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He simply could not imagine losing control and inching Constance’s dress up in the garden. He half smiled; making love to Constance would require a certain amount of ceremony.
The minute I see Constance again I will come to my senses
. Constance was glorious, a true aristocrat; she was the future he’d devoted years to securing.

He decided, then, he would go out to White’s instead of dining with Lily and Kilmartin; their carriage could stop by to fetch him before the ball. But he would leave the necklace with Kilmartin with instructions to give it to Lily. For Lily’s glowing eyes when he gave her the necklace were not images he could risk adding to his gallery of memories.

The fewer memories he had of Lily Masters, the less likely they were to haunt him when she was gone.

“We’ve lost Gideon for the time being, Miss Masters,” Kilmartin announced cheerfully, “but then again, that means more dinner for the two of us. We’ll fetch him at White’s before the ball. My
God,
you look a peach.”

Such unwelcome news delivered in such a cheerful voice was jarring. And when it was followed by a
compliment
… For one moment, Lily was utterly rattled.

“Er… thank you, Lord Kilmartin,” she finally managed. She usually enjoyed Kilmartin’s honest appraisals. She knew his heart was firmly in the hands of Lady Anne Clapham, and he had no use for flattery; therefore, his compliments were all sincerity.

But where
was
Gideon, then? Her disappointment was acute. She was wearing the blue satin, the one that Madame Marceau had assured her made her look a veritable diamond of the first water, and Lily wanted to see this confirmed in Gideon’s eyes. It would have given her courage.

“Oh! He left something for you.” Kilmartin produced a little box. “Necklace. We should have thought of it before, for of course any young lady would need a necklace to go with all her finery. So here it is.” He thrust the box at Lily.

“Oh.” She stared at the box dumbly for a moment, and then, her hands trembling a little, she pried up the lid. Her heart skipped. Was it actually a…
diamond
? On a
gold
chain? Had Gideon given her a
diamond
?

“It’s a diamond,” Kilmartin said. “Albeit just a speck of one. I think it belonged to Gideon’s mother. He wanted you to have it.”

“Oh,” Lily said faintly, again.

“Umm… do you need help with the clasp?” Kilmartin looked uncomfortable. Clearly he did not want to fumble about at Lily’s neck.

“Oh, no, I can manage it all on my own, thank you.”

And Lily held the box as though she were holding Gideon’s beating heart.

* * *

The ride in the carriage to the Braxton ball was a silent affair, for the most part; the three of them, Kilmartin, Gideon, and Lily, were as tense as three highwaymen about to accost a mail coach.

Lily sat across from Gideon, bathed in shadows. A silk shawl covered her; he wondered which of Madame Marceau’s creations she had chosen to wear for this momentous evening, and if perhaps he should have helped her choose.

Aunt Hester sat next to Lily, snoring softly. She had agreed to accompany them, for propriety’s sake, but only long enough to be noted as a chaperone, and then make an exit, as surreptitious an exit as a formidable countess forever draped in black bombazine could make.

“You look an absolute peach, Miss Masters,” Kilmartin said again, reassuringly. He’d said it at least three or four times; it had become something of a nervous stutter. It was grating on Gideon’s nerves.

They’d discussed it: Lily would enter with Kilmartin; Hester would enter behind them. And Gideon would wait, and enter last of all, mingling with the crowd, watching Lily and Kilmartin’s progress through it, to meet up with them again to conspicuously greet Miss Masters.

“Parry everything,” Gideon reminded her softly.

“Stories,” Kilmartin added nervously. “Don’t forget me stories.”

Lily smiled, and her smile was like a little wedge of light in the darkness of the coach. It was almost as though she were reassuring Kilmartin and Gideon, when in fact, Gideon thought, it should really be the other way around.

* * *

It began subtly enough. Kilmartin and Lily entered the party, through the lit arch of the doorway, past the phalanx of footmen; Gideon lingered behind them, and watched.

He saw a head—it belonged to Lord Stanley—turn idly; perhaps he was looking for a friend in the crowd.

But then Lord Stanley’s casually searching gaze lit upon Lily.

His head went rigid.

He stared.

A
      
moment later Lord Stanley tore his gaze away from her and whispered to his companion, Lord Something-or-Other; Gideon could not recall the man’s name.

