Adele looked up challengingly. "Was there a point to that? Beyond acting like a possessive devil? You only proved my argument."
"Go to him with the taste of my kiss on your lips," Malloryn whispered in her ear, and a shiver ran through her. "Do what you must to maintain your ruse. But be careful. And call for me if you need me."
The flicker of disappointment lit within her. She didn't want permission. She'd wanted him to say no. "So you don't care if he kisses me?"
Stepping back, he traced his thumb across her swollen mouth and cast her a well-satisfied smile. "Devoncourt could kiss you a thousand times, Adele. I don't think there's anything for me to worry about, is there?"
Damn him.
"This isn't over," she warned.
She'd never seen that sort of smile on his face as he backed away. The years sloughed off him, leaving him winking at her with a remarkably boyish twinkle in his eyes. "It's just a kiss, Adele."
Chapter 17
"You came."
Adele took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and sipped it, the bubbles tickling her dry throat as she examined the darkened room. Angel's Fall had been built in a newly restored church, and the watchful eyes of stained glass angels looked down upon the gaming tables as their denizens committed to sin. "You doubted me?"
Devoncourt leaned closer, his mouth curling into a satisfied little smile. He'd found her the second she entered. "You've been a touch inconsistent in the past, my dear."
"Is that not a lady's whim?"
A kiss to the back of her hand. "I never quite know what you're thinking, cherub. I must admit there's a certain sort of challenge involved in bringing you to heel."
Cherub.
Ugh.
For once, she was quite grateful for the way Malloryn had never used such sickly sweet words on her.
He didn't need to.
Just the way he said her name made her shiver a little.
"Adele."
As if there was a wealth of meaning in the word. A challenge. A certain sort of possessive claim.
"If you think you're going to 'bring me to heel,' then I beg you, pray think again," she said, rapping Devoncourt's knuckles with her fan. "I belong only to myself, and I don't think I like your assumptions."
"Forgive me," he said smoothly, backing away with tempting smile. "Hopefully what I show you tonight will make up for my appalling lack of manners."
Blond, foppish Devoncourt, with his devastating blue eyes and wicked smile. A part of her couldn't quite believe he was one of Lord Balfour's most feared assassins.
But perhaps that was the point.
He had the easy manner of a charming scoundrel, a way of soothing a nervous young lady's fears when it came to blue blood lords. Nobody would expect a knife to the throat, not from him.
"This is my companion, Clara," she said, gesturing to her former maid.
"So pleased to meet you, my lord," Clara said, sounding almost breathless with excitement as she dipped into an elegant curtsy. From maid to lady with but a simple change of clothes.
"Does she have a last name?" Devoncourt didn't look happy with the turn of events.
"She does, but is this not a masquerade? Nobody knows anybody else's identity. I thought that was part of the fun?"
"The invitation was for one."
Adele drew back, as if a little shocked by his curt tone. "Yes, but I cannot simply gad about London unchaperoned. This is a dangerous part of town, my lord. She won't breathe a word of what she sees here, I promise. She just.... I'm not the only one who wants to escape my world. All we wanted was a night of fun."
"I promise I won't get in the way," Clara said, with a flutter of her fan. "Adele said there might be dancing."
With her neat brown chignon and the dashing cut of her gown, Clara looked like she was ready to kick her heels up.
"Fine. This way," Devoncourt murmured, flicking his fingers at a nearby fellow in a plain back mask. "Perhaps my friend may entertain yours?"
Adele glanced over her shoulder. Clara placated her with a smile, graciously accepting the stranger's embrace as he swept her into a fast-paced waltz.
"You're unhappy with me," Adele said.
"No, I'm just.... I don't like surprises."
"I promise I'll make it up to you," she breathed, and then glanced around the glittering chamber. Dozens of masked men filled the space, as well as several scantily clad women.
It seemed like a mockery of a ball.
But no debutante wore her gown cut so low, and several of the women wore watered silk that clung to every curve in an indecent way. One had a golden leash about her throat, which was lashed to the wrist of a portly gentleman who looked like Lord Brummel.
Devoncourt intercepted a footman and took two glasses from his tray. "Here."
Adele clinked her half-full glass against his in chastisement. "I've barely finished this one."
"Then drink up." He seemed to have cast off his surliness like a cloak. "I want to celebrate."
Adele paused. Then she tipped the glass to her lips and drained it. "What are we celebrating?"
"You. Me." He smoothly replaced her empty glass with his full one. "That fact your husband isn't here."
Adele made herself laugh. "Well, I could hardly bring him, could I? Malloryn has such a dampening effect upon a gathering. It's the supercilious way he peers down his nose at you, I think."
A little part of her enjoyed the fact her husband would be listening to every word.
"And where is he tonight?" Devoncourt murmured, slipping one hand onto the small of her back as he guided her into the edges of the ballroom.
"Malloryn? Why the hell would I know? You were the one who reminded me he wasn't spending his nights at home." She let her smile thin. "Or his days."
"It bothers you."
"Of course not." But she looked away sharply. "I don't want to speak about him. Not tonight. Tell me about this place. It's so exclusive I hear even Lord Buxton was denied membership. He's as rich as Croesus. I cannot believe he was turned away."
A flicker of frustration darkened Devoncourt's brow. "Unfortunately, you cannot merely buy your entrée."
"No?" She feigned surprise. "That must ruffle some feathers."
"Oh, it does."