Masked Innocence

1

Katherinesuckedina deep breath and set her shoulders, gathering every last bit of dignity she had left, and took the first slippered step toward condemnation. One bravado laden step after another, down the stairs and into the lilting music of a string quartet below. She could only hope there was no outward sign of her fall from grace, no tell-tale flag to mark her as ruined or spoiled goods.

The party teemed with liveliness below her, and Kitty swept her eyes across the crush below, finding nothing amiss, no one paying her any mind at all. Even her grandmother, who was rarely more than an arm’s reach away during these events, was deeply engrossed in conversation across the room. Most importantly, there was no sign of the Marquess of Claireborne.

Still, the prospect of a ruined reputation taunted her in a voice suspiciously like the Dowager Countess’.

The manifestation of every fear circling in her head emerged from the crowd, making a direct line for the stairs. Georgiana set Kitty down the path of wickedness, and undoubtedly expected the full report she’d been promised. Every one of George’s eager steps tightened Katherine’s jaw and set her heart thumping wildly. Tenacious didn’t begin to describe George when it came to salacious conversation, and Katherine possessed the most tantalizingly salacious of all.

Her friend was doomed to disappointment, and was fortunate Kitty didn’t possess a violent inclination. If she had, George would be well within her sights and ripe for target practice. Sending Kitty to her ruin would have been unforgivable if it hadn’t also been the single most perfect evening of her life.

That didn’t mean she intended to talk about it. She was still struggling to decide how much to admit. If any of it. Claiming she’d changed her mind at the last moment was a tempting option. Usually the pinnacle of sense and reason, George had abandoned all logic when she led Kitty astray, and still there was no reconciling the conflict.

But addressing it with George opened a conversation Kitty wanted no part of, and so she’d hold her tongue. For the time being.

The moment her pink slippered foot hit the white marble floor of the foyer, George clasped her hand and held tight, removing any shred of hope she might escape. Dodging her grandmother was an art form she’d perfected, but outmaneuvering her gossip hungry friend days after plunging headlong and neck deep into sin and depravity was beyond even her well honed abilities.

“I need to hear every single delicious detail, Kitty, do not leave out a single one.” George’s blue eyes sparkled with an unholy glee, and Kitty was sunk. The soft blue of George’s dress, her delicate brown curls, reeked of femininity, but hid a ruthlessness no one could outmatch. And now that she was married, and a duchess, she possessed a freedom Kitty could only dream of.

“Not now, George, and certainly not here.” Kitty’s eyes skipped across the room, heart in her throat at the thought someone might overhear. The true threat was still across the room, but unerringly sensed Kitty’s presence and looked up, their eyes locking across the crowded ballroom.

The evening was getting worse by the moment, and Kitty was half a breath from marching right back up the stairs and locking herself away. She’d claim some illness or other and avoid all contact for a week, at least. Time enough to process the past few days and find some repentance.

Only the deepest regret could save her doomed soul, but no matter her efforts there was none to be had. It’d been enlightening, pleasurable, and opened her eyes to so many things. None of which were presently available for discussion, as her reputation was her only remaining lifeline.

Using George’s own grip against her, Kitty pulled them both to the fringes of the room opposite her grandmother, who’d started moving, wending her way effortlessly through the crowd. A potted fern offered temporary refuge, and Kitty went straight for it. It was impossible to enjoy a single gathering without her grandmother foisting some man or other into her lap, and that was definitely not the time.

“Are we avoiding your grandmother again?” George peeked over the greenery, swaying lightly on her toes. Sometimes it was easy to forget her friend was married, their joint efforts to evade her grandmother at every event unchanged by her friend’s new position. “Who is she looking to introduce you to this evening?”

“It hardly matters.” Any man would sniff out her freshly soiled status, as George’s brothers proved. They always knew exactly who had fallen enough for their more carnal desires, a sixth sense she didn’t want used on her.

“Kitty!” An unmistakable bubbly voice broke into the conversation, and Kitty had never been more relieved to see bouncing blonde curls hurtling toward them in pink silk. Though she’d prefer if those curls were bouncing a bit quieter. Amelia was moving as quickly as possible without running, skirts rustling with every step and drawing every pair of eyes she passed. “George!”

Amelia slid to a stop inches before colliding with them, and grasped each of their hands in hers, face flushed with excitement. “Do you have any idea who’s here?” There was rarely a time Amelia wasn’t bouncing, though it seemed especially exuberant as Kitty’s arm bounced up and down with her.

“Amelia, hush and calm down.” A cursory glance about the room offered no one warranting the excitement her friend was exhibiting. Only her grandmother, drawing ever closer, was interesting enough to draw Kitty’s attention. “I’ve no idea, but I’m confident you’re going to tell us.”

“It’s the Marquess of Claireborne.” Every word brought Amelia’s voice an entire octave higher, and she was soon rivaling the most renowned sopranos. “How could you not tell us he was invited?”

With just one name, Kitty’s stomach dropped straight to her toes. The walls closed in on every side, stealing the air, and her ability to breathe, right along with it. Her grandmother, as well as George’s thirst for gossip, were now the least of her worries. “You must be mistaken, Amelia. Someone who resembles him, perhaps? It’s not a brothel or a meeting of the Hellfire Club, what possible reason could he have to be here?”

Only she knew exactly what brought him there, and with each passing second the knowledge worsened the frantic beating of her heart. The ramifications, his motive, assaulted her from every corner of her brain, and suddenly the room was too small. Her friends, too close. There wasn’t enough air.

“Such a low opinion of him, Kitty, it’s like you actually know him.” George placed a death grip on Kitty’s hand. “Was he there?”

I’ll thoroughly enjoy bringing you to heel.

His threat echoed in her mind, flipping her stomach as effortlessly as a caress from his skilled fingers over her sinful flesh. A promise she couldn’t allow him to fulfill no matter his determination. A man who spent more time in gaming hells with opera singers than he did in polite company was not how she envisioned her future. She wouldn’t marry a gambler, a rake, or a libertine.

The Marquess of Claireborne was all three in spades.

George tugged her deeper behind the fern, until the purple velvet curtains blocking the balcony brushed against her bare arms, the sensation overwhelming her already frayed nerves. “Every single sordid detail, Kitty.”

The strength of Amelia’s grip threatened to break Kitty’s hand as she grew too excited even to bounce. “Not only is he here, he’s asking every eligible girl for a dance. All we need to do is get introduced. Kitty, do you think the Dowager Countess would–”