dishonor. And I asked him if he knew Arianna and he said no. We have never lied to each other.”
“So you know he has a mistress and a child?”
She froze. “I…what?”
“One of the reports that came across my desk revealed there is a home on the outskirts of London he visits once every two weeks.”
“And the child?”
“A girl.”
She flushed. “The bacon-brained dolt would think he is protecting my sensibilities. Why would he not marry her?”
The naivete in the question rocked through her. “Her circumstances might be inferior.”
He hated seeing the hurt in her eyes. “He has a child, and he has allowed her to be born a bastard! And then he hid her existence from this family.”
“All men hide their mistresses and by-blows,” he calmly said. “And your mother has a reputation of being a moral prig. I am certain he would take care to not reveal it.”
Using the pad of his thumb, he traced a slow line from her collarbone to the tip of her breast. Thud, thud, thud. How fiercely her heart jerked. “I have cast my net wider,” he promised. “I already set my investigator to pay a keener attention to details. And they’ve already suggested another young man’s name who attended both Eton and Oxford and was there at the inn.”
For suddenly it was unbearable that her brother might be the man Nicolas was looking for. It would hurt her, and he couldn’t imagine what it would do to their relationship. Nicolas had been relieved when they gave him the report that there was another young lord, a baron, who might be the black Dahlia. Suddenly it had made sense that he hadn’t found anything linking Lord Crispin to Arianna.
She nodded, a relieved sigh slipping from her.
“Do you have a masquerade mask?”
The sleepiness that had suffused her lovely face vanished and she sat up excitedly. “Yes, why?”
“I will take you to the Asylum.”
She looked about ready to faint. “The gambling den?”
“Yes.”
She flung her hands around his neck and rained exuberant kisses all over his nose and mouth.
“Do you have a wig?”
She paused. “No.”
“We must cover your hair. It is incredibly unique.”
She laughed softly. “You are the only person who does not think my hair brown.”
“Are your parents still attending Lady Burrell’s ball tomorrow?”
“Yes, it is the final ball before we retire to the country.”
“Plead a headache and stay home. Tomorrow, procure a black wig, and be ready for me by ten p.m.”
She brushed her lips against his, then lower over his jaw. “Thank you.”
His Maryann barely touched him, featherlight, but it was the most sensual sensation he’d ever experienced.
His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her frantic pulse, then he kissed her with all the emotions brewing in his gut, hoping she would feel them, even as he struggled to express what they were.
…
The following night, Maryann stood inside the most notorious gambling den, staring around in awe. Her pulse had quickened alarmingly, she felt achy, terrifyingly breathless that she was here, in this den of sin.
The decor could be described as decadent luxury, blue and silver carpets covered the floor, and swaths of silver and golden drapes twined themselves around massive white Corinthian columns. Dozens of tables were scattered in an organized sprawl on this lower floor, and many lords she recognized sat at tables playing faro, Macao, whist, and vingt-et-un.
The clattering of dice echoed as they rolled on the tables. Raucous sounds of laughter, the downing of drinks, and snatches of conversations and smoke filled the air.
Maryann was tugged by the strains of music and they bypassed the gaming tables to the large ballroom. The glitter of the chandeliers, the dazzling array of lavish and beautifully dressed ladies, the self-indulgence and laughter, the ornate and exotic masquerade masks all assailed her senses.
“People are staring at you,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the din.
“I’ve never brought a lady here before.”
Maryann sent him a pleased smile. “I cannot believe I am here. My friends are going to be green with envy!”
“So, I see everyone in this wallflowers club you’ve told me about is just as mischievous.”
“Oh, we are all going to be terribly naughty, you’ll see,” she murmured, her hand fluttering to her throat when a waltz started.
“Dance with me,” he murmured at her nape, curving his hand around her waist, and leading her to the dance floor.
With a sense of shock, she realized he touched her freely, without any worry that how closely they stood might seem improper and start a