Lord Something-or-Other joined Lord Stanley in staring.

As Lily and Kilmartin made their leisurely way through the crowd, another head turned. And another. And then another and another…

It was like watching the path of a lit fuse.

Lily, gliding like a swan, made her shimmering way through the crowd escorted by Kilmartin, who was flushed with all the unaccustomed attention and with the pleasure of appearing with one of the loveliest girls in London on his arm. The candlelight set Lily aglow, from the dark gold of her hair down the length of her gown—a silver-blue satin with an overlay of fine patent net; like mist floating over a dawn sky. Madame Marceau was a genius, Gideon thought. Lily was a shining thing. Almost otherworldly.

And he alone of the people in this ballroom knew how fully
of this
world she was. For he alone of anyone here had felt the frantic beat of her heart beneath his lips.

He took a deep breath. He was supposed to be keeping an eye out for Constance.

And as Constance was always difficult to miss, he soon found her: looking like Spring itself in gold-trimmed willow green silk, surrounded by a group of lesser mortals, her handmaidens among them. She did rather stop the breath, Constance did. Like one’s first sight of the Parthenon.

And Constance, too, was watching Lily’s progress through the crowd, wearing an expression Gideon had never before seen on her face—speculative and narrow-eyed.

The crowd swallowed Kilmartin and Lily up and Gideon lost sight of them.

Constance became aware of Gideon’s eyes upon her. Her face transformed immediately; she smiled, a cool, dazzling smile of welcome, and gave a subtle nod. Gideon responded with a slow sultry smile that made feminine hearts, and maybe a male heart or two, palpitate all over the ballroom, and bowed in return to her.

And then he ignored her and all the hands and voices that reached out for him in delighted greeting and pursued Kilmartin and Lily through the crowd.

It’s like one of my stories. I’ve walked into one of my stories.

Lily decided to treat the event as a dream; for in dreams, one merely followed where the dream led, and marveled at the things that unfolded, and—most importantly—woke unscathed. Her heart, which had been throwing itself violently against her rib cage, slowed to a more civilized pace.

She’d never seen so many clean, beautiful people massed in her life. They glinted, these people, as though the chandelier light had been specifically designed to point out jewels to her: rings and necklaces, bracelets and tiaras. Just
one
piece would support her and Alice for life.

But she was here for Gideon and his bloody Master Plan, not to shop for her future.

They came at her for introductions, handsome, scrupulously groomed young men, their eagerness straining at the confines of their fine manners. Lord Jarvis, a smiling affable blond gentleman, claimed a waltz. She bestowed reels on a few others, offering up her dance card while Kilmartin looked on protectively and a little nervously.

Gideon arrived just as Lily was extracting her hand from the paw of the handsome young George Willett.

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Willett,” she said. “I look forward to our dance.”

Overcome with admiration, Mr. Willett’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and then he abandoned the notion of speaking and simply bowed and backed away.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Cole. I believe you know my cousin, Miss Masters?” Kilmartin measured the words out as though reciting them from a script.

“Do try to be a little more subtle, Laurie,” Gideon murmured. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Masters,” he said, raising his voice a bit for the benefit of anyone who might be attempting to eavesdrop. He bowed lingeringly over Lily’s extended hand, and then straightened and met her eyes.

Lily realized she and Gideon had been gazing silently at each other for an inordinately long time only when she noticed the disconcerted expression on Kilmartin’s face. She withdrew her hand from Gideon’s and it went up to touch her diamond, almost unconsciously; Gideon’s eyes followed it there, and he looked, for a moment, shaken.

“Before you came up to us, Gideon, Lily made the acquaintance of Lord Jarvis,” Kilmartin told him, his voice low but thrumming with excitement. “And Lord Jarvis claimed a
waltz”

“
Very
good news indeed, Laurie. One less waltz he can share with Constance. Will you do
me
the honor of a waltz or two, Miss Masters?” His eyes on her were gently amused.

Lily could only nod. Her chin was up and proud, she realized; she adjusted it to a less combative angle, and Gideon gave her a crooked smile.

A swoop of vivid color caught her eye then; Lily looked up to find an alarmingly beautiful woman, a vision in green and gold, gliding over to them, her bearing as innately, indolently, graceful as a leaf drifting from a tree. Lily spent a moment gaping in simple awe: it was like watching the coming of
Spring
, for God’s sake; the woman’s arrival felt that momentous. An accompanying celestial chorus would not have seemed inappropriate.

And then Lily knew with sickening certainty: this was Lady Constance Clary.

So much for pretending it was all a dream.

Everything Gideon had said about the bloody woman was obviously true, only more so. And all at once, Lily
deeply
regretted her promise to help him win Lady Constance Clary. How on earth could she rival a goddess? From her book of Greek myths, Lily knew what became of mortals who tangled with the denizens of Olympus: they became bulls and trees and whatnot. Clearly that kiss in the garden had wreaked havoc on her judgment.
No one
should be held to any promise made in the wake of such a kiss, Lily thought desperately. Her heart was flinging itself at her ribs again.
Let’s leave right away, shall we
? it coaxed her.

“Good evening, Lady Clary,” Gideon said to the woman, as though she were a mere mortal. “Allow me to introduce Miss Lily Masters, Lord Kilmartin’s cousin from Sussex.”

Constance turned cool gray eyes on Lily; lovely things they were, large and pale-lashed and so clear Lily could swear she could see her own reflection in them. Lady Clary curtsied, and the curtsy was, of course, flawless, all fluid grace.

“How do you do, Miss Masters?” she said.

And if Constance’s tone had been warm and kind, Lily might have been completely undone; she might have bolted screaming into the night, tearing Madame Marceau’s creations from her, leaving a trail of shredded satin in her wake:
She’s too perfect! I can’t do this
! But there had been a metallic sheen to that drawled “How do you do,” rather like a sword drawn from its sheath, and Lily was intrigued; her innate fighting spirit reared up.

So she dipped into one of her own signature lovely curtsies and arranged her features into an expression meant to convey both warmth and indifference.

“How do you do, Lady Clary? ‘Tis a pleasure to meet you.”

Constance’s eyebrows went up as she registered the sultry instrument of Lily’s voice. “Likewise, Miss Masters. And may I say, your gown is very… striking.” She purred the last word ironically.

Gideon’s and Kilmartin’s heads turned in tandem toward Lily.

“Oh! Thank you! And yours is”—Lily’s eyes skimmed over Constance, and then she went studiously expressionless, as though graciously overlooking a social faux pas— “singular, as well.”

Gideon’s and Kilmartin’s heads swung back toward Constance.

The tiniest, tiniest of furrows appeared between Constance’s eyes. No doubt she’d expected stammering confusion or a mortified blush by way of reply, and wasn’t quite accustomed to encountering confidence. “May I ask who made your gown, Miss Masters?”

“Certainly, Lady Clary. Madame Marceau of London is my modiste of preference.” “
Of preference”
Lily congratulated herself.
Clever of you, Masters
.

Constance’s smile held a hint of condescension. “Oh. I see. I’ve not heard of Madame Marceau.”

“Oh,
haven’t
you?” Lily was all sympathy. “But then, she
is
rather exclusive.
She
selects her clients, rather than the other way around. And ‘tis considered quite an honor, really, to be selected by her. I now have quite a collection of her exquisite work. Her Reading dresses are the finest I’ve ever seen.”

Constance’s eyes flared for an almost undetectable second. “ ‘Reading dresses’?”

Lily saw Gideon and Kilmartin swing their heads back toward her.

“Yes.” And then understanding, followed by sympathy, dawned on Lily’s face. “Oh, have Reading dresses not yet reached London? They are all the rage in Paris.”

Constance’s fine features briefly went utterly immobile. “Of course,” she said finally. “I just
adore
Reading dresses. My own modiste excels at them. Is… is your Madame Marceau very dear?”

Lily was nearly beside herself with glee that Constance “adored” Reading dresses.

“Dear?” Lily repeated, her brow wrinkling a little. “I suppose that depends on what you mean by… dear.” And then she cast a speaking look up at a startled Gideon, making her innuendo as clear as a summer sky.

Constance’s fine eyes darted from Lily to Gideon and back to Lily again. “I suppose my question concerned whether Madame Marceau is
costly.”
Her tone had acquired a bit of an edge.