Page 9 of The Lady Glass
Lord Cadogen was easily the most famous member of their group, with or without his mask. Most feared him, and for good reason. While searching for a murderer who’d killed his family, Cadogen had become involved in a government spy network. Rolland, Marcus, and Lewis had been eager to aid their country too, and somehow they’d all become unofficial agents and occasionally spies for England. Rolland could not claim to be particularly close to Cadogen, who kept his secrets carefully guarded, but he did consider him a trustworthy friend. No one could have predicted that a woman would come into Cadogen’s life and finally end his quest for answers. Oddly enough, a woman had been the one to bring Marcus’s intricate past to light as well.
Rolland cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend, but I am glad Cadogen was there for you when you needed it. Her Grace is fortunate to have found you. It’s with her in mind that I worry about your generous offer to host this madness.” He knew what death looked like better than anyone. Life wasn’t something to mess around with.
Marcus disagreed, apparently. “Nothing is ever too generous between friends like us.” He lowered his voice, reading Rolland like no one ever could. “We all have chains that tie us down. You might be the only one who can free yourself from yours, but I’m not going to stand by and watch you lose another person in the process. Besides, Tansy agreed wholeheartedly, so you cannot use her against me.”
Rolland stared at Marcus. He’d not expected such a candid, honest response, and he knew not how to respond. He did havehis share of chains, and apparently, they hadn’t gone unnoticed. Seeing that his friend would not be dissuaded, he motioned to the ballroom just beyond them. “In that case, we should return to your guests to make sure we haven’t missed anything promising.”
Marcus’s nod carried understanding. Together they walked back into the frightening battleground where they were outnumbered by the fairer sex. Rolland caught Marcus sharing an intimate smile with his new bride, a stunning woman with blonde hair, flanked by several other women, before leading Rolland to the head of the room, close to the orchestra. If there was to be a secluded spot in the ballroom, Marcus had managed to find it.
“See anything worthwhile?” Rolland asked, eager to keep the subject on anything but his past. Unfortunately, narrowing down suspects was never as simple as searching through a crowd.
“Evan Lewis has never looked happier.” Marcus’s eyes rested on their friend in the dance line. Opposite him was a flaxen-haired woman with fluttering eyelashes and a coy smile. “I don’t think it’s because we are finally reunited again after two long years.”
“Do you approve of his choice?”
“Miss Yearsley?” Marcus gave him a pointed stare.
“That is Miss Yearsley?” She was the only female on their suspect list, and apparently, she already had Lewis wrapped around her finger. Rolland grimaced. Miss Yearsley’s intended had died a mysterious death last year. Lord Brunswick had worked on a few bills with Lord Castlereagh and Rolland’s father. Shortly before their engagement, Miss Yearsley had been accused of being an informant, and Lord Brunswick had been key in resolving the allegations. She was either involved with something nefarious or was a very unlucky woman. “Great. He’ssmitten,” Rolland said, stating the obvious.
“The right woman can do that to a man, you know.”
Rolland watched Marcus’s eyes wander toward his wife again.
Rolland wrinkled his nose. “For heaven’s sake. If Cadogen’s countenance is as love-sodden as yours when he arrives, I might have to find the mask he’s abandoned and force him to wear it and perhaps borrow a spare for you.” This wasn’t the beginning to the house party and spy hunt he’d imagined—there were only discussions about marriage and romance. He left observing Miss Yearsley to Lewis and scanned the crowd again, searching for specific faces and hoping for obvious clues, like discreet signaling or furtive glances. Anything unrelated to love would suffice at the moment.
The beautiful, clear notes of violin music pulled his eyes toward the musicians to the side of him. The short notice of the ball had forced their hosts to hire a traveling troupe of Roma musicians to perform for the night. Many frowned on having what they called Gypsies in attendance, but Marcus, being a duke, could take liberties others wouldn’t dare to. He had the ability to break or form social standards and was of the opinion that no one was more musically inclined than the Roma, and Rolland was inclined to agree.
One musician caught his particular attention, capturing it completely. A woman playing the violin—predominantly a male’s instrument. There was something terribly familiar about her, although he claimed no acquaintance with any Roma nomad. Her dark-brown hair was nearly hidden by a scarf weaved through her hair like a crown around her head and tied at the nape of her neck, and the traditional style of clothes she wore differed greatly from the Greek fashion popular among the ladies of theton. But it was her large almond-shaped eyes that fascinated him, and her exaggerated movements that resembled a dance.
His head tilted and he observed her more carefully. A few notes later, he was completely spellbound by her marked skill. The tune seemed to wrap around him like a siren possessing him. The woman’s eyes shut in concentration, unleashing more magic in the effort. He took an unconscious step toward her, as if doing so would force her eyes to open so he might know what color they were. If he could view them up close, he was certain he would remember where he had seen her before.
“Rolland?” He felt a tug on his jacket sleeve.
He blinked, registering his friend’s voice. “What?”
It was Lewis, his blond hair slicked back and a grin on his face. When had he joined them?
“How many days have you been on land, and your manners are still abysmal.” Lewis tsked his tongue. “Let me remind you, normally when a man greets his friend, the exchange is reciprocated.”
Rolland frowned, fighting the desire to turn back and watch the violinist. “Forgive me. I was distracted. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I told you he’s changed, Marcus.”
“Of course he’s changed,” Marcus said. “He’s just returned from war.”
Lewis tugged on his gold waistcoat. “I suppose that’s reason enough. I overheard your mother saying you’ve been altogether too serious, and I cannot believe it’s just because you have your father’s safety in mind. Not to worry. We’ll have a little fun rooting out a traitor, and you’ll be your old self in no time. It’ll be just like our days at university.”
Rolland remembered those days fondly. The past few years, they had each continued to do their part in aiding their country, but mostly, they’d acted separately. Seeing his friends again did take him back, although there were differences that had not been present before. There was a gleam of confidence in Lewis’s eyesthat exceeded his usual manner, and even Marcus was more self-assured. They’d all changed, hadn’t they? As for him, apparently he had more of a love for music than he could ever have attested to before.
He glanced over his shoulder again, only to have Lewis elbow him.
“You’re not dancing enough. I hope to convince the duchess to throw a smaller country ball at the end of the house party. For my sake, do try to look like you’re enjoying yourself so she sees how splendid my idea is.”
When Rolland didn’t respond, the conversation turned toward their suspect list that he’d memorized, using nicknames in case someone overheard them. His eyes unintentionally slid back to the dark-haired woman adjusting the peg of her violin. Not one to be bewitched by a beautiful woman, for some reason, he could not look away when she tucked the instrument under her chin and lifted her bow once more. Immediately, her intensity returned as she strung out her notes with practiced ease.
Rolland believed everyone carried a story with them. He respected those not meant to be shared, but he was strangely curious to know hers. Did she always play so passionately? Was there something on her mind that drove her fevered notes?
The directions of his thoughts gave him pause. Had the war made him so suspicious that he was obsessing over a violinist? He dismissed the idea. Or perhaps his parents and friends were getting to him and he had found a woman who’d caught his interest. There was good reason the English frowned upon women playing the violin in public. It gave a man ideas. Rolland forced himself to look away. He already had a list of guests to investigate; there was no need to think twice over a mere musician.
