Daniel gave his head a small shake again, though this time as if to clear it. “Enough. We’re not finished yet, and I have one more person I’d like to approach before the night is through.”
The waltz was winding down, and Genevieve caught sight of Felicity Holgrave, distinguishable from her twin Frances by eyes that were blue rather than brown, coquettishly smiling in Daniel’s direction. “One of the Holgrave twins?” she asked, raising a brow as he led her back to the edge of the dance floor.
A look of alarm crossed his face. “Absolutely not. Do you know what one of them said to me earlier? I actually don’t think I can repeat it to a lady, it was so salacious.”
Genevieve surprised herself with a giggle. It felt good to laugh in the face of everything: the endless black masks, the ignorance of men like the Stuyvesants, the constant rumbling of fear in the pit of her belly.
“I told you those breeches were too tight.”
“McCaffrey.” A hand clapped Daniel on the back. Ted Beekman had joined them. Daniel stared at the hand for a beat, and Ted removed it, smiling a jovial smile. “Great minds think alike, eh?”
Genevieve stifled a gasp. To refer to their previous engagement via a double entendre, particularly in front of her, was horribly inappropriate. Daniel’s gaze, which had already been quite neutral, turned chilly. “I beg your pardon?” he asked icily.
“I mean our costumes,” Ted said, gesturing toward himself. He was clad in a blue satin jacket, almost to his knees, over gray tights. He sported no mask but instead a giant blue-tinged beard, and his head was topped with a jaunty hat adorned with blue and gray feathers. “I’m Bluebeard. We seem to be the only pirates in attendance tonight.”
“Blackbeard was a pirate,” Daniel clarified. “Bluebeard is a folktale about a man who killed his wives.” His response was aimable enough, but Genevieve noticed that the coldness didn’t leave Daniel’s eyes.
“Bluebeard, Blackbeard.” Ted shrugged and laughed heartily. “We’ll just say I’m a pirate and be done with it, eh?”
Daniel turned toward her. “Champagne?”
“Yes, please.” She actually didn’t want champagne, but Ted was the final person on her list, and he was more likely to be candid without Daniel around.
It seemed as though half the ballroom watched as her ex-fiancé perfunctorily shook her hand and she inquired about his health, and the health of his wife.
“Oh, Amelia,” Ted boomed heartily, referring to his seemingly absent wife. He had always been the sort of man who boomed; she wondered how she had ever tolerated it. “She’s resting at home, of course. I am to be a father soon,” he explained, correctly interpreting Genevieve’s puzzled expression.
Genevieve paused a moment to digest this information, almost expecting small tendrils of pain to wrap themselves around her heart and squeeze; here it was, the life that had almost been hers. But the sting didn’t arrive. It was akin to receiving news from a stranger.
“Congratulations,” she said politely.
“Yes, yes. It’s been hard on her, you know. She hasn’t been feeling well for months.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Genevieve replied. She took a breath, preparing to ask how his work was going, hoping to turn the conversation toward his role on the mayoral committee, but he interrupted.
“You’re looking very well, though,” he boomed again. Genevieve controlled the urge to wince. Couldn’t he speak in a normal tone of voice? “Very well,” he repeated, his gaze dropping down her body, a small, ugly smile playing on the corners of his lips.
The sudden urge to smack the smile off his face, to offer some kind of physical retribution for the shame he had caused her family, was so strong that she had to clench her fist for a moment to prevent her hand from swinging through the air. Over Ted’s shoulder she caught sight of Daniel widening his eyes at her from where drinks were being served. She forced a smile to her lips.
“Business is good?” The smile felt brittle, but it was the best she could muster.
“Hmm?” Ted dragged his eyes away from her bare shoulders. “Oh, very, very.”
Genevieve swallowed, glancing over his shoulder to Daniel again. Felicity Holgrave had indeed trapped him in conversation, but he met her eyes all the same, offering a quick, reassuring nod.
“I’m not surprised.” She willed her smile to become sweeter and cast a look toward Ted through her lashes. “You always were poised for great success.”
Ted’s chest expanded a bit under the blue satin. “Well, if I may be allowed a moment to brag.” He lowered his voice, his gaze sliding down her neck. It was hard not to shudder. “I am on the cusp of seeing a very healthy return on an investment. Very,” he emphasized, finally returning his eyes to her face.
She let out a small, feigned gasp, operating on pure instinct. “Lexington Industries?” she asked in a hushed tone.
Ted’s look turned shrewd. “Heard about it, have you? From whom?”
“I shouldn’t like to say,” Genevieve slid her eyes toward Ernest Clark’s behooded figure, slipping out the door toward the grand staircase. Ted followed her eyes and gave a small grunt. “But I was asked if perhaps my brother Charles would be amenable to joining the venture.”
Her heart pounded as the lies piled up. This was the closest she or Daniel had come to information about the mysterious Lexington Industries all night. And now the clock was starting to tick: as soon as Ted confronted Clark and the other investors—whoever they were—about speaking with Genevieve and discovered that in fact nobody had approached her, whoever hoped to do her harm would know she was getting closer to
