Demon glanced at her. "Stop worrying. She'll be all right."
"How do you know?" Suddenly noticing his relative calm, Horatia narrowed her eyes at him. "What's going on?"
"Nothing to get in a flap about." Returning her note, Demon pocketed his. Flick had told Horatia she'd been seized by a desperate longing to attend a masquerade, so had gone to Stratton Hall, expecting him to join her there. "I know what Stratton's masquerades are like." The admission made Horatia narrow her eyes even more; imperturbably, he continued, "I'll go after her immediately-she'll only be there an hour or so before I catch up with her."
Although clearly relieved, Horatia continued to frown. "I thought you'd be ropeable." She snorted. "All very well for me not to worry-why aren't you worried?"
He was, but… Demon raised his brows resignedly. "Let's just say I'm growing accustomed to the sensation."
He left his mother with her brows flying, and returned to Albemarle Street. Gillies's note gave him more details. Pausing only to extract his own invitation to Stratton's masquerade from the edge of his mantelpiece mirror, and to unearth his old domino and a simple half-mask, he hailed a hackney, and, once again, set out in Flick's wake.
Within two minutes of haughtily sweeping into Stratton Hall, Flick realized that no amount of tonnish balls and parties could ever have prepared her for Sir Percival's masquerade.
Two giant blackamoors wearing only loincloths, turbans, and a quantity of gold, each carrying a wicked-looking cutlass, stood guard, arms akimbo, in the front hall, flanking the main doors to the ballroom. Inside the enormous room running the length of the house the scene was similarly exotic. Blue silk flecked with gold stars draped the ceiling; the walls were an Arabian Nights' dream of silks, brocades and brass ornaments.
Mindful of her disguise, she didn't pause on the threshold and stare-spine straight, chin tilted at an imperious angle, she stepped straight into the crowd.
In the room's center, an elaborate fountain splashed; Flick saw guests filling glasses with the water-then realized it was champagne. The fountain was ringed with tables displaying delicacies galore; other tables elsewhere were similarly loaded with the most expensive fare-seafood, pheasant, caviar, quails' eggs-she even saw a roast peacock stuffed with truffles.
Wine was flowing freely, as were other spirits-the spirits of the guests were rising in response. Hearing the room's end, she heard a violin, and glimpsed a string quartet playing in the conservatory beyond the ballroom.
There were guests everywhere. Even behind their masks and cloaked in dominos, the women were remarkable-she'd yet to see one who was less than stunning. The men were gentlemen all-she heard it in their accents, invariably refined, and saw it in their clothes-many wore their dominos loose, more like a cloak, in some cases thrown rakishly back over one shoulder.
From the end of the room, Flick circled, searching for Stratton. The long windows giving onto the terrace had been left open to the sultry night. Black clouds raced, roiling across the sky. Thunder rumbled intermittently, but the storm was still some distance away.
"Well, well… and what do we have here?"
Flick whirled-and found herself pinned by Stratton's cold eyes.
"Hmm… a woodland sprite, perhaps, come to enliven the evening?" His thin lips curved but there was no warmth in his smile.
His gaze left her face to openly rove over her; Flick quelled a shiver. "I'm searching for a friend."
A calculating gleam entered Stratton's eyes. "I'll be happy to oblige, my dear, once the festivities begin." He lifted a hand. Flick instinctively recoiled but he was too fast. He caught her chin and tilted her face this way, then that, as if he could see through her mask. He was certainly aware of her resistance; it seemed to please him. Then he released her. "Yes-I'll keep an eye out for you later."
Flick didn't even attempt a smile. Luckily, Stratton's attention was claimed by some other lady; Flick seized the
moment and slipped away.
The swelling crowd was growing restive. Flick plunged into it, purposefully crossing the room, leaving Stratton before the windows. In addition to the main ballroom door, there were three other doors leading into the house. Guests were arriving via the main door; thus far, she'd seen only footmen using the other doors. The masquerade was getting underway-while the noise exceeded that of the usual ton ball, it had yet to reach raucous.
Flick halted midway down the inner wall, with the fountain and its surrounding melee directly between herself and Stratton. He was reasonably tall-she could see him. She hoped he couldn't see her. From where she stood, she could keep watch on the doors leading into the house-if any meeting was to be held, she doubted it would be convened in the increasingly crowded ballroom.
Until Demon joined her, watching for any sign of a suspicious fathering was the best she could do. Her heart slowing, she relieved the urge to scrub at where Stratton had touched her chin. Settling against the wall, she kept a wary eye on him.
The gathering before her grew increasingly licentious-the guests might be wealthy and well-born, but she was quick to see why masquerades no longer found favor with the grandes dames. Even after spending two nights in Demon's arms, some of what she saw still shocked her. Luckily, there were rules of some sort. Despite the way some other ladies were behaving, letting gentlemen freely grope beneath their dominos, all the gentlemen present were gentlemen-those who paused to speak with her as she stood quietly by the wall treated her with courtesy, albeit, like Stratton, with a certain predatory intent.
She recognized that intent well enough, but most moved on once she made it clear she was in immediate expectation of being joined by her particular gentleman.
Unfortunately, there were exceptions to every rule.
"I say-your gentleman not here yet?" One predatory rogue lounged close. "Just realized you're still waiting-a pity to waste time, such a pretty little thing like you."
He reached out and flicked a feather on her mask; Flick swayed back, her frown concealed by the mask.
"Indeed." The rogue's friend appeared on her other side, his gaze trailing speculatively down her length. "What say we retire to one of the rooms along the hall, and you can show me and my friend here just how pretty you are, hmm?" He looked up, cool eyes searching hers. "You can always come back and meet your gentleman later."
He moved closer, as did the first rogue, crowding her between them. "I don't think my particular gentleman would like that," Flick stated.