“I pray such thoughts did not result in a sleepless night.”
Oh, she had struggled to sleep. But it had nothing to do with the masked rogue and everything to do with the man seated opposite.
“When one seeks justice, Mr Trent, it is best to approach the nightmare from a more logical standpoint. And so, I concluded that Mr Wincote bears the closest resemblance to the fiend who entered my bedchamber.”
A darkness passed over his handsome features. “I know that helplessness is debilitating. It wraps around your neck like the hangman’s noose until it becomes an effort to breathe. You’re right. It is better to detach emotionally, to focus on the facts.”
“Indeed, which is why I must thank you for allowing me to assist you when it goes against your better judgement.”
He remained quiet for a time. “I shall ask Cavanagh to observe Mr Wincote’s movements. Mr Layton is sure to attend Mrs Crandall’s masquerade ball tonight, giving me a perfect opportunity to taunt the man.”
“Mrs Crandall?” The muscles in her stomach twisted. What was it about this gentleman that caused such extreme sensations? “You are to attend a masquerade?”
“A masquerade hosted by one of the most prominent members of the demi-monde.”
It was to be a wild party, then—a boisterous affair where one left their morals at the front door.
“You find these events enjoyable?” Now she sounded like a jealous wife who clung to her husband’s coattails.
A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “While I am willing to participate in candid discussions, Miss Vale, there are some things a man cannot say in the presence of a lady.” Perhaps he noticed that the green-eyed devil had commanded use of her mind and body, for he added, “I am attending the party as an observer, not a man looking to bed loose women.”
Heat flooded her cheeks.
Oh, she could curse the weaknesses of her sex!
“As we have settled on a plan,” she began, eager to change the subject, “may I ask why we are heading to Bruton Street? Does Mr Wycliff not have more important matters on his mind at the moment?”
“More important matters?”
“Love, Mr Trent. Love. There is nothing more important than that.”
“Being unfamiliar with the emotion I cannot comment, though I imagine Wycliff would support your claim. Courage is important, too, is it not?”
“Yes.” The comment coaxed a smile. “For those like me who often feel incapable.”
“Then that is the reason we are heading to Bruton Street.” The man’s wicked gaze scoured every inch of her body. “Tonight, Miss Vale, you will attend the masquerade ball as my companion. That is if Mrs Wycliff can find you a costume suitable for an innocent with a need to carry a weapon.”
Chapter Eight
Lawrence had lost his mind—lost all use of his mental faculties. Why else would he have made such a ridiculous suggestion? Why else would he encourage Miss Vale to don a costume and attend a louche party for the reckless and notorious?
He swallowed a mouthful of brandy and met Wycliff’s amused gaze. “Are you to stare for another ten minutes, or will you wait until I’m sotted before giving your opinion?”
Wycliff’s brief glance at the ceiling caused a host of lascivious images to play havoc with Lawrence’s mind. No doubt Miss Vale had stripped to scanty undergarments while Scarlett searched her armoire for a costume fit for an illicit soiree.
“So let me understand your intentions.” Wycliff was about to rip Lawrence’s logic apart with naught but a simple question. “The innocent Miss Vale will attend a raucous party for adulterers and fornicators, and you will be her companion?”
Hellfire!
“She is the only person who can identify the masked rogue.” His defence was weak, he knew, but Miss Vale had the ability to mess with his mind until he barely knew what day of the week it was.
“But the villain never removed his mask. Identification will be impossible, will it not?”
For once, could Wycliff not just accept it was a foolish plan and drink his brandy in silence? “Instinct is a powerful thing,” Lawrence replied with feigned conviction.
Wickedness danced in Wycliff’s eyes. “As is shock. Mrs Crandall’s masquerades take licentiousness to the extreme. How will Miss Vale identify anyone with her eyes screwed shut?”
Lawrence sat forward. His friend would continue to taunt him lest he offer a more believable explanation. “The lady has the ability to tug at my heartstrings. One