Chapter One

1817 

Perhaps it would be best if I didn’t attend the ball at all.

Amelia silenced her glum thoughts as best she could, but they kept resurfacing with a vengeance with every passing second. She bit her bottom lip so hard that she was afraid she would draw blood, yet the pain served to distract her from the waves of trepidation assaulting her at the present moment. She didn’t know where to bury herself – under the covers of her bed or leave the house altogether.

“Oh, goodness, will you stop breathing so loudly?” The sharp tone snapped Amelia from her dour thoughts. She jolted at the force of it, twisting slightly on the tiny stool she sat on to look at her aunt.

The older woman’s glare could have sliced right through steel. Barbara Egerton, the Viscountess of Hendale, curled her upper lip in utter disgust and Amelia felt her heart twist at the sight. The viscountess could have been a beautiful lady despite her age, but Amelia surmised that years of scornful looks and a horrid personality had twisted her features. Somehow, though she’d only just turned forty, Barbara looked like she already had one foot in the grave.

Still, she sat upright with a healthy posture, though that also had much to do with the plush mahogany chair she was sitting in.

“Pardon?” Amelia murmured, loud enough for her aunt to hear.

“I can hear your breathing,” Barbara complained, her tone dripping with malice. “I thought I told you to simply sit in that corner and pretend as if you don’t exist. I should not even know that you’re there.”

For a moment, Amelia could only gape back in astonishment. Even though the bedchamber they occupied was shared between Amelia and her cousin, it was still considered rather sizable. Barbara was sitting near the only vanity table in the room, next to her daughter, while Amelia had been forced to claim the furthest corner away from them. And, as her aunt had requested, she’d gone about getting ready in complete silence. She couldn’t fathom how she could have done anything less.

“Oh, leave her be, Mother.” Lady Nadine’s voice was innocent and sweet—a perfect mask for the bitterness that lay within her. “She has no one but herself to talk to. I’m sure it must get lonely.”

Barbara huffed, very unlike the fashionable lady she so strived to be, but she heeded her daughter’s words nevertheless, turning back to face the mirror. Nadine glanced over her shoulder at Amelia, giving her a pitiful look and a shake of the head, before she faced ahead again.

With the viscountess and her daughter distracted, their lady’s maids returned to styling their hair.

Amelia turned back to her corner and blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. This sort of treatment had been going on for three years, so she ought to have been used to it by now. But she hated facing this level of humiliation in front of the servants.

The maids often paid her little mind. Amelia didn’t know if it was an order from their mistress or if they simply decided she was not worth their time, just like her aunt and cousin. Either way, she was forced to prepare for the ball by herself. Slipping into her delicate underpinnings, adjusting the layers of her petticoat, and finally, pulling on her jade green dress—which was already out of fashion. Amelia didn’t even consider the thought of adorning herself with rouge or jewels.

“Mother, do you believe he will ask me to dance tonight?” Nadine’s voice came floating back to her as she struggled with the lacing of her dress. If she wasn’t ready by the time they were, they would certainly leave without her.

“Of course, dear!” Barbara gushed. Her voice grew shrill when she was excited and Amelia winced, fumbling with the final lace and unraveling the rest. “In fact, I will make sure to get you an introduction. All you need is a dance, my dear, and the duke will certainly be besotted with you.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” Nadine sounded uncertain. “He is hailed as the most eligible bachelor in the ton for a reason. Every lady there will be throwing herself at him. What will make him look twice at me?” she pouted.

Barbara gasped as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Amelia wasn’t so surprised. Nadine had mastered the art of getting others to compliment her under the guise of humility. “You forget yourself, my dear,” Barbara said, her voice impassioned. “You are the most beautiful lady in all of London! He would be a fool not to pay you any mind.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“Of course! Ask anyone else and they will tell you the same.”

Amelia didn’t have to look to know that Nadine was smiling from ear to ear. She couldn’t agree with her aunt though. Nadine was by no means hard to look at, but calling her the most beautiful lady in all of London was an outright lie. She had brown hair that lay flat and dead at her shoulders, always breaking off before it could grow out—which was why she never wore her hair down. Her face was bordering on plain, but when she sneered like her mother, Amelia thought her to be the most frightening being she’d ever seen.

But Nadine had the confidence of a queen, which Amelia envied and many-a-gentleman were charmed by.

“The Duchess of Stanhope,” Nadine purred. “It is the end of the Season, Mother. Perhaps I should discard my suitors when the duke asks me to court him. I will be the envy of all the ladies in London.”

“Even more than usual,” Barbara added, only contributing to Nadine’s hubris. “To think your father managed to secure us invites to His Grace’s ball this year. It’s always been the pinnacle event of the season. Such a splendid way to conclude it!”

Nadine nodded. “I’ve even heard that only a chosen handful from high society receive invites. And very few are invited twice.” Suddenly, Nadine gasped. “Do you think he will be there?”

Barbara frowned in bemusement.

Nadine leaned closer to her mother to whisper, though she didn’t do a very good job of it. “The Masked Rogue.”

The name sent a jolt through Amelia. Memories flashed in her mind and much of her annoyance melted into anger.

