“Good costumes tonight. The ladies in particular have gone to great lengths, haven’t they?” Rupert mused as a young woman dressed as a caged songbird paused on the stage to sing a few notes. The costume was an impressive construction of wire and feathers. “Such a shame I’m engaged. They don’t even look at me now.” He wistfully watched a petite redhead in a shepherdess outfit rush to join the parade, shaking his head in admiration. The audience clapped for the songbird, who made her way off the stage with some difficulty.
“But you, on the other hand.” Rupert turned to his friend and assessed him. “You’re garnering all kinds of attention. You don’t have to try that hard to frighten anyone; you really do look the part. If only you could show your marks.” He gestured to Daniel’s upper arms, which underneath his white shirt and dark-red coat were covered with tattoos, evidence of his former gang affiliation.
Mostly former, that is.
“I’ve never been to one of these things before,” Daniel replied irritably. “How was I to know what one wears?” It seemed his pirate costume was not quite the thing. Most of the other gentlemen in attendance were dressed, like Rupert, as historic courtiers, or as kings, emperors, or knights; in short, they were costumed as men of power, of intellect, and wealth. Daniel had been completely at a loss for how to dress, and had bellowed at Asher to find him something suitable. The resulting pirate costume had tight-fitting breeches with high leather boots, a sword strapped to his side, and a long red coat that flared over a simple, loose white cotton shirt. On Asher and Mrs. Kelly’s direction, he hadn’t shaved for two days, allowing his beard to partially grow in as if he’d spent days at sea. A loose kerchief was knotted around his neck, and they had set a tricornered hat on his head. Daniel had balked at wearing the eye-patch, but Mrs. Kelly had insisted. “It’s the only way they’ll know you’re a pirate,” she’d argued. “Otherwise you just look like a drunk on a three-day bender.”
A murmur was growing throughout the crowd, tinged with an undercurrent of shock, and Daniel turned his attention to the stage, instantly spotting its cause. It was Genevieve’s dark-haired friend, and she was clad in the slinkiest, sparkliest gown he’d ever seen, topped by simply enormous diamonds. She was practically bursting out of the bodice, and Daniel raised an eyebrow as she wriggled off the stage. If she was looking for male attention, she’d certainly get it in that outfit.
He eyed the diamonds in particular. A bold, and perhaps unwise, choice.
A second murmur rose from the crowd, distracting him from the giant stones. It was Sarah Huffington’s turn, and she was slowly crossing the stage, head held high. She stopped in the center and turned in a lazy circle, her haughty gaze sweeping over the heads of those assembled, her disdain for their collective opinion obvious.
Half her costume was blindingly white, a soft, floating fabric that billowed around her left side. A great, nearly translucent wing grew from her back, and a semicircle of gold floated above the left side of her head. The other half of her costume was a deep, blazing red, with a low-cut bodice and a tight skirt encasing her right side. On this side, a single horn grew out of her elaborate hairstyle.
Half angel, half devil. Throwing another mocking look toward the audience, which had fallen into a rather shocked silence, Sarah glided toward the stage’s stairs, making her exit.
Rupert sounded a low whistle. “She did tell me she had a cracker of a costume for the ball,” he said. “I had no idea she had that planned.”
An idea pinged inside Daniel’s head. “May I ask a favor?”
Rupert glanced at him in surprise. “Anything.”
Daniel quickly told him what he needed, finally catching sight of Genevieve’s honey-colored head as she climbed the stairs for her turn to promenade across the stage.
“Bloody hell,” he swore, earning him a wary look from Rupert.
“You’re in a mood tonight,” his friend observed, though Daniel barely heard him. He had eyes only for Genevieve, who had dismounted from the stage and was looking around the room uncertainly. Sheer, diaphanous white silk hung off her shoulders, revealing bare arms. The fabric of her bodice was gathered and pleated in front, draping almost too low for public viewing, and a thick golden rope drew the fabric in at her waist. The gown had no bustle but hung naturally in soft folds to the ground. Gold bangles encircled her upper arms and wrists, and her thick hair was artfully piled on top of her head.
She looked stunning.
What she did not do, though they had specifically discussed it, was blend in. The people they planned to talk to tonight, their entire strategy,—it all depended on their both being part of the crowd, on not standing out.
With the way she looked, it would be impossible. He already saw young men cutting their eyes in her direction, gazes greedily roaming up and down her tall form.
Muttering curses under his breath, Daniel lifted his hat a bit and waved it, catching her attention. Genevieve nodded at him and then inclined her head toward one of the recessed areas that lined the edges of the ballroom.
And a grand, opulent ballroom it was. The Porters’ costume ball was the one party of the season nobody dared miss, and this year it was cause for even more excitement. Rather than holding the ball in their Fifth Avenue mansion, the hosts had elected to make use of the facilities in the new Union Pinnacle Hotel, a giant, luxurious structure, to accommodate the vast number of guests.
“I’ll find you later,” Daniel murmured to Rupert, who flashed him a sardonic look but kept quiet. “You’ll do as I asked?”
“Yes, yes.” Rupert shooed him away impatiently. “You go on; I’m going to stand
