Keeping an eye on Genevieve’s massive pile of curls as she fought her way through the crowd toward the alcove, Daniel began to move in that direction too, though he had less fighting to do. Guests parted as he approached like the Red Sea before Moses, groups neatly sidestepping and then re-forming the moment he had passed. A few gentlemen nodded at him, sober faced: enough of an acknowledgment so as not to offend, but not an invitation to join their circle.
He wasn’t offended. He wasn’t even sure who half the guests were, their costumes were so elaborate. Masks of all kinds hid people’s true identities: a commedia dell’arte Pulcinella chatted with a Harlequin, faces obscured by the traditional masks of their characters, and a portly gentleman costumed as a Pilgrim—Governor William Bradford, if Daniel had to guess—chuckled in low tones with someone dressed as a medieval king—William the Conqueror, perhaps?—both also wearing half masks.
Daniel frowned slightly as he nudged his way closer to the alcove. An unsettled feeling lingered in his chest as the covered faces and garish costumes began to blur together. The ballroom was densely packed, as the floor had yet to be cleared for dancing, and the prevailing mood seemed one of almost forced gaiety.
What would possess someone to throw a costume ball? It was hard enough to navigate the pitfalls of society when you knew who everyone was. When he was young, Jacob’s butler had slipped him copies of visiting lists detailing who was who. He had studied these lists assiduously while at school, memorizing names and associations as determinedly as he had learned calculus and French. A mistake could be social suicide, and he had been determined to not make a mistake, determined not to waste Maggie’s gift.
He saw Genevieve slip into the recessed space on the far side of the ballroom after glancing to make sure he was on his way. The giggling shepherdess he’d seen Rupert admire earlier ducked into a separate alcove, followed moments later by a grinning, masked toreador.
That was one appeal to a fancy-dress ball, he mused, pretending to adjust his sword to allow additional minutes to pass before joining Genevieve. The obfuscating costumes, combined with the increased crowd, provided cover for those who wished it.
The uneasy feeling in his chest intensified, and he glanced around, troubled by something he couldn’t quite put a finger on, before ducking under the partial curtain into the alcove. People were constantly pretending to be something they weren’t, him included. But on a night like this, those illusions could be taken to the extreme and used to cover any number of nefarious acts. He simply hoped he and Genevieve would be able to unmask their opponent before it was too late.
CHAPTER 15
“What the hell are you wearing?” Daniel demanded.
Genevieve’s nerves, already wrangled and frayed, snapped to their breaking point.
“I thought it rather obvious,” she bit out, raising her chin. His words stung; she had been feeling quite pretty. “And I thought I looked rather nice.”
Daniel’s jaw worked for a moment. Genevieve crossed her arms over her chest to mask her sudden insecurity. Did she, in fact, look ridiculous?
“You’re radiant,” he growled. A shy pleasure seeped through her, so unexpected was the compliment. “And therein lies the problem. You were meant to be inconspicuous.”
“This was all the dressmaker could do on short notice,” she protested.
“Bunch of fimble-famble,” he muttered. “They could have thrown a sheet over your head, made a ghost of you.”
“And that would have been less conspicuous? It’s a fancy-dress ball, not Halloween. Besides, what are you wearing? Those breeches are so tight, you might as well be naked.”
Her hand instantly clapped over her mouth as mortification washed through her, heat rushing to her face. Daniel looked as shocked as she felt. She had never said anything so wildly inappropriate in her life, ever.
A beat passed, where they simply stared at each other. She resolutely kept her eyes on his face, refusing to lower them anywhere near his trousers. “I apologize,” Daniel finally said, a trifle stiffly. “You look lovely. I think we are both tense about this evening.”
She accepted his apology with a nod of her head, her face cooling. “I apologize as well. You look … lovely too.”
His mouth quirked into his cynical half smile at that. “Thank you,” he said dryly. “How are you feeling? Ready to begin?”
Genevieve took a deep breath. Was she ready to wade among New York’s elite, people she had known all her life, and attempt to ferret out a murderer?
The truth was, she didn’t know. She didn’t know if she would ever be ready for something like this.
At the same time, a thrum of excitement coursed through her, and part of her felt perfectly ready, even eager to begin. Part of her felt like this was exactly what she was meant to be doing with her life.
“It’s a challenge,” she admitted. “With the masks. Just like the one …” She bit her lip, pushing away the memories of the night she’d almost died. They would not do her any good tonight.
Daniel’s gaze turned sharp. “The same mask? You’ve seen it?”
She shrugged. “Everywhere. Half the attendants are wearing that particular mask.” She pulled back the curtain of the alcove slightly, searching the crowd. She pointed to a man dressed as Pulcinella. “Like that one.”
He nodded slowly. “I saw him earlier. That’s the mask?” She nodded back, then watched as Daniel scanned the revelers, undoubtedly noticing for the first time what had struck Genevieve instantly, like a blow to the gut: it was everywhere. The black half mask had downturned eyeholes and a long, almost sinister-looking nose. Deep grooves were cut into the forehead and cheeks of the mask, giving the wearer a weary yet macabre appearance.
Daniel glanced her way. Her heart had begun to pound in response to seeing the mask again, over and over, and she hoped her