“The Masked Rogue?” Barbara jerked back. “Nonsense! Not that hogwash again. This is the Duke of Stanhope’s Grand Ball! Do you truly believe he would risk tarnishing his esteemed name by inviting such a notorious figure? Nadine, you would do best to stay away from such characters,” she chided lightly.

Nadine winced at Barbara’s sharp tone and quickly tried to placate her. “You’re right, Mother. I am simply quite curious to see just who the man behind the mask is.”

Amelia couldn’t say the same. She wouldn’t mind if she spent her entire life never finding out the Masked Rogue’s identity. Or better yet, if she did, she wouldn’t mind spending her entire life bringing him to ruin.

After a moment of silence, Nadine began again, “Though, if he truly is an Earl as rumors suggest, I wouldn’t object to the title of a countess…”

Amelia suddenly felt a desperate urge to leave the room. Her hair was already arranged in a modest chignon, with a few loose strands framing her face, leaving only her shoes to be put on. She wanted to escape as soon as she was finished. Having to listen to the praises of that man made her feel sick to her core.

Though, she supposed it would be unfair of her to pretend as if she did not wish for marriage too. At one-and-twenty, her prospects were diminishing. Beyond this Season, many would consider her past the prime age for marriage, practically a spinster. She couldn’t allow that label to befall her. Securing a suitor at this ball was paramount—it might be her final opportunity.

If she didn’t find a suitor, she would never be married. She’d never receive her inheritance and would be forced to remain as her uncle’s ward in this unpleasant place where she was treated so horribly.

But most importantly, she wouldn’t be able to save her sister.

After slipping into her shoes, Amelia got to her feet and promptly made her way to the door. She was ignored, to her relief. Sometimes she preferred being invisible to enduring her aunt’s malice and her cousin’s bitterness.

The moment she was out the door, Amelia released a long, quiet breath. She couldn’t let her aunt and cousin’s words get her down. Throughout the entire Season, they had done nothing but step on her toes and push her aside. Amelia understood her aunt wanting to put her daughter first, but they’d made this Season nothing but a failure for her—to be used as a pedestal for Nadine’s future.

Well, she couldn’t allow it to end on a failure.

“My lady?”

Amelia jolted at the soft voice, startled by the sudden appearance of the maid by her side. She stepped away from the door so that those inside could not hear when she asked, “What is it?”

“This came for you a short while ago.” The maid held out a folded piece of paper.

Amelia’s heart began to pound against her chest. “From whom?”

“The Countess of Talley, my lady.”

Amelia snatched the paper from the maid’s hands, muttering a thank-you under her breath as she hurriedly unfolded it. The words written within were simple and to the point but they sent Amelia’s heart sprawling.

She hadn’t heard from her sister in months and from the state of her writing, it seemed her sister had hastily penned the letter. It stated that Amelia could come to visit her in Brighton next month since the Earl of Talley would be out of Brighton for a week. The thought of seeing her again had Amelia’s heart weak with relief. Not receiving any word from her had slowly sent Amelia down a spiral of worry, wondering with each passing day if something bad had happened.

“Where is my uncle?” Amelia quickly asked the maid, her voice breathy with urgency.

“He is in his study, my—”

She didn’t wait for the maid to finish. She picked up her skirts and swiveled on her heels, racing down the narrow hallway. Amelia nearly twisted her ankle twice as she rushed down the staircase and she mentally chided her clumsiness but didn’t stop. Her heart raced with excitement, a controlled smile barely gracing her features.

Because of it, she didn’t think twice about bursting into her uncle’s study without knocking.

Thankfully, he was without company, but the look he gave her upon her entrance made her realize the mistake she’d made.

“Forgive me, Uncle,” she panted. “I hope I am not interrupting.”

Harold Egerton, the Viscount of Hendale, plopped his quill pen back into the inkpot and leaned back in his chair with a grunt. Amelia was once more struck by how much he resembled her late father—his brother. They had been close in age but her father had been the one to inherit the Earldom. And as the younger son, Harold had opted to marry the daughter of the late Viscount of Hendale.

Ever since she began to live here, Amelia wondered if their difference in status was what caused such animosity toward her. After all, she was the daughter of the late Earl of Marlowe and her sister had become the Countess of Talley. Even though she was unmarried and without a title, her father had left her a sizable inheritance and she already had access to her dowry.

But if that was what caused her aunt and cousin’s disdain of her, Amelia couldn’t say if the same applied to Harold. The truth was, she didn’t know what he thought of her. She’d met him only once before her father passed and when she came to live with them, he’d been neither cold nor warm. He took care of her in all the ways that mattered, but nothing more. He allowed her to attend events during the Season, as it was her duty to marry, but Amelia couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in his presence for more than a few minutes.

“What do you want, Amelia?” he asked, ignoring her earlier words.

Despite his lacking tone, Amelia’s excitement did not waver. She approached his desk and laid the letter open for him to see. He read it quickly, then looked back up at her. “State your point, girl.”

She hated when he called her that but she’d never voice it. “Dorothy has extended an invitation for me to visit her,” she explained in between breaths, even though it was made rather clear in the letter. “I’ve come to ask that arrangements be made—”

“That will not be happening. Now leave me be.” And just like that, he resumed his task, returning to his quill and paper.

