Ash turned to his left.
The Devil Duke, also known as Benedict to his familiars, stood by his horse, a knowing grin plastered across his much-too-cheerful face. “It’s been an age, old friend.”
“Yes.” Guilt slammed into Ash, for at one time, he and Benedict had been the best of friends, that was, until Ash had fled the country. “It has.”
“And who is this lovely creature?”
Ash had to remind himself that Benedict was happily married.
And when the reminder didn’t ease his temper, he simply gritted his teeth and watched as the man charmed the bonnet right off his woman.
His woman.
Ha. The joke was on him.
She wasn’t anyone’s, least of all his.
“Her Highness, Miss Sofia Maskylov of Russia.” Ash made the introductions while Sofia gave a low curtsy.
Benedict’s grin grew. “Is this the same princess that seems to be sweeping our humble country by storm?”
“The one and only,” Ash said dryly.
“And what about you?” Benedict turned. “Has she swept you off your feet?”
Such a personal question in a public forum. That was the trouble with dukes like Benedict; they thought they could ask anything out of the ordinary, and mere mortals would simply bow and answer with fear and trembling.
“But, of course,” Ash said honestly. “It would be impossible to deny a beautiful woman…”
Benedict licked his lips. “Quite. Say, are you attending our ball this evening?”
It was on the verge of Ash’s tongue to blurt out an excuse, but only because he wanted Sofia to himself — all to himself — and that wasn’t fair. Not to her, not to him. She needed to marry.
The sooner he got that in his head the better.
“I don’t believe we received an invitation,” Sofia said boldly.
“You must attend,” Benedict said smoothly. “The duchess wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Ash cleared his throat. “Is this, perchance, the annual masquerade?”
Benedict’s smile turned positively plot-worthy. “Indeed! Now… promise you’ll attend.”
“We would love to!” Sofia accepted for both of them.
“Splendid.” Benedict’s grin turned more criminal.
Ash was going to throttle his old friend, or perhaps now they were no longer friends, simply enemies, for Sofia had played directly into the Devil Duke’s hands without even knowing. Though Ash imagined the man had good intentions — it did not change the fact that she was walking cheerfully into temptation itself.
Benedict tipped his hat and made his goodbye as he waltzed off in the other direction, his demeanor positively cheerful.
“What is the matter with you?” Sofia put her hands on her hips, scolding Ash. “He was friendly! And he invited us to another ball!”
“Ha!” Ash looked away. “Is that what we shall be attending? Are you quite sure?”
Sofia was silent then she muttered, “Well, that is what he said.”
“He’s the very devil himself, completely harmless now that he’s married himself off and besotted like the rest of my old friends, but… still the devil.”
“How so?”
Ash turned and looked at Sofia, so much innocence, and he fought between wanting to protect her from the dark, yet wanting to invite her to join him within it. “The ball is a masquerade.”
“And?”
“It is called The Garden.”
“Lovely!” Sofia clapped. “Are there many flowers?”
“Er, some.”
“And plants?”
“Sure.”
“I imagine the decorations are lovely!”
“Yes, if you like that sort of… thing.” Ash fought hard to keep himself from laughing. “Are you sure you’d like to attend?”
“Absolutely!”
“Do me one favor then.”
She tilted her head.
“When you tell Dominique this plan of yours, allow me to be in the room.”
“Whatever for?”
“Think of it as a mental picture I’ll store forever.” This time he did laugh. “Shall we return to the house? After all, you’ll need to find a dress that will match the… décor.”
Sofia nodded excitedly, and Ash knew he would take her, guard her with his own life, and most likely fall on his own sword by night’s end. After all, he wasn’t taking her to a mere ball, but what was known amongst the ton as something very, very different.
Yes, it was going to be a long evening.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Mistakes, when repeated, are not truly mistakes, but poor choices called habits. —The Grimm Reaper
“WELL… THAT WENT WELL, all things considered.” Ash chuckled to himself as he helped Sofia into the waiting carriage. The conversation between her and Dominique had been one for the record books.
Ash hadn’t remembered a time The Beast had looked so… piqued.
“Well?” Sofia gasped. “He nearly took my head off!”
“To be fair,” Ash said smoothly, “you did ask your cousin