“This is it,” Keane said.
Poppy looked out the window as the carriage rolled to a stop. A rickety sign hanging from the eve of the ancient pub declared it The Barking Barnacle, and the sun had just begun to sink behind its sagging roofline.
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” she said, sliding toward the door.
“I’m coming, too,” he said, adamant.
She shook her head. “Someone might recognize you.”
“Not likely in this part of town. I’ll borrow Diggs’s cap.”
She debated arguing with him, but the set of his jaw said he wouldn’t be easily swayed. “Very well,” she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation.
“You might try to muster a little more enthusiasm,” he said dryly. “Besides, you’ve had all the fun today. I deserve a turn.”
“You’ll need to keep your distance from me,” she continued. “If my brother or his friends are in there, they mustn’t realize that we’re together. It would raise a whole host of questions, and Dane can be a bit … protective.”
“I would be, too.” He hesitated, then more soberly added, “You should know that this place isn’t like any establishment in Bellehaven. It will make the Salty Mermaid look more genteel than a duchess’s drawing room.”
“The Mermaid isn’t that tame. Have you forgotten you were almost murdered outside of our quaint little pub?”
“I have not,” he said with a chuckle. “Just promise me you’ll be careful in there.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Wait five minutes before you follow,” she said sternly, punctuating her order with a slam of the door.
She took a deep breath of cool evening air, entered the pub, and lingered near the door while she surveyed her surroundings. The interior of the pub was as dingy as the exterior, and it reeked of whiskey, smoke, and sweat. Sailors and dockhands hulked over tables, while barmaids carried mugs with ale sloshing over the rims.
She felt every pair of eyes in the Barnacle tracking her as she strode toward the bar. If she’d been wearing her working clothes, she would have blended in a bit more. Instead, her silvery blue gown suggested she was a lady, the sort of woman drunken patrons might mistake for easy prey. She almost relished the prospect of proving them wrong.
Assorted leers and ribald suggestions were thrown her way as she navigated her way through the crowd, but she managed to keep her chin raised and her expression impassive. She skirted a group of burly men, approached the counter, and signaled to the ruddy-faced barkeep, who was replacing a barrel beneath the counter.
While she waited for him, she spotted Keane making his way to the opposite end of the bar. He had not waited five minutes. Two, perhaps, if she was being generous. But it was difficult to be vexed with him when he was clearly battling the urge to flatten the men staring at her. He gripped the edge of the counter as if it was the only thing preventing him from leaping onto the bar and announcing to the entire pub that she was under his protection.
No, she could not be cross with him. Especially when his shirtsleeves were rolled, revealing sinewy forearms, and his eyes had a wolfish, possessive glow. She met his gaze and her body shimmered with heat.
As the barkeep approached, she reminded herself of the task at hand. When she asked about Dane, he frowned and began wiping the counter in front of her. “I don’t keep track of customers. Don’t interfere in their personal affairs.”
She nodded. “I understand. I just want to know if my brother is well.”
He muttered a curse and flipped his towel so it hung over one shoulder. “I can’t tell you much.” But the barkeep did share what he knew, and it was enough to give Poppy some peace of mind.
She thanked him and began making her way toward the exit. She was halfway there when an ox-sized man with a missing front tooth grabbed his crotch and thrust his hips behind her. “How about you come sit on my lap, milady?”
She ignored him. Didn’t flinch when he scrambled in front of her, blocking her path.
“Move,” she said evenly.
He cackled, raising the hairs on the backs of her arms.
His mouth curled into a sinister grin.
Her fingers went numb.
He lunged for her wrist.
She ducked, unsheathed her knife, and brandished it in front of his chest. “Step away,” she said, her calm tone at odds with the hammering of her heart. “Permit me to pass.”
He held up his palms, gave a nervous gap-toothed smirk, and slowly took a step backward.
Keane approached the bully with clenched fists and a look on his face that could only be described as murderous. Poppy shot Keane a surreptitious look and shook her head as she glided past the brute. There was no need to spoil the night with a brawl. Besides, the sea of burly bodies was already parting, allowing her to make her way out the door.
She heard Keane grumble behind her, and she smiled to herself as they walked out of the Barnacle.
Two minutes later, they were back in the carriage, sitting across from each other as they rolled down the road.
“Are you all right?” Keane searched Poppy’s face, willing his heart to stop pounding.
She lifted her hem and sheathed her knife. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Why, indeed?” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m glad that miscreant didn’t upset you. I, on the other hand, am in need of a very large glass of brandy.”
She shot him a saucy smirk. “Clearly, you are overcome. Shall I fetch the smelling salts?”
He snorted in response. She’d accused him of treating their bargain as a lark. But she was the one who had taken unnecessary risks, who had blithely placed herself in jeopardy. He stared out the window, but in his mind, all he could see was that hulking oaf, making obscene gestures at Poppy.
After a prolonged silence, she asked, “Are you truly bothered?”
“Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to watch a man threaten you? To stand by and do nothing while a brute twice your size attempted to place his filthy hands on you?”
She gazed at him, thoughtful. “What did you want to do?”
“Pulverize him.”
For several heartbeats, she was silent. Then, she said, “Thank you.”
He scoffed. “For doing nothing?”
“For caring.” Her sea-green eyes met his, and some of the tension drained out of him. “Would you like to hear a secret?” she asked, leaning toward him.
He nodded soberly. “I want to know all your secrets, Poppy Summers.”
“I was a bit nervous about visiting the Barking Barnacle,” she admitted. “But I could sense you were there, and that gave me courage. Made me feel safe. In the back of my head, I knew that if I was truly in peril, you’d come to my rescue.”
“Of course I would.” He rubbed an odd ache located in the center of his chest and tried for a light tone. “It’s the least I could do after you pulled me out of the sea.” He leaned his elbows on his knees, taking a beat to compose himself. “Did you learn anything about your brother?”
“He was at the pub yesterday,” she said brightly, and the relief on her face made the summer evening feel like Christmas morning. “The barkeep couldn’t say where in Town Dane has been staying, but at least I know he’s alive and well. Papa will be glad to hear it.”
“We could try a few nearby pubs if you’d like. We might be lucky enough to find him.”
She shook her head. “I asked the barkeep to give him a message next time he’s at the Barnacle. That’s comfort enough for now.” She sighed, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Are we headed back to Bellehaven?”
“Not yet. It’s still early, so I figured we have time for one more stop.”
Her eyes sparkled like emeralds. “Do tell.”
“And spoil the surprise? Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She shrugged, crossed her arms, and tapped the toe of one slipper as if she was only vaguely interested in their destination. But he caught her stealing glances out the windows at the various storefronts. He could almost see her mind at work, trying to guess where they were headed.
A short time later, the carriage rolled to a stop across the street from Gunter’s, and her face lit up.
“Ice cream?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course. And an assortment of other treats. I asked Diggs to bring us one of everything. I would take you into the shop if I could, but since I can’t, the least I can do is let you sample to your heart’s content.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you are attempting to ply me with sweets, I feel obliged to inform you that it just might work.”
Half an hour later, Diggs parked the carriage in Hyde Park. They watched the moonlight dance on the Serpentine while they feasted on sorbet, mincemeats, caramels, and biscuits.
When Poppy tasted a spoonful of vanilla mousse, her eyes fluttered shut, her expression turned rapturous, and she moaned softly—all of which naturally made Keane think of other sensual pleasures.
He could see her lying on silk sheets, her fiery hair loose and wild. He could feel her smooth skin beneath his palm and hear her soft cries of ecstasy. Cursing to himself, he shifted in his seat and attempted to turn his thoughts to safer, if drier, subjects like the price of sheep.
“This has been a good day,” Poppy said between bites. “One I won’t soon forget.”
“Nor will I.” Too stuffed to eat another bite, Keane rifled through the stack of invitations Diggs had brought them earlier. Dinner party, soiree, ball … masquerade. And an admittedly mad thought entered his head.
Elegant script on fine vellum provided all the pertinent details. The party was being hosted by Lady Aurora. Costumes were absolutely required. Guests were to arrive at nine o’clock. And the date was that very night.
Keane tapped the invitation against his palm. “What if I told you that the day didn’t have to end quite yet?”
Poppy leaned against the velvet squabs, looking sated. “I’d say it’s late, and we have a long drive ahead of us.”
“That is true. If you wish, we can leave now and be back in Bellehaven in a few hours. Or”—he handed her the invitation—“we could put in an appearance at Lady Aurora’s.”
“Lady Aurora’s,” she repeated. Her gaze flicked over the calligraphy, and she sat up straight. “A masquerade?”
“I think we should go and fulfill your wish. We could stay for a couple of hours and slip out before the unmasking at midnight.”
“It’s a lovely thought, but I don’t see how we could possibly attend. You’d need a foolproof disguise—a costume that would completely hide your identity. And we don’t have anything to work with.”
“Between you, me, and Diggs, I feel certain we could round up something.” He leaned forward and looked at her earnestly. “You’re in London, and you’re holding an invitation to a masquerade. When will you have this opportunity again?”
She bit her bottom lip, clearly tempted. “We wouldn’t be able to stay long.”
He shot her a rakish grin. “Long enough to drink some of Lady Aurora’s champagne.”
“Very well,” she said with an impish smile. “Who shall we be tonight?”
Less than an hour later, after making a few brief stops, Diggs ushered Poppy and Keane through the door of a modest flat. “My brother and his wife are visiting his family in Bristol,” he explained. “You can dress for the masquerade here. I was able to find a couple of sheets, masks, and accessories. Not the most elaborate of costumes, but no one will guess your identity.”
Poppy’s pulse quickened as she accepted the small bundle Diggs gave her and headed into a bedchamber to change. Agreeing to go to the masquerade with Keane may have been foolhardy, but he’d been correct about one thing. A fisherman’s daughter didn’t receive many invitations to London balls—and she resolved to take full advantage of the evening.
She unwrapped the bundle, spread the contents on the bed, and stripped off every stitch of her clothing. Then, she folded a satin sheet, tucked one end under her arm, and wrapped it around her body, knotting it artfully over one shoulder. The whisper-soft fabric clung to her curves and grazed the tops of her knees, caressing her skin as she moved. Never before had she worn anything so daring in public, and she wasn’t at all certain that it was appropriate for Lady Aurora’s ball.
The members of the ton were bound to be curious about her. She wasn’t one of them, and they could sniff out an interloper as easily as they could a three-day-old fish.
But, as she checked her reflection in a looking glass, she suppressed the urge to make over the toga into a longer, more modest version. The goddess of the hunt would not tolerate a long, bothersome skirt when tracking her prey. Neither would Poppy.
The half mask that Diggs had purchased at a pawn shop was made of dark-green felt embellished with sparkling green sequins. She held it over her eyes, testing the fit. With the bow and a quiver of arrows, she could pass as Artemis.
And yet the woman who stared back at her had not been entirely transformed. She was still too mortal-like, too tame.
But perhaps there was an easy remedy for that. She pulled every last pin from her hair, freeing her tresses from their tidy knot. She shook out her long auburn curls and let them run wild.
She gazed into the mirror once more, only now she didn’t see herself.
All she saw was the Moon Goddess.
By the time she gathered her clothes and emerged from the bedroom, Keane had transformed himself as well. His long, loose toga was stuffed with a pillow, hiding his trim torso and taut abdomen, which was admittedly disappointing. But he still looked the part of a handsome Greek god. His fierce black mask, long fake beard, and grape leaf crown made him unrecognizable.
“Dionysus,” she said, grinning. “Well done.”
But he didn’t smile back. His mouth gaped, and behind his mask, his eyes blinked at her.
Diggs shuffled his feet. “I’ll be waiting outside,” he said, scurrying off. The door closed behind him, and she looked at Keane, waiting for him to say something.
“Do I have a tear in my sheet?” she asked nervously.
“Poppy,” he said, sounding a little breathless.
“Artemis, actually.”
“You’re…” He swallowed and started again. “That is, you look like … well, like a goddess.”
“That was the goal. I’ve never attended a party such as this,” she said earnestly. “So you must tell me if my costume won’t pass muster. Do you think I’ll blend in sufficiently with the other female guests?”
He let out a low, sensuous chuckle, the sort that felt like a downy feather tickling the back of her neck. “Blend in? I think not. But trust me when I say that your costume is perfect in every way.”
Her cheeks heated, and beneath her satin toga, her nipples tightened to hard little buds.
He offered her an arm. “Ready?”
She curled her fingers around a hard biceps and exhaled. “I’m ready.”