Amelia stared at him, unwilling to understand his words right away. “I have not seen my sister in three years, Uncle,” she tried again. “You know her husband makes it difficult for her to receive my letters, and even more difficult for her to send them. And Brighton is not that far. If I could have someone take me there and back—”

“I said that it will not be happening. What do you not understand?”

The finality in his tone had already wiped any signs of hopefulness from Amelia’s face. “But why?” she asked, hating how her voice cracked.

He didn’t bother to look back up at her. “Dorothy is a married woman now. She has her own life, and you, your own. You should focus on yourself. I will not waste my time traveling all the way to Brighton. If she wishes to see you so urgently, she should come to London herself.”

But Talley will not let her! Amelia wanted to shout the words from the top of her lungs. She would have, had she not known how indifferently her uncle would react. And the last thing she wanted was for Barbara or Nadine to catch wind of what was happening with her sister. Their tongues would be wagging relentlessly by the end of the day and Amelia would not risk her sister’s reputation by revealing that the Earl of Talley was an abusive man. It was knowledge that burned within Amelia alone.

And it was the only thing driving her this Season. Not to start her own family, nor to complete her duties as a lady and produce an heir for her husband. The only reason she wanted to be married was to gain access to her inheritance. That way, she could afford to liberate her sister from her abusive husband. And they could live alone, just the two of them, away from the world in some countryside cottage, as they would spend hours speaking of when they were younger.

Harold glanced up at her, then back to his paper. “You may leave,” he dismissed with a cavalier wave of a hand.

Amelia didn’t move. Her body grew hot with anger and frustration and, to her annoyance, the tears began to spill. No one would understand how often she lay awake at nights thinking about her sister, about the beautiful smile she’d last seen on Dorothy’s wedding day. After that, there had been no communication. Dorothy had left for Brighton with the husband she loved and Amelia had instantly lost all contact.

Amelia had tried to visit her herself, back when her uncle hadn’t cared if she came or went. But the Earl constantly denied her, sending her away. And her letters often remained unanswered.

Until one day, a year and a half ago, Amelia received a letter from her sister, scribbled hastily and dotted with dried tears. She spoke about the treatment from her husband, how the man she had loved for so long had seemingly changed overnight. Since then, Amelia had feared for her sister’s life.

And now, to hear that she could not even go to visit her….

Amelia felt as if every part of her chest was being ripped to shreds. Rage mounted in her at the helplessness of her situation. How could she have an uncle who didn’t seem to care about his nieces? Who only cared for one out of necessity and turned a blind eye to the other’s suffering? Amelia couldn’t help but think about what Dorothy might be going through right now and that frustration tipped over into sorrow.

If she had her inheritance, Amelia could save her. But she could only do that if she married.

If only her family had never encountered the Masked Rogue.

Over the years, Amelia tried not to think about it too much. She didn’t like the anger and hatred that swarmed her at the thought of that horrid person. But right now, she welcomed it, a black void opening in her chest and eager for any dark thought.

The Masked Rogue was the reason for all her troubles and why she was in this position in the first place. Had he let her father be, hadn’t taken advantage of him, and hadn’t so coldly ripped everything from her family, perhaps they would all still be together. Perhaps her father would still be alive…

Wiping her tears, Amelia turned and left the room without a word. She made her way to the foyer where she sat in the small chair by the door. She would have liked to wait in the parlor, alone, away from prying eyes, but she didn’t want to risk her aunt and cousin leaving her behind.

She steeled her resolve. If she couldn’t go to see her sister, she would bring her to London instead. And tonight was her final chance of making that happen…

Chapter Two

“Has the list of attendees been finalized yet?”

The sound of heavy papers rustled behind Gideon before a gravelly voice spoke up. “Yes, Your Grace. All invitations sent have been responded to. Everyone will be in attendance as per usual. They are all very eager.”

Those words made Gideon smile a little. He didn’t bother to turn around, enjoying the evening breeze wafting through his study window. His fingers traced idly along the edges of a white mask, giving him an odd sense of comfort.

“And I take it all the preparations are finished?”

“Yes…” The gravelly voice trailed off and Gideon stilled, turning his head slightly in waiting. “Almost everything.”

Gideon didn’t respond right away. He let heavy silence seep into the study, so thick that he could almost smell the sweaty apprehension emanating from his butler. Slowly, he turned to face him, taking in the thin elderly man with cold hazel eyes.

To his credit, Thomas held his composure. Gideon remembered a time when this wiry old man had been the closest thing to a father figure—but that was during a time when Gideon did not know the power he possessed. Now that he stood in the position of duke, he was all too aware of the disparity between the two of them. And clearly, Thomas knew it as well. The butler who would once smile and sneak him treats as a child, now tried his best to bravely meet Gideon’s eyes.

It was not a sight Gideon enjoyed. So he sighed and softened his features, hoping that it would put the man at ease. Though he would make no such effort with the other servants, Thomas was different and he could at least show him some grace.

“What is causing the delay?” he asked as calmly as he could.

“Not all the refreshments have yet been brewed, Your Grace,” Thomas answered, maintaining his composure. “As the guest list was added to this year, it has been difficult to keep up with—” he replied before interrupting himself, “I will speak with the cook to ensure that they are ready before the commencement of the ball.”

Gideon nodded. He did not appreciate excuses, and his butler understood that. “We still have the hour, will it be enough time?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Thomas answered instantly.

“Then there is no cause for worry.” Gideon’s features relaxed again as he grinned. He had no patience for uncertainties too.

Satisfied with that response, Gideon faced the window again, continuing to stroke the white mask. “You are too tense, Thomas,” he drawled. “Relax. It is a wonderful evening, the end of yet another perfect Season.”

“Once more, you have outdone yourself, Your Grace.”

“You flatter me,” Gideon chuckled. “But it is yet another duty of mine to ensure that the Terrell name is always spoken with the utmost honor and respect.”

“As it will be for generations to come, Your Grace.”

“Of course, of course.” Gideon could not allow anything but. He’d had enough of his family name being dragged through the mud. After all the time and energy he had put into bringing the Terrell name and the dukedom back to a place of honor, he would be damned if a slight mishap at the most anticipated ball of the Season were to ruin everything.

Which is why everything must go perfectly.

“Ah, that reminds me.” He picked up the mask, idly wandering over to the front of his desk where he perched on the edge. Wherever he went, the mask did too. It was an extension of himself, a piece of him that he could not be without. “Mademoiselle Dubois has sent her acceptance to my letter, has she not?”

Thomas nodded. He’d hardly moved from his spot by the door, gripping sheets behind his back. “She has, Your Grace.”

“Marvelous.” Unable to help himself, a devilish smile stretched across Gideon’s face. “Then I take it you have already put our other plan in place.”

Thomas hesitated for such a brief moment that it almost went unnoticed by Gideon—almost. “Upon her arrival, a footman will escort her through the parlor to the ballroom. When the time is right, she will be informed of your request to meet with her, where she will then be taken back to the parlor and led up the back staircase to the balcony.”

“And the balcony doors?”

“—will be locked from the inside so that no one will be able to go through. A footman will stay nearby to ensure that no one makes the attempt.”

Though he was satisfied by how thoroughly Thomas had broken down the plan, Gideon raised a brow at him. “You do not sound pleased, Thomas.”

“It is not for me to be pleased… or not, Your Grace.”

“Oh, enough of that. You have known me since I was a child. You know I value your opinion. Now, out with it. What bothers you?”

Thomas opened his mouth again and Gideon prepared himself to hear his standard response. But instead, he said, “I do not think it is the best idea to meet with the Comtesse, Your Grace. She is the widow of the Count of Palouse. It would do nothing but destroy the reputation you’ve worked so hard to build if the two of you are caught. Worse, if it is revealed that you are the Masked—”

“Which is why we won’t be caught,” Gideon interrupted confidently. “I know I have never personally invited a lady to spend time with me during a ball, but I have corresponded with the Comtesse in the past. And I have planned everything to perfection. You said it yourself, Thomas. She is a widow. We break no laws by seeing each other.”

“What of the Countess of Blair? She will also be attending the ball.”

“Lady Blair and I have respectfully broken off our courtship,” Gideon said dismissively. “And she will not know what—or rather who—I have taken interest in.”

“But perhaps it would be best not to engage in such activities during the ball, Your Grace, when it is so crowded. You have always ensured to never allow your public life as the Duke of Stanhope to clash with your private life…”

Gideon smirked a little at that. He looked down at the mask in his hand, wondering if Thomas was referring to his secret life as the Masked Rogue. It certainly would not do if someone were to find out that he was the one who bore the name. However…

“We won’t be caught, Thomas, don’t worry. I am confident. And Mademoiselle Dubois is smart enough not to speak about the time we share together. It is in both of our best interests.”

Thomas released a low breath. “Very well, Your Grace. I suppose I cannot convince you.”

“And there is no need to.” Gideon grinned. “I have been hiding my endeavors from the ton ever since I inherited the dukedom. They will be none the wiser. I’ve learned over the years that they are oftentimes quite content to see exactly what you put before them and nothing else.”

“Understood, Your Grace.”

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Gideon called for the person to enter and a footman slipped in, hardly glancing at Gideon before he bowed deeply. “Please forgive the intrusion, Your Grace. You have a visitor.”

Before Gideon had a chance to process those words, a hand pressed against the door, pushing it further open. Panic and frustration seized Gideon so firmly that he nearly cursed aloud. He tried to hide the mask but the person was already stalking in as if he was lord of the manor, bearing a broad grin.

Gideon finally exhaled when he saw who it was, not bothering to hide the mask any longer. It would have been too late anyhow. Lewis’ eyes fell on it and he raised a brow at Gideon.

“Leave us,” Gideon commanded. Thomas and the footman promptly slipped out of the chamber.

Lord Lewis Rowley, the Earl of Janesbury stopped in the center of the room, his brown eyes darting from the mask to Gideon and back.

“You’ve gotten far too careless with that thing,” he commented at last with a vague gesture, as he swept back his blond hair behind his ear.

Gideon lifted the white mask, studying its diamond-embedded linings for what felt like the millionth time. He knew every groove, every dent, every hole carved into it. The mask was mostly white, save for the black stripes around the eyes, and with it on, Gideon became another person.

The Masked Rogue.

Ironically enough, it was Lewis who had come up with the name. Gideon put the mask aside and faced his friend. “There’s no need for me to hide in my own home,” Gideon commented. “I don’t expect anyone I’m not close to, to make it all the way to my study without my knowledge.”

“Is that so,” Lewis said drily, sounding skeptical. “So says the man who had nothing but panic in his eyes when he saw me walk in. Don’t think I missed your attempts to hide it.”

Gideon didn’t bother to deny it. Lewis knew him too well. This was the only person in the world who understood Gideon’s struggles, who knew why he did the things he did. Only with Lewis could he truly reveal the dark void that had been eating him alive for years. And only Lewis could help him get rid of it.

Their friendship began at a time that neither of them could remember, when their days had been nothing but easy and playful. Lewis was the second son of the fourth Earl of Janesbury, and had spent nearly all his life doing whatever he pleased. Unlike Gideon, he didn’t have to think about inheriting a title or any other pressures that came along with it. But as fate would have it, both his father and his brother died in a carriage accident. Leaving him with an unwanted title.

Rather than acknowledge Lewis’ apt observation, Gideon put the mask aside and asked, “Have you found the name of the last person on the list?”

The mirth that had glowed in Lewis’ eyes disappeared. “Straight to business, is it?”

“I assume that is why you’ve come,” Gideon said. “If it is my company you seek, you would have simply waited until the ball.”

If Lewis had an argument for that, he didn’t voice it. “I will have the name to you on the morrow, old boy.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Gideon stated. He would just leave it at that. He had the utmost faith in Lewis’ ability to find anyone in England. Before he had been faced with the duties of becoming Earl, Lewis had been a private investigator. The very best in London, Gideon believed.

“Since we are already on the topic,” Lewis went on, claiming one of the armchairs near the desk. “Don’t you think you went a little too harsh on the last one? The Duke of Crowley?”

Gideon frowned. “And how, pray tell, was I too harsh? I only did what anyone else would have done in my situation. In fact, I would rather say I showed him some mercy.”

“You could have left him with a few dimes in his pocket,” Lewis pressed. “Now, not only is he suffering disgrace but also poverty at having lost everything. I have even heard that he has had to let go of half his servants.”

“Half his servants? He still has the breath in his lungs!” Gideon suddenly snapped, before calming himself. “Besides, a man who frequents the Serpent’s Den as often as he does knows exactly what is likely to happen if he is not careful.” Gideon picked back up his mask, studying it as those familiar dark emotions threatened to overtake him. He thought of the look of despair on the Duke of Crowley’s face when he realized he’d just lost everything. But Gideon could feel no pity.

All he had to do was think of what the Duke of Crowley had done sixteen years ago. All Gideon had to remember was how his father and brother had suffered at the hands of the duke—and the others—and how they ruined Gideon’s life.

For sixteen years, he had harbored anger and hatred in his heart, thinking of nothing else but revenge.

For sixteen years, the duke, and many others, had continued to live a lavish life without any consequences, uncaring of the lives they’d damaged.

And for sixteen years, Gideon had plotted how he would bring about their downfall.

Now that his plan was almost reaching its completion, he wouldn’t allow anyone to talk him out of it. Not even Lewis.

“The duke got what he deserved,” Gideon stated coldly. “And now that he is out of the way, it is time for me to move on to the last one. Once you find him.”

Lewis frowned at him long enough for Gideon to wonder if he truly intended to protest against this. He of all people should know why Gideon had to do this. He stared at his closest acquaintance, hoping that Lewis would not say what he thought he would say.

“Very well,” Lewis sighed at last. “As I said, I shall have a name for you by tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Suddenly eager to be rid of the tense air between them, Gideon asked, “Do not be late tonight. Or else every lady and her mother will be badgering me for an introduction.”

Lewis chuckled, and the tension dissipated like smoke in the wind. “I doubt they will even remember to ask about me once they lay their eyes on the handsome, eligible Duke of Stanhope.”

“Oh? Do I sense a hint of jealousy?”

“I’m just stating facts, that’s all. Even if they were to find out that you leave nothing but broken hearts in your wake, I’m certain they will still be jumping at any chance to become your wives.”

“Then that is too bad for them. I have no intention of marrying until I have fulfilled what I have set out to do. And besides, I am still young. I only intend to enjoy my youth and virility while I can.”

“You’re thirty years old,” Lewis countered. “I’d say you’re at the perfect age to get married.”

“And what of you? Am I the only one who should be shackled by marriage? Won’t you find your countess so that you may have your heir?”

Gideon’s amusement deepened when a blush stained Lewis’ cheeks. His friend had never been very good at hiding things. For a while now, Gideon had begun to wonder if Lewis was courting someone—and it seemed he might be right on the mark, seeing that Lewis was having a hard time meeting Gideon’s eyes.

“You’re right,” Lewis gave in, leaping out of his chair. Gideon wasn’t surprised to see him desperately trying to make an escape now. “Marriage is nothing we men need to think about so soon. Let’s just enjoy ourselves, yes?”

“Oh, I intend to,” Gideon said, thinking forward to his evening with the Comtesse.

Lewis was already pulling the door open. “Then I shall be seeing you later this evening.”

Gideon grinned at Lewis’ quickly retreating frame, letting out a small chuckle. One day, he would press his friend a little more to tell him about the belle he was hiding. But for now, there were other more important things he had to focus on.

Tonight, it was the ball… and an invigorating night with Mademoiselle Dubois.

Tomorrow, it would be exacting his final plan of revenge. 

Chapter Three

Nothing would discourage Amelia tonight. She chanted those words over and over again, reassuring herself as best she could as the carriage pulled into the driveway of Castle Stanhope. But for some reason, when she laid eyes on the towering manor, she lost some of her nerve.

Barbara and Nadine squealed and chatted to each other as if she did not exist, practically thrumming with excitement – while Amelia battled with the fierce determination and the intense uncertainty warring within her. It wasn’t lost on her that her last ditch attempt at finding a husband was being made at the grandest ball of the year.

That too at the end of the Season.

She did not want to come off as desperate to any gentleman she might meet tonight, but she also had no idea how best to express her interest in them—enough to not only come away with a courtship, but a chance at marriage.

The moment they were out of the carriage, Nadine and Barbara linked arms and walked away, leaving Amelia to follow behind. Her arms were stiff by her side, heart pounding loudly in her chest as she followed the other arriving guests and the escorting footmen into the manor. She couldn’t help admiring the other ladies in attendance—and feeling drab and out of place with her out-of-fashion dark green dress.

I shouldn’t let that bother me, she reminded herself, steeling her resolve. This is all for Dorothy.

Her small encouragement served to push aside some of her nervousness, but it came rushing back like a tidal wave the moment they arrived at the entrance of the grand hall.

All too soon, the magnificent double doors swung open. To their credit, Nadine and Barbara maintained their composure as the footman announced them to the sea of guests already filling the massive, glistening ballroom. Amelia hardly heard her own introduction as she stepped inside, suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people.

The ballroom they stepped into was the epitome of opulence, an elaborate spectacle designed to take anyone’s breath away. Ornate crystal chandeliers hung like stars from a sky-painted ceiling, casting their shimmering light onto the polished, ebony parquet floor. Stately Corinthian columns, carved from pure Italian marble, lined the room, supporting a delicate balcony, from which clusters of nobles surveyed the scene below.

All of London must be here, she thought in awe.

Even as she did, she dismissed it. She knew very well that the Duke of Stanhope did not invite just anyone to his balls. Which made her all the more excited that she’d gotten to attend. Apparently, her uncle and the late Duke of Stanhope had been business partners, which was enough to secure them as guests at this evening’s ball.

Without a backward glance, Barbara whisked Nadine away to speak with a few of the other ladies. Amelia stared after them, knowing better than to follow. They didn’t want to be near her. Which she supposed was fine because she didn’t want to be near them either.

But it left her alone to navigate this spacious and crowded ballroom all by herself.

Thankfully, the dancing was yet to start. If she could get a few names on her dance card, she might be able to get off on the right foot.

For Dorothy, she reminded herself, dispelling the trepidation that clung to her like sweat. It worked, a little.

For now, she needed something in her hand, to make her seem a little less out-of-place and a little more comfortable. She made a beeline for the refreshments table and then reached for the ladle to pour herself a glass of orgeat lemonade, but another hand got there first.

“Oh, forgive me,” she said quickly. “Go ahead.”

“No, please, allow me to pour one for you first, my lady,” came a deep voice. Amelia’s heart skipped a beat when she realized that a tall gentleman stood next to her. She could hardly dare herself to glance at his face, but he had dark brown hair done Brutus-style and wore dark clothes that fit his strapping physique quite well.

“Thank you,” she murmured shyly. Now was her chance, she thought. But what should she say next? Amelia had very little experience with gentlemen and hadn’t the faintest clue on how to entertain a conversation with one.

“Shall I take a guess at who you are, my lady?” the gentleman asked, to her utter relief.

“Rather bold of you to assume that you know everyone in attendance, my lord,” she responded.

He chuckled. “Perhaps I do. Perhaps I am the duke himself. Then it would make sense for me to know who is here, wouldn’t it?”

“Are you the duke?” she asked curiously. Amelia had never seen the Duke of Stanhope, nor had many members of the ton. Apparently, he was a nigh-on impossible man to get a hold of, making the balls he hosted all the more grander affairs. 

The gentleman only sipped his lemonade before saying, “We shall find out soon enough, won’t we?”

There was something about the way he said those words that made her think she was not speaking to the Duke of Stanhope. And why any gentleman would pretend to be the duke was beyond her. Still, she had no intention of pointing out the oddity.

For now, for the sake of her plan, she would play along. “Then, Your Grace, how are you enjoying the ball so far?”

“It has only just begun. There are more people to see, dances to be danced. But I do believe it will be quite the spectacle.”

“I must agree. I, myself, am hoping to share my first dance with a handsome and kind gentleman.”

“Ah, is that so?”

Amelia flushed. She’d been a little bold just now but there was a sudden boredom to his tone that made her feel embarrassed. A small silence settled over them and she racked her brain for some way to be rid of it.

“So, Your Grace, are you here with your fam—”

“Forgive me, my lady, but you must excuse me,” the gentleman cut in, suddenly distracted. “It was lovely to meet you.”

Without waiting for a response, he walked away. Amelia watched as he approached a blond-haired lady, who gave him a broad smile and a deep curtsy. Mortified at how quickly she had been dismissed, Amelia put aside her untouched lemonade and walked away. For the first time since the night began, she was happy that hardly anyone paid any heed to her. As if they did, being ignored like this with such little afterthought would’ve only been all the more humiliating.

Amelia sighed, finding a corner she could linger in. She skimmed her gaze through the guests but no one seemed as out of place as she did. As a matter of fact, everyone seemed to know someone, bodies drifting back and forth as they greeted their peers. Amelia shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with herself. Now and again, she thought a gentleman was approaching her but was met with bitter disappointment when he headed elsewhere. It was as if she was not even present.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, though she supposed it was probably an hour or so. She had a long night ahead of her and it was already off to a bad start. Perhaps if she cleared her head, it would help a little.

Grazing past the sides of the ballroom, she searched for a door that would take her away from this place and offer her that needed speck of respite. A few moments alone to get herself together before throwing herself back into the fray.

With that as her new temporary goal, she continued her stroll, letting her mind wander. Even though she usually preferred going for walks outdoors, it calmed her a bit now. Without even realizing it, she drifted out of the ballroom through an adjoining door, landing her in a parlor that was already filling up with gentlemen. As the men began to claim seats for their card game, she hastily retreated.

Exiting through a separate door, she found herself in an empty hallway. She headed down it, taking slow, deep breaths to calm her nerves and steel her resolve. When she returned to the ballroom, she would try to be a little more outgoing, she promised herself. She couldn’t let another ball pass with her remaining unnoticed the entire time.

If she found her way back, she thought, when she realized that she might be a little lost. Still determined, she kept pushing forward, and soon enough, she found a set of double doors that she hoped would lead her to the gardens. When she stepped through, however, she found herself on an outdoor balcony instead.

This will do, she thought, closing the door behind her. The muffled sounds of the ballroom could be forgotten now that she was alone.

The balcony was quite vast, she noticed, though she supposed it wasn’t all too surprising if any other chamber of this castle was anything to go by. An ornately carved balustrade stood before her and another set of doors stood to her left.

Amelia made her way over to the balcony’s railing and leaned against it, letting out a sigh. She would have leaned further over it for better reprieve and the nice view below, but she didn’t want to risk the breeze ruining her hair.

“Welcome to Castle Stanhope, my lady.”

Amelia gasped, whirling at the voice. Directly behind her stood a gentleman in all black except for his gold-buttoned tailcoat, with the shadows from the moon cloaking his features. He seemed to have come through the door to the left and as he approached, swaths of moonlight illuminated his black, curly hair. It was the first thing Amelia noticed about him—other than his height.

The gentleman wore an easy smile as he came closer still. Each step sent Amelia’s heart skittering through her chest, her words failing on her tongue. Deep hazel eyes stared through to her soul, which sat atop a high, pointed nose. He had a faint stubble stretching across his jaws. Even though most of his features were shadowed by the moonlight still, Amelia had no doubt that this gentleman was unbelievably handsome.

And they were alone. On a balcony. Her father must be rolling in his grave.

“Thank you,” she murmured, finally finding her words.

His lips twitched into a wider smile. He stopped just a few feet away from her. “I take it, it was not too much trouble finding this spot?”

“No more trouble than it would be for anyone else,” Amelia answered, a little confused. “…Unless you are lost?”

That made him chuckle, the deep sound reverberating against her body. “I think I am quite fine, but I appreciate your misplaced concern.”

He came closer still, until he was directly beside her. His scent was one of sandalwood with a hint of citrus, so intoxicating that Amelia was hit with a foolish urge—to lean into him.

“How was your trip, my lady?” the gentleman asked.

Amelia thought on the question for a moment. Perhaps he thought she was one of the guests who had come from outside of London to attend this evening’s ball. “It was not very difficult. I am not very far from here, you see.”

“Ah, then that will make it quite easy for us, don’t you think? Forgive me, my lady. I had not stopped to ask where you were residing before you came to London.” He took her hand. Amelia nearly jumped out of her skin. How bold! “But we have many days ahead of us, so there is so much more to be shared between us.”

“You are kind, my lord,” she answered stiffly, uncertain of what to do in this situation. As gently as she could, she pulled her hand from him and was alarmed by how cold she suddenly felt. Afraid that she might have just chased away the one gentleman willing to talk to her tonight, she quickly asked, “Are you enjoying the ball, my lord?”

He said nothing at first and Amelia gripped the railing tightly, afraid to look at him. Afraid to see that she had once again bored someone else.

But then he chuckled. “It wouldn’t do if I wasn’t, now would it?”

Her confusion deepened at that, but it was slightly overshadowed by her relief that he was still talking to her.

“And you, mademoiselle? Are you enjoying yourself?”

Mademoiselle? Did he think her French? Was he French?

Before she could ask the question, he put his hand atop hers once more. Amelia looked sharply at him but felt her resolve melt away under his gentle gaze. Her throat suddenly felt dry, all her lessons in modesty vanishing. “I…I am,” she managed and he smiled.

“That’s good. Then I consider this evening a job well done.”

Amelia could not fathom what he was talking about. She didn’t even care. All she could focus on was the hand on top of hers, the thumb stroking her knuckles.

“I must say, my lady,” he went on, “that your dialect is quite outstanding. One would believe that you were English.”

“That is because I am?” Amelia managed, confused. She knew she should pull away from him. She should not even be alone with him right now. But his touch was making all her sensible thoughts flee her mind.

Again, he chuckled. And again, it made her toes curl, heat tinging her cheeks. “Yes, let us go with that then. Tonight, we can be anyone we wish to be, can’t we?”

“…You may be right about that.”

“What is the matter, my lady?” Suddenly, he gripped her hand, pulling her around to face him fully. They were too close, her bosom almost brushing his chest. “Are you nervous?”

“Would it be bad?” Amelia breathed. She gave her words no prior thought. They simply flew from her tongue, acting on impulse since every fiber of her being was currently on fire.

A devilish grin stretched across his face. “It intrigues me, my lady. You were quite bold in your correspondences and yet you flush when I touch you like this.”

He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. All the warning bells in her mind went silent. Nothing but pure need took its place, her legs suddenly weak now that she was being held.

“Your fragrance is glorious,” he murmured, dipping his head closer to her.

“…And yours…is one of sin,” she murmured without thought, closing her eyes as she felt his breath on her neck.

“You make me want to sin,” he confessed in a low tone. One arm remained wrapped around her while his other hand kept control of her free wrist, his thumb making slow circles on her pulse. His lips brushed the side of her neck as if he was continuing to savor her scent and Amelia, to her complete surprise, tilted her head away to give him better access.

She was utterly mad. This was completely insane!

But she could not stop herself. This man was intoxicating, instilling within her something she’d never felt before.

The hand on the small of her back began to drift downward, brushing her rump. Amelia knew she should push him away, but she leaned in instead, thinking herself to be utterly insane. No matter how handsome this man was, it made no sense for a stranger to have this effect on her. Yet, when he gently grasped her rear and allowed his other hand to teasingly brush past her breasts over her gown, Amelia lost her mind.

She was panting, her body on fire. Her knees buckled a little and he chuckled as he caught her, twisting to press her firmly against the balustrade. He didn’t kiss her outright, simply skimming his fingers over her collarbone in light motions that threatened to drive her insane. Amelia didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she gripped the railing behind her again, trying to remember what the best thing was to do in this moment.

Ah, yes, she had to stop this.

But then his lips brushed her jaw and Amelia instinctively turned towards him, realizing she had not yet even taken a good look at this stranger. “Who are you? Let me see you,” she murmured against his forehead. She hadn’t a clue where these bold words came from but her mind was far too muddled to think twice about them.

He smiled. Without a word, he took a step back. “As you so desire, my lady. I have another face if that fancies you more,” he purred.

Amelia was too taken by his handsomeness to even formulate a response. It was just as she’d suspected—the shadows had done very little to hide how striking he was. His sharp features, hazel eyes, pointed chin. But she was wholly unprepared for just how devilishly good-looking he would truly be.

She was so absorbed by her study of him that she didn’t realize he had pulled out a mask—possibly hidden away within his coat—until he held it up to her.

Shock sliced through the heady passion that had been consuming her senses. She would recognize that mask anywhere and it sent a sliver of panic coursing through her.

The…“Masked Rogue?” she muttered.

“At your service.” He swept an exaggerated bow.

Amelia hardly had any time to process what she was seeing, hardly got a chance to come to terms with just who she had allowed to embrace her.

Too many emotions swirled through her at once. Her horror grappled to overthrow her lingering need, her anger and frustration making her head grow hot. She gaped at him, finding herself utterly speechless. But what could she say? How dare you seduce me when you killed my father and ruined my life?

The door to the balcony began to open, Amelia realized. People had started arriving. And the Masked Rogue didn’t notice that as of yet.

Her mind whirred as an insane plan occurred to her. All her problems—all of Dorothy’s problems—were because of the man before her. She recalled her earlier thoughts, on how if she managed to find this man, she would spend her entire life bringing him to ruin. 

Amelia had no hope tonight. If she was found here, any chance she had at finding a husband would be reduced to zero, while the Masked Rogue walked off free and unscathed yet again. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She couldn’t allow him to steal her last chance at saving Dorothy. She couldn’t allow him to get away unscathed. And what better way to gain control over him, bring him to ruin, than becoming…

Her dull mind snapped back into action and the moment the door opened, the moment the first few lords and ladies stepped through, Amelia wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

He didn’t know what was happening at first. He gave in to the kiss, pressing her against the balustrade, moaning softly into her mouth. For a brief moment, Amelia forgot how insanely she’d just acted and thought only of how perfect his lips felt against hers. It was her first kiss and it was utterly, sickeningly amazing.

But then, she heard the first gasp. Then the gentleman stiffened, realizing what was happening. They had an audience.

He pulled away, staring at her in disbelief. Amelia met his eyes, not bothering to hide the fact that she’d done it on purpose. She’d wanted the guests to see them kissing, had known the damage it would do to her reputation.

But she was a desperate lady, and in that desperation, she’d taken her best chance at securing a marriage. 

Look out for its full release on Amazon on the 15th of December!