Lilah’s cheeks warmed, and she looked away.
“I knew it!” He let out a bark of laughter. “Dex will have a hard task on his hands, finding a man to control you, Lilah. But he never loses, you know that. You’ll have a fight if you defy him. In which case, your time is best served managing your own life, rather than interfering in mine.”
“I interfere because I love you, Dev,” she said. “Don’t you want to be happy?”
“You don’t understand, Delilah.”
“Then explain it to me,” she said. “I don’t care what you look like, and neither does Dexter.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, little sister. Appearance is everything to Dexter because society cares about it, and Dexter cares about society.”
He took her hand, his fingers, calloused from soldiering, rough against her skin. “Forgive me, Lilah. I know you meant well by coming here. You deserve to be happy more than I. Take my advice and enjoy your life and its privileges while you can. You never know when it’ll be taken from you.”
“You want me to be happy?”
He nodded.
“Then come with us to the ball.”
The footman arrived, brandishing a tray of tea things and a decanter.
“If you promise to come, I’ll take tea with you and read you my latest poem,” Lilah said.
Devon rolled his eyes. “That settles it, little sister. I’ll come if you promise not to hound me with your shrewish nagging, nor torture me with your attempts at verse.”
For a moment, she detected a glint of humor in her brother’s eyes.
Dexter might have given up on him, but there was hope for Devon yet.
*
As Lilah returned home, she heard Thea call out.
“Delilah, is that you? Sir Thomas and I were wondering where you’d got to.”
She pushed open the door. Sir Thomas was sitting on the sofa, flanked on either side by Dexter and Thea. The men stood as she entered the room.
“Will you join us for tea?” Thea asked.
“I was going to rest,” Lilah said. “I’m rather tired. I’ve been visiting Devon.”
Dexter drew in a sharp breath but said nothing.
“Is our brother well?” Thea asked.
“As well as can be expected. I believe I’ve managed to persuade him to attend the Stiles’s ball.”
“Which reminds me,” Sir Thomas said. “With your brother’s permission, there’s something I’d like to ask you.” He glanced at Dexter, who nodded encouragement.
Her heart sank. Surely Dexter wasn’t going to put her through the indignation of suffering a proposal from Sir Thomas in front of witnesses? Was this her brother’s way of manipulating her into accepting?
“I would very much like to secure your hand for the first two dances.”
Lilah could almost taste her relief, and before she could stop herself, she nodded.
Sir Thomas reached for her hand. “Capital!” he cried. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Dexter gave her a brilliant smile, and she could swear she saw cold triumph in her brother’s eyes.
Chapter Nine
“His Grace, the thirteenth Duke Molineux!”
A ripple of interest threaded through the ballroom.
Fraser had hoped for a discreet entrance, but he’d not accounted for Earl Stiles’s overenthusiastic footman.
He adjusted the mask over his eyes and approached his hosts.
The countess held out her hand and smiled, her green eyes resonating against the scarlet silk of her n mask.
“It’s a pleasure to see you here tonight, Your Grace,” she said. “I’ve heard much of your enterprise. My husband is eager to taste your whisky once you’re in a position to distribute it.”
“Then I shall ensure you’re sent one of the first bottles,” Fraser said.
“You’re too kind,” she said. “Rest assured, we shall treat it with respect and refrain from using it to clean the chamber pots.”
She winked, then resumed her attention on her husband.
A masked ball was a great leveler. It removed the disadvantage of a limited acquaintance because the guests hid behind anonymity. Not knowing the name of one’s dance partner could not be branded a mortal sin. And, of course, any insult or faux pas could go unpunished if the perpetrator’s identity remained unproven.
But concealed identities had their disadvantages for a man on the hunt. And Fraser was in search of a very particular quarry indeed. His hosts were renowned for their eccentricity in inviting guests who distinguished themselves by means other than the possession of a title. Given that Earl Stiles was one of the few aristocrats to bank with Hart, Fraser had high hopes of snaring his quarry for a dance, if nothing else, tonight.
A couple standing near the terrace doors caught his eye. The man raised his glass to Fraser in salute, and the woman with him, her delicate frame dressed in a pale lilac silk dress with a mask to match, dipped into a curtsey.
“Molineux!” she said. “I’d know that red hair anywhere.”
Fraser bowed. “Mrs. Pelham, are you not dancing?”
“I will if you ask me.”
“Wouldn’t rather partner your husband?”
“That depends on whether I wish to survive the evening unscathed,” she said. “I’m afraid Harald’s prowess in the boardroom is matched by a corresponding lack of it in the ballroom.”
“I’m guilty as charged,” Pelham said. “The last ball we attended, I trod on Anne’s shoe and ripped her dress. If you return her to me with all four limbs intact, you’ll have greatly exceeded her expectations for the evening.”
“Then it would be my honor,” Fraser said.
He led her onto the dancefloor, where the couples had lined up behind Earl Stiles and his wife.
The dance began, and Fraser’s partner steered him across the floor, gently correcting his errors with a gracious smile.
“Are you enjoying the dance?” she asked.
He gave her an awkward smile. “I find myself unfamiliar with the steps.”
“Then perhaps my limbs are in danger, after all,” she laughed. “Would you prefer a reel?”
“I suspect the company would find a reel somewhat savage.”
“Then we must teach them,” she said.
Fraser’s gaze settled on another couple further down the line. The gentleman’s jacket was a little too bright a shade of red to be considered tasteful. But the man’s partner caught Fraser’s attention. Shorter than most, her wiry figure bristled with unkempt energy. Her gown was gray as if she sought to blend into the shadows so as not to attract notice.
Yet, how could she not be noticed? Her vitality vibrated all around her, crackling like a storm about to break.
Their eyes met, and she lost her footing and stumbled. Her partner pulled her to him, and her mouth twisted as if she issued a sharp riposte.
The dance concluded, and Fraser steered his partner across the floor.
“Will you dance again?” she asked.
“I doubt many ladies would relish being trodden on,” he replied with a smile.
“Nonsense!” she cried. “There are plenty of ladies here tonight with dance cards yet to be filled. You’ll be much in demand.”