Page 18 of Red Masquerade

Though I suspected he knew the answer. “With them. I’m terribly single.”

He exhaled a laugh. “Yes, how terrible.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you single, Mr. Sinclair?”

He shrugged a shoulder noncommittally, a sparkle to his eye.

He studied me for a second, and not in the way most other men did it, inspecting my looks, deciding what their favorite part was. Cigarette at his lips, but not breathing in the smoke, he came to some conclusion and put it out in the tray. He stood and offered me his hand. “Would you like a drink, Miss Helena?”

Sliding my fingers into his, I rose. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Across the small room, behind the couches, was a cart with a few decanters of various colors, clean glasses, and a tin of ice. He turned to me with a raised brow after we made our way over. “Absinthe?”

“Oh—sure.” I had only tried the drink once, at a party when I was already five gins deep.

He poured me just a finger of the greenish liquor and handed me the glass. Turning to me, he waited for me to take a sip.

“Nothing for you?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I’ve had plenty this evening,” he said, but he looked entirely sober to me.

It was good, and it gave me a warm rush, but it didn’t even begin to compare to the champagne and gin of the other evening. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about the ornate house, lit up and sparkling along the Sound. It was a beacon of light, probably a nuisance to the neighbors, even if they were a mile or so away. The fresco-like paintings on the walls, on the ceilings, as though once you stepped within, you were indeed in another realm of sorts, one with conniving devils.

A loud cheer erupted from the other room, and I saw Flora falter in her steps. She smiled at her partner before leaving his arms and coming over to me, her lavender perfume following in her wake. She leaned in, whispering in my ear, “I’m gonna go find Dixon.”

Sinclair, though he couldn’t possibly hear her, watched her exit.

“Can I ask you a question?” I turned back to Sinclair, lifting the cool glass to my lips.

He tilted his head in the affirmative.

“Vince Thornton? Have you heard of him?” I don’t know why I was so curious, yet hesitant, for the answer, covering my lips with the glass, hiding myself.

A flicker of recognition in his eyes, but it was gone as quick as it came. “I have.” He drew out the words.

“Well, we were just there last night,” I said. “At his house. He throws these huge parties—Have you been?”

His brow arched, the ghost of a smile dusting his features. “Many times,” he responded.

“I’ve only been there once, but I can’t say it’s like anything I’ve seen before.”

He hummed, amusement curling his lips. He leaned boyishly on the window frame; the panes speckled with the lights from the scraper across the street, little yellow dots sparkling in the late evening darkness. “It is truly spectacular, isn’t it?”

Had he been there last night? There was no way we could’ve run into each other, not with a crowd that large. Would he be so charming in a space like that? Would I have stopped to give him my attention? We hadn’t stayed long, and I didn’t think that would’ve changed—not after I thought I saw—

“Were you planning on returning?” he asked me.

“Oh.” I lifted a shoulder, unsure. “I don’t see why not.”

“Next weekend. You should find me,” he smiled, amber eyes glistening.

“That’s an impossible thing for you to ask me,” I laughed.

“Is it?”

“Maybe you didn’t see the same mob of people I saw.”

“You’ll find I’m an easy person to track down when I want to be.” He shot me a dazzling grin, his white teeth glinting in the dim electric lights of the room.