Page 48 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“Death.”

At this, Farah laughed. “Indeed? And what inspired you?”

Grey offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation. “I thought I’d pay homage to the way these events make me feel.”

She lifted her mask to her face as they crossed the threshold. “Like death?”

“Precisely.”

The inside of Ramsbury House was, as expected, ostentatious in its appointment. Dark fabrics hung from every wall, moody and sensual, candlelight just barely illuminating the way forward. Farah gasped as they arrived at the ballroom, her grip on Grey’s arm tightening. Her reaction was more than warranted, considering Mrs. Ramsbury had somehow managed to bring an entire tree into her house. It sat tall in the middle of the room, decorated with dangling crystals and white ribbons.

“Have you ever seen such a thing?” Farah murmured.

In a daze, he replied, “Never.” It wasn’t the tree itself, but Farah’s reaction to it that had captured his attention. Her face was flush with excitement, the light bouncing off the crystals reflecting in her wide, round eyes. She turned to him with a delighted grin, and he didn’t bother hiding the fact that he’d been watching her.

With a sudden forlorn sigh, she said, “I suppose we ought to split up.”

It was near impossible for him to conjure even the slightest bit of care for their investigation. In fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt any kind of urgency around locating the lost money.

“Wait.” He took hold of her wrist before she disappeared into the crush. “Give me your dance card.”

“Do you mean to waste one of your three dances on me?” she asked with a cheeky twinkle.

“I do,” he said, securing her as his partner for the first dance. “One dance, and then we go our separate ways for the night.”

Farah blinked down at her dance card, as if studying his handwriting. The moment the first notes of music cut through the air, she perked. “A polka!”

God, if Leila saw Grey willingly going out onto the floor to dance the polka, she’d keel over with laughter. Farah’s excitement, however, was contagious, her glee causing her to almost vibrate on the spot. They joined the other dancers, the quick half-steps coming back to Grey as he spun Farah around, the silks of her costume fluttering with the movement. She giggled when he lifted her, the sound louder to his ears than the music. He could feel the heat of her palm through both their gloves, her other hand pressing into the black fabric of his jacket.

The dance ended with Farah out of breath and Grey wishing, for the first time in his entire life, that it had gone on a second longer. She gave him a clumsy curtsy, laughter still bubbling out of her, and—and she was all he could see. Even among the myriad costumes—the butterflies, wolves, and princesses—she was all he could see.

Air. He needed air.

The doors to the terrace were wide open, drawing guests into the cool night. Grey nodded at the outdoors, making his decision to leave the ballroom before he once again risked doing something both ruinous and foolish.

Farah understood his meaning immediately. “Good idea. I’ll poke around inside. You have two other dances for the night, don’t forget!”

Without waiting for him to respond, she glided off in a flurry of silk and feathers. Grey sighed, turning on his heel and making his way to the terrace. He was in dire straits and didn’t have a damn clue what to do about it. Perhaps there was nothing to be done. Perhaps he was finally being punished for his past stupidity.

Once outside, he took the stairs down to the gardens, stepping around what appeared to be a bumblebee and a fox caught in an illicit embrace. Reaching up, Grey removed his mask—fashioned to look like a skull—leaving it to hang off his wrist as he attempted to recover from—good Lord, this was ridiculous—from the polka.

He began to walk aimlessly toward the trees, lost in thought. How long had it been since he’d genuinely enjoyed himself? Certainly not once in the last five years. Thirty-four years old and he’d already resigned himself to a dull existence. Even so, he’d always told his grandmother that he was, in fact, happy.

She’d likely seen through that lie every single time.

He wasn’t so foolish as to assume that Farah’s presence would vanquish all his demons. Nobody deserved to have that pressure placed upon their shoulders, and he didn’t intend to do so. Still, he’d felt less haunted since she’d forced her way into Hawkins & Montgomery, even if he’d tried to cover it up with a cantankerous facade. It was hard for demons to thrive in the sunshine, and Farah Rafiq was nothing if not the human embodiment of sunshine.

Rounding a corner, Grey stumbled across a shadowy grove that veered off the paved path. There would be no blue velvet here, but he ventured forth nonetheless, intent on allowing himself a bit more time to brood. Unexpected giggles and whispers met his ear, and he wondered if the bumblebee and fox had beaten him to this secluded place. Just as he decided to turn around, he stumbled across the couple in question. The woman saw him first. She was pushed up against a tree, her eyes wide open over her partner’s shoulders.

“Oh!” she squeaked.

“Apologies,” Grey mumbled, embarrassed. Damn these balls. He was decidedly not good at attending them without incident.

The woman pushed at her lover, her mermaid costume returned to its proper place once she was freed from his embrace. When the man turned around, Grey saw a horned mask hanging about his neck. Not a second later, he registered the face above said mask.

Speak of the literal fucking devil.

“Francis?”