My gaze flickered over those in attendance. Like the Isbills, most wore masks that covered half of the face, from the forehead to the nose. Some wore elaborate constructions of flowers and streaming ribbons, topped with crowns or garlands. Others were less dramatic in their approach, simply settling for one made of satin or brocade. The aristo used these masks to conceal themselves, as if keeping their identities hidden was the permission they needed to behave as they wished.
I glanced at Claude again. Like me, he wore no mask, and neither did Grady or the guards who stood behind him.
Grady and I had been studiously avoiding eye contact all evening, pretending that we weren’t witnessing all that was occurring in this chamber at the same time. No matter how many times the nights devolved into this, it was still awkward as hell.
I fixed my gaze on the floor, since it was the only safe place to look at the moment. The behavior of the aristo amused me. Claude never made any attempt to hide his desires. He wouldn’t be ashamed come morning, like some of the aristo in attendance surely would. Most of them would never behave in such provocative, wanton ways in public, but here at Archwood, when they were assured of not being recognized and among those who wanted the same thing as they did, there appeared to be no pretense of modesty.
I supposed their behavior wasn’t as amusing as it was sad. However, it was the aristo, not the Hyhborn, who had not only established but reinforced these rules of what they felt was appropriate behavior. These aristo were stifling themselves, and for what?
A groan of release echoed from the nearby divan. The head that had been between Mrs. Isbill’s thighs was now in the lap of Mr. Isbill. Gods, I really hoped this man ended up well rewarded for all his . . . hard work this evening.
Sighing, I turned my head to a nearby glass wall that overlooked the yards of the manor and the gardens.
I’d rather be out there.
The space between my shoulder blades began to tingle.
I needed to be out there.
I was moving before I realized what I was doing, muscles tensing to stand, when a man wearing dove-gray pants suddenly filled my view, his linen shirt left unbuttoned. Leaning back against the thick cushions of the couch, I looked up to see a white mask shielding all but the lower half of his face.
“You look like you’re in need of company,” the man announced.
“I’m not.”
“You sure about that?” He stepped forward, moving to where my legs took up the remaining length of the couch.
I did nothing to hide my sigh. This man wasn’t the first to make it past Naomi, who was doing her level best to lure would-be pursuers away. I was beginning to feel as if the solarium were a henhouse full of foxes. “I’m positive.”
“I can change your mind,” he said with all the confidence typical of a man who was used to turning nos into yeses. My senses opened, reaching out to him. Or with the confidence of a man who was used to forcing nos into yeses. “You won’t regret it.”
Knowing I should just ignore the man, I instead smiled up at him and did exactly what I shouldn’t.
Because apparently, I was in the season of making bad life choices.
I extended my hand. He didn’t hesitate, taking it. The moment my skin connected with his, I felt his voice in my mind, as clear as if he were speaking, but it was my voice that whispered, telling me things unknown till that very moment. His name. How he made his living. His wife, who was not here. I saw what he wanted— his intentions. He wanted to get off. Shocker. But there was more to that, something that brought on a bitter bite of disgust.
I tugged on his arm, guiding him so we were at eye level, and then leaned in. “I have no interest in choking on your cock tonight,” I whispered, my mouth inches from his. “Or any night, Gregory.”
His jaw went slack with surprise. He went to jerk his hand free, but I held on, letting him watch my smile grow— watching the blood drain from the skin beneath his mask. I released him. Eyes wide, he backed away from me and turned without saying another word. Laughing under my breath, I wiped the hand he had touched on the cushion as I once more spotted Naomi moving about the crowd, her long legs and arms shimmering from a dusting of gold body paint. She had lingered close to me most of the evening before I shooed her off. While her watchfulness was kind of her, it wasn’t . . . it wasn’t right.
I wasn’t her responsibility.
But she was coming straight for me.
“Scoot over,” she instructed, leaning over my legs.
I kept the glass of wine steady, watching Naomi as I grinned. It was clear Naomi was up to something as she all but prowled up the length of my body. The seductive, fluid movements of her body were a bit exaggerated. I knew she knew it too, because one eye winked. She wore no mask. None of Claude’s paramours felt the need to hide their faces.