Page 63 of The Beast of Beswick
Astrid nodded stiffly.
“Your younger sister was presented her voucher to Almack’s earlier this week,” the woman went on. “She’s a beauty.”
“Is she here?” Astrid blurted out at the mention of Isobel, but the lady had already been guided away by the clever Mabel. Astrid was grateful.
Her eyes traveled the crowd and came to rest on a familiar face. Exceedingly familiar because he’d forgone a mask. Of course he would. Beaumont was so arrogant that even at a masquerade, he didn’t feel the need to participate. He was dressed all in gold, carried a gold cane, and wore a golden wreath.
“Beaumont is here,” Mabel murmured, returning to place a glass of punch into Astrid’s hand. “Though I’m not sure what he’s meant to be.”
“A guinea, perhaps?”
“A golden phallus, and one lacking in girth at that.”
“AuntMabel!” Astrid coughed into her drink. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
Intelligent amber eyes, so like her nephew’s, held hers. “Why? Should it be only the men who objectify the women? We have eyes as well.”
“We areladies.”
“A dreadful code of conduct beaten into us from the day of our births.” The duchess grinned and gave her an outlandish swat on the rear. “But no one needs to know that we are rebels on the inside.”
Astrid had to laugh. Several pairs of eyes turned in her direction, one in particular. Someone she had not noticed before. Those eyes burned and scorched, making her feel like a hare that had just been scented by a wolf. A large wolf that looked more like a hound of hell. Or the master of hell himself. The guest was dressed all in black with a hideous horned mask. Astrid’s heart hammered uncontrollably in her chest, every inch of her fighting heightened survival instincts.
Whoishe?And how dare he stare at me so boldly?
She arched an imperious eyebrow and, with an annoyed jerk of her chin, tore her gaze away. To her chagrin, the stranger started to head straight for her. Luckily, Lucifer’s path was intercepted by the appearance of Sir Thornton with a lady in tow who was dressed as an angel.
“Your Grace,” the solicitor murmured softly so as not to be overheard and bowed. “Might I present my wife, Lady Claudia Thornton.”
Astrid’s eyes fell on a pretty blonde whose blue gaze shone with intelligence and humor. “Please call me Claudia.”
“Then you must call me Astrid.” She glanced at the lady’s angel wings with a smile. “We winged creatures need to stick together.”
Claudia laughed, her voice low. “I must admit I have been dying to meet you. The one who tamed the beast.”
Astrid bristled, but there was no malice in Claudia’s tone or expression. She reminded herself that Sir Thornton was the closest thing to a friend that her husband had. “I wouldn’t say Itamedhim. If I had, he’d be here.”
“Henry says he’s besotted.”
Astrid’s eyes widened. “Besotted” would be the last word she’d use to describe Beswick. “Hardly.”
She was saved from the chaotic turn of her thoughts at the sight of a gorgeous young woman descending the staircase, dressed as the goddess of spring. White roses graced her crown in a wreath, ribbons descending down her back. Even cloaked in a sack, she would recognize her sister. Astrid felt tears leap to her eyes. Two people wearing Venetian masks flanked Isobel. Her aunt and uncle, Astrid presumed. She couldn’t help but notice how much attention her beautiful sister was garnering. Indeed, Isobel was a diamond of the first water, and she deserved everything that designation brought—her choice of suitors.
Surely Uncle Reginald would see her popularity as well and would allow her to choose someone other than Beaumont. Then again, most marriages were accompanied by a wife’s dowry, not the reverse, and her uncle fully expected to get his share from thesaleof his niece. Helplessly, she watched as Beaumont sauntered toward them, clear ownership stamped in his gaze. Time was running out for Isobel, and Astrid was low on options.Outof options, ever since Isobel had decided to take matters into her own hands. A decision that would be for nothing if the cunning Beaumont managed to compromise her.
“Excuse me,” she mumbled to Claudia and Aunt Mabel. “I need some air.”
To stop herself from rushing over to Isobel and causing a scene, she angled for the nearest pair of French doors, slipping out to the balcony and hauling huge gulps of cool evening air into her lungs. Astrid gripped the balustrade with numb fingers. Her corset felt laced too tight, pressing in against her ribs and making her light-headed.
Oh God, she was going to swoon. Sheneverswooned.
“Drink this.”
A tumbler of brandy was thrust into her palms, and Astrid sipped the spirits gratefully. She turned to thank her benefactor and froze. Eyes that glinted an unholy black in the moonlight burned like embers in the depths of his mask.
Hades in the flesh.
Chapter Seventeen
