver of apprehension swept over her. “I had better go find my party,” she said brightly.

She cast her eyes about for something to use as a weapon—just in case.

Yes, there was a heavy brass candlestick on the end table next to the sofa.

She slipped one hand behind her back so she could grab it quickly—though surely that would not be necessary!

No one would attack her at an event like this.

She was only nervous because Valance was away from home.

“Wait, if you please.” Before Honora could step away, the stranger grabbed her wrist. “I wish to ask you a question, if I may.”

“I am afraid I cannot stay. Please release me, sir.” Honora spoke as firmly as she could, given the panic that gripped her.

But the stranger did not let go of Honora’s wrist. Instead, he tightened his hold. He had a surprisingly strong grip for such a slender-looking man.

“You are hurting me!” She reached behind her and closed her free hand on the candlestick.

The stranger leaned closer. “You’ve led me a merry chase, my girl, but you cannot avoid me forever. We need to talk.”

Belmont. Honora froze—save for her heart, which beat like a drum.

This had to be Belmont in disguise. No one else would speak to her this way.

No wonder she’d felt repulsed by the stranger’s aura!

Belmont was unquestionably the most repulsive man she knew.

She must have magically recognized the duke’s aura without realizing it.

She tightened her grip on the candlestick and steeled herself for action.

“I do not like to be bested by anyone,” Belmont continued. “And particularly not by a girl straight out of the schoolroom.”