Her lovely gown of pale pink with its silver ribbons and lace was hidden beneath her black domino. Nothing she owned was capable of hiding her injury, leaving her no other recourse. Because of her lack of options, Maria wore her garments with aplomb, but kept a discreet profile. She moved carefully around the perimeter of the room, weaving between guests, sending out a silent signal to stay away that, thankfully, was effective.

Her gaze drifted from one side of the vast space to the other, searching for Welton. Overhead, three massive chandeliers were ablaze with countless candles, lighting up the ornate ceiling with its elaborate moldings and colorful murals. The orchestra played and guests spun about on the dance floor in a profusion of lace, impressively styled coiffures, and floral fabrics. Numerous conversations coalesced into a single hum of sound, the noise somewhat soothing because it meant that no one was paying attention to her.

Maria was beginning to think she might survive the excursion when she was bumped by a careless guest. Pain lanced down her left side and she gasped, her body turning away in self-defense.

“Forgive me,” a low voice said behind her.

Spinning to face the offending person, she found herself standing before a man whose eyes widened as if he knew her.

“Sedgewick!” a portly man called out. Maria knew him to be Lord Pearson, a man who spoke and imbibed far too much. Since she had no wish to speak to him or to be delayed by an introduction to the graceless Sedgewick, she hurried away.

It was then that she saw him, her faithless paramour, his golden hair glinting beneath the candlelight, his powerful form resplendent in cream silk accented by beautiful embroidery. Despite the mask that hid his features, she knew it was Christopher. He was leaning over a dark-haired woman attentively, his pose betraying his affection.

His promise of exclusive use was a lie.

The throbbing in her shoulder faded as a different feeling of hurt took over.

“Ah, there you are.” Welton’s voice behind her made her stiffen. “Must I send the modiste to you again?” he asked as she turned to face him. “Have you nothing more fetching to wear?”

“What do you want?”

“And why are you so bloody pale?”

“New powder. You do not find it attractive?” She batted her lashes at him. “I think it shows my patches and rouge to better advantage.”

He snorted. “No, I do not like it. Throw it out. You look sickly.”

“You wound me.”

Welton’s glare spoke volumes. “Your worth in this world is based entirely upon your appearance. I would not be so quick to devalue it.”

His insult affected her not at all. “What do you want?” she repeated.

“To make an introduction.” His smile made her skin crawl. “Come along.” He collected her right hand and led her away.

After a few moments of silence while traversing through the crush, Maria found the courage to ask, “How is Amelia?”

The examining glance he threw over his shoulder revealed a great deal. He did not discount her as a possible instigator of the recent attack. “Wonderful.”

She hadn’t truly expected that he would rule her involvement out. Still, her spirits plummeted as she realized how he would respond. Security would be tighter, his movements more wary. Her work to find her sister would be harder.

“Ah,” Welton murmured, his tone smug. “There he is.” He jerked his chin toward the man who stood a few feet away. Maria knew to whom he referred despite the crowd because of the intensity of the stare directed at her from the eyes of the mask. The man leaned insolently against the wall, his long legs crossed at the ankle, his pose seductively arrogant.

“The Earl of Eddington,” she breathed. A libertine of the first water. Handsome, wealthy, titled, and reputed to be quite accomplished in every activity he set his mind to-including bedsport.

Coming to an abrupt halt, Maria released Welton’s arm and turned to face him with a scowl. “What the devil do you want with him?”

“He asked for an introduction.”

“You know very well what he wants.”

Welton’s smile widened. “And he would pay handsomely for it. If you decide to indulge, it would line your purse nicely.”

“Have you fallen into debt so soon?” she snapped.

“No, no. But my expenditures are about to increase, which means your allotted share of Winter’s settlement is about to decrease. I thought you would appreciate my assistance in shoring up your finances.”

Stepping closer, she lowered her voice, a gambit that did nothing to hide her revulsion. “I appreciate nothing about you.”

“Of course you wouldn’t, ungrateful child,” he said smoothly. He lifted his hands in mock defensiveness, but nothing could add warmth to those vacuous eyes. “I am facilitating an introduction, not a tryst.”

She glanced at Eddington and he bowed slightly, his mouth curved in a smile that had brought ruin to many women. Besides making her teeth grit together, it did nothing for her. “You pulled me away from St. John for this?”

“I saw St. John,” he dismissed. “He is besotted. A night without you will only increase his enchantment.”

Snorting, Maria applauded St. John’s ability to deceive. Of course, Welton preferred to see things in the most beneficial light, which was not always the way things actually were.

“Do not glare at me,” he admonished. “It is not attractive.” He sighed as if dealing with an unreasonable child. “It is the hint of your unavailability and insatiability that makes you so sought after. Why do you think I allow you to keep that Irish lover of yours? If he did not increase your appeal I would have rid you of him long ago.”

It took her a moment to rein in the fury that gripped her at his carelessly tossed threat to Simon. Finally, she was able to say, “Shall we move along with this, then? I’ve no wish to be here all night.”

“You truly must learn to enjoy yourself more,” Welton murmured, reclaiming her hand.

“I will enjoy myself well enough when you are dead,” she retorted.

Her stepfather viscount threw his head back and laughed.

“This is a palace,” Angelica whispered, her eyes wide behind her mask.

“The peerage lives well,” Christopher agreed, searching the room for Sedgewick.

“You are wealthier than most.”

He looked at her with a slight smile. “Are you suggesting a man with my proclivities live in something so ostentatious?”

“Perhaps it is not the most practical-”

He lifted a hand to cut her off. “Coin can be put to much worthier uses. What use have I for ballrooms? More ships and lackeys would benefit us better.”

Angelica sighed and shook her head. “You should try to enjoy life more. You work too much.”

“That is why I am wealthier than most.” He pulled her to the edge of the room and began to stroll. “I appreciate how unique this evening is for you, but we are wasting too much time. The longer we dally, the higher the risk of discovery.”

They were attracting attention he did not want. There was no help for it. Angelica was lovely, and he had mistakenly attended without a wig. He had hoped the lack would facilitate Sedgewick finding him. Instead, he feared everyone recognized him except for the one man he sought.

As his gaze continued to roam across the room, Christopher noted those who shielded their identities with dominos and wished he had done the same. Of course, what he truly wished for was to be elsewhere. Anywhere but here, but most especially with Maria.

He paused a moment, his attention caught by Lord Welton and the female with whom he conversed. Her shoulders were set rigidly, her chin lifted high. Whatever they were discussing, it was not pleasing to her.

Philip was actively searching the viscount’s past, but such inquiries took time. Christopher could be supremely patient when necessary. However, this time, he felt a peculiar urgency to know all that he could about his current paramour.

“Beth says Lord Welton is charming, though he is sometimes too rough with her.” Angelica’s gaze followed his.

“Welton is self-centered in all things, love. I’ve spoken with Bernadette. She will see to it that Welton takes his darker urges away from our Beth.”

“She told me you gave her leave to be done with him.”

Christopher shrugged. “I am not a purveyor of flesh, as you well know. I will ask for favors, but I will not force them. If Beth is unhappy, I would not want her to remain that way.” He looked back at the man in question and then paused midstep, the hairs on his nape rippling with awareness.

The woman speaking with the viscount struck a deep chord of recognition. She was of familiar stature. The glossy, upswept hair and determined cant of her bearing made his heart rate pick up.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, inwardly certain that Welton was speaking with Maria. He was, however, a man who required absolute proof.

He stepped forward again, his pace as rapid as the crush would allow. He ceased looking for Sedgewick, instead focusing on finding the best viewing angle to confirm his suspicions. Welton began moving forward again, pulling the woman with him, leading her toward…

Christopher looked ahead of them slightly and found a man who stared boldly at the pair. The Earl of Eddington. A man widely pursued by women of all ages for both his title and lauded fine features.

By God, was it Maria’s intent to speak with him? Was that who she intended to lure to the altar? Eddington was a perennial bachelor, but Maria could tempt a monk to break his vows. Her allure was a point of wager, with many freely admitting that the excitement of marriage to such a woman would outweigh the risks to their longevity.

The thought made his jaw tighten.

Increasing his pace further, Christopher was nearly plunging through the thick crowd, Angelica bringing up the rear and clinging desperately to his hand. He was almost close enough to attempt a proper identification when his path was suddenly blocked.