Page 61 of Red Masquerade

“Do you enjoy the outdoors?” He looked at me directly, like he was truly interested in my answer. It was uncomfortable, having his full attention. At dinner, in the foyer, at least we were with others.

But now we were alone, and that fact really began to settle into my bones.

His skin was unblemished, and though I didn’t know him well, I knew that he looked most himself when he was dressed up as he was for the evening. What did a Baron even wear during the day?

“I suppose I do,” I answered. “I like this garden.” I liked the garden at Vince’s manor. I thought of the rose yet alive in my bedroom, its withering thorns and few fallen petals the only evidence of the passing of time.

Flowers were a doomed gift. Their beauty only flourished for a breath before time took it all away. A gift of passion that reminded you of death.

“I must admit if I lived in a city such as New York, I’d need a place to escape to as well,” Lord Highsmith continued. We strolled along the path, and though it was somewhat quiet within the garden walls, we could still hear the sharp horns of cars, the sound of people on the street. It was a residential area, but there was still plenty of activity.

“You still live in the countryside?” I chanced a look at him. I had been avoiding his gaze, keeping my attention on the blooms around us, dull in the moonlight.

“I do,” he said. “Though I did attend Cambridge, and when I finished my studies, I didn’t return home right away. I explored the continent for a year and a half before I was called home due to the War. I haven’t left our estate much since, though I’ve traveled to London here and there for business.”

“What sort of business?” I asked. I supposed I needed to know if I was to become his wife.

He peered at me, surprised I’d ask. “Well, we support a village,” he said. “And with the war, the country needed soldiers. Railroadsare still being built all over. I suppose we have our hand in everything. My father is in Parliament, and he hopes I’ll take that position one day.”

“So, you will remain in London for much of the year? And your wife will stay at home? In the country?”

He made a noncommittal gesture. “Somewhat.”

I stopped, pulling my hand from his arm. My palm felt damp with sweat. The light blue dress I wore looked almost ghostly white in the moonlight, the lamps yet weak in the darkness. It cast a ghoulish shadow across his face as he turned to face me. He still looked as put-together as he did before dinner.

“What do you expect of me?” I asked.

I wanted to drop all pretenses. My skin was crawling underneath the dress my mother had picked. As we’d walked the garden, I’d only felt that the facade Lord Highsmith showed me was just that—a mask to hide whatever he truly felt underneath. Much like Lucas and his ability to show whatever side of himself he pleased.

Lord Highsmith’s brows furrowed, and he adjusted his cuffs. “Well,” he began, and he seemed unsure of what to say, like my forwardness was entirely outside of what he expected. What had Lucas told him about me? Had Lucas said how “unruly” I was? Had Lucas told him about Adam?

And did Lucas know Adam was back?

“When you are my wife,” he began.

Notif, butwhen. It was decided. They’d already talked it through.

I felt my throat constrict, but willed my mouth to stay shut.

“When we return to England, we’ll live on the estate. In the country.” He straightened himself, and I saw a glimpse of the man who was used to being listened to. “You’ll be under the guidance of my mother, the Baroness. She’ll keep you busy with her work, showing you what your responsibilities will one day be when I assume the Barony. She does much volunteer work in the village, manages the house—”

“Does she ever leave?”

“Leave?” His brows furrowed. “You mean to London?”

“Wherever. Can she leave?”

“She leaves if there’s reason to.” I saw a light fall from his eyes. “Generally, no, I suppose not.”

“I see.” Crossing my arms, the chill from the evening air seeped into my skin. The gloves and sleeves were only a thin silken barrier between myself and the spring air.

“Helena, she’s a Baroness. She has responsibilities.”

It was the first time he’d said my name, and I wanted him to take it back, tounspeak it. It sounded wrong with his accent—entirely different from Dixon’s, though their ways of speaking were not entirely different. Dixon was familiar, never asked anything of me. Lord Highsmith—

“She never had much chance to leave, anyway,” he continued. “When she began to have children, I suppose, she became too busy with the nannies and the house that it became impossible to worry about much else.”

“And must I have children?”