and his tailors—and he looked as fine as any gentleman.
Tonight she planned to introduce Gideon into society.
She took a shaky breath.
Gideon caught her eye and winked, and she felt something perilously close to hope flutter in her chest. He was the reason she was doing this.
They mounted the stairs to Windemere House, and Messalina couldn’t help reflecting on how much happier she was tonight than the last time she’d entered her uncle’s residence. Their awful marriage seemed so long ago now, though of course it wasn’t.
Gideon led them inside. The entryway was refreshingly clear, a single footman taking their gloves and shawls. If this had been a ball thrown during the height of the season there would be bodies packed from wall to wall.
Gideon guided them up the snaking grand staircase to the upper-floor ballroom.
There they came face-to-face with Uncle Augustus and poor Ann.
The duke was ruddy with good humor—never a good sign. “My darling nieces! How lovely to see you both.”
She wouldn’t look at Lucretia.
He leaned close to kiss first Lucretia and then Messalina. Messalina held very still—as if a spider were crawling up her arm.
Uncle Augustus turned to Gideon, his smile twisting. “And Hawthorne.” He looked Gideon up and down. “A new suit? Why, one would hardly know that you were born to a whore in St Giles.”
Messalina felt Gideon stiffen beside her. Had his mother been a prostitute? Even if she had, for the duke to call her such to Gideon’s face…
She tightened her grip on her husband’s arm and glanced at him from under her eyelashes.
His face was perfectly composed. As if Uncle Augustus had merely exchanged pleasantries with him.
Messalina felt unease trickle down her spine. She knew that Gideon wasn’t cold or uncaring, but he hid his emotions so well. Did he see her as more than a means to money?
Had he succumbed to their union as she had?
Messalina pressed her lips together.
Other attendees were crowding behind them, making their greetings blessedly brief. Messalina just had time to murmur something to Ann, dressed in an unfortunate purple frock, and then they were past both duke and duchess.
Messalina glanced around, noting the faces that pointedly turned away. Well. She’d known this would be a challenge, but she rather thought she—and Gideon—were prepared.
She smiled up at him. “Shall we perambulate?”
Gideon glanced down at her, the cold still lingering in his eyes making her shiver. “As you wish.”
They’d taken only a few steps when Lucretia exclaimed beneath her breath, “There’s Julian.”
Messalina looked and saw their brother, dressed in silver, lounging by the wall. His head was tipped back as if he were about to fall asleep, a young lady and what looked like her mother attempting to engage him in conversation. He ignored both females to stare impassively across the ballroom.
At their uncle.
Lucretia leaned across Gideon to murmur, “I’d begun to think that they had left the city. I don’t see Quintus, do you?”
“No.” Messalina sighed, knowing that Quintus was most likely sequestered with other gentlemen at the gaming tables, where the drinks were much more potent than the watery punch in the ballroom. “I suppose we ought to greet Julian.”
Lucretia laid her hand on Messalina’s arm with a wry little smile. “Let me. If his mood is better than it looks, I’ll come to you.”
“Thank you,” Messalina replied. She had no great desire to talk to Julian—not after the fight between Quintus and Gideon and Julian’s hurtful words.
She frowned as she watched Lucretia make her way to Julian. It would have been easier if her brothers had retired back to Adders Hall.
Then of course she felt guilty for such an unsisterly sentiment. But the truth was that she didn’t want what was happening between her and Gideon interrupted. She felt as if she were about to open a present—or a new book. That a whole world was unveiling itself before her.
That maybe she was falling in love.
She darted a glance at Gideon. And maybe he was, too?
She had to hide a silly grin at the thought, working to compose her features as she continued strolling with Gideon. They hadn’t taken but two steps before she spotted a familiar face.
“There’s Lord Rookewoode,” she murmured.
“So it is.” Gideon was looking at the earl rather as a wolf did at a bunny.
“Shall I introduce you properly?” Messalina asked, moving in the direction of the earl. He was holding court with several gentlemen and a few ladies. One turned, and Messalina smiled. “Oh, and there’s Arabella Holland. She and her sister