Page 101 of The Duke of a Thousand Desires

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One of Grayson’soldest friends, the Duke of Wenderfield, had arranged the elaborate charity affair in his Mayfair mansion. A limited number of tickets that cost a guinea apiece had been sold out for months. An all-night orchestra would provide continuous music during a costume ball attended by members of the public who rarely had a chance to mingle with the aristocracy.

Ravenna had secluded herself in her rooms with Isolde for most of the afternoon to prepare for the masque. Simon detected an undercurrent of mischief in the air. Groomed and ready for over an hour, he took a leisurely brandy in the library and reviewed political pamphlets while he waited for her to come downstairs. He caught up on the value of East-India stocks and court cases. He eyed an advertisement for a nursemaid and wondered whom one could trust to raise a child. The Boscastles would know.

“Has Isolde given you a hint to what the evening holds?” he asked Timpkins, who sat tallying accounts in a corner armchair.

“We are currently not speaking to each other,” the steward admitted. “I don’t know why. But I also suspect a surprise. It might have something to do with the prizes that are to be awarded at the end of the night for the best disguises.”

Simon smiled. “That makes sense. The ladies could be hoping to outshine one another. Well, let them enjoy their harmless competition. I won’t spoil their fun. It’s high time the family enjoyed some frivolity.”

His wife was still as mysterious to him as the moon in its various phases. She might be his in name and deed. Even so, she remained somewhat elusive, and he accepted that fascinating aspect as part of Ravenna’s allure.

Hence, he decided to play along with whatever she had planned for the night. To his puzzlement, however, she was not in masquerade dress when they met in the front hall for the carriage to collect them.

“I’m changing into my costume at the party,” she said. “I don’t wish my clothing to be crushed. What of your disguise? Who are you supposed to be, should someone ask?”

“A duke. It is a pretentious role, but I’ve grown comfortable in the part. Hauteur becomes me, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t recognize you any other way,” she replied. “Grayson sent you a costume.”

His upper lip curled. “He is woefully mistaken if he thinks I shall appear in public wearing a wizard’s cloak and a false white beard. I tried on the thing. I looked ludicrous.”

“You would look dashing in a frilled apron,” she said with a smile. “But I cannot think of a better duke than you.”

He refrained from drawing her into his arms to acknowledge the compliment. He resisted the temptation to kiss her. Instead, he turned in curiosity to examine the two locked trunks that sat in front of the door. “You know you can trust me with a secret. Are you planning to shock Society tonight?”

“Me? Your obedient duchess? Whyever would you think that? I predict Society won’t even notice I am present. We are last week’s news, thank goodness. We have been replaced by a new French actress who removed her clothes on stage. Do not ask to attend one of her performances.”

“As if I’d notice another woman.”

“That is the correct response,” she said. “You’re at the head of the class.”

The butler appeared and announced the carriage had arrived. Simon lowered his voice. “Society worships at your feet,” he mused. “I graduated from school years ago. What are you up to, Ravenna?”

She seated herself opposite him in the carriage. A footman loaded the trunks on the box above, the activity arresting conversation. At last she answered. “It’s an act of charity. Nothing deep or devious. You are altogether too suspicious.”

“True.” He studied her in amusement. Oddly enough she had scraped her beautiful hair into an unflattering knot. She wore no powder or lip pomade. But her eyes had been rimmed in kohl to a riveting effect. “You look like a female pirate. Is that what those trunks signify? Are you planning to abduct me? If so, give me a minute to pack a small travel bag and inform Timpkins I’ll be gone for a while. I wouldn’t want the in-laws to worry.”

“Simon, do ease up,” she said. “The Boscastles have taken yet another pledge that this will be an unforgettable affair in our history during which not a shadow of scandal, disgrace, or danger shall darken our name. It will be an evening of innocent entertainment.”

He sat back. “If you say so.”

Her dark eyebrows knitted into a frown. “That is a curse if ever I have heard one.”

Rhys was the first person they met at the party.

“He’s not wearing a disguise either,” Simon pointed out to Ravenna.

“He will be soon enough,” she said, reawakening Simon’s hunch that a prank was in progress.

“Why aren’t you in masquerade?” Rhys asked Simon.

“I forgot my costume.”

“Not to worry,” Ravenna said. “It’s in our trunks. You want to stay in the spirit of the masque, Simon.”

“No, I don’t.” He stepped back as Ravenna squeezed around him, snagging her brother’s arm. “I prefer my own familiar misery to making merry with complete strangers. That’s one of the traits that marks me as an aristocrat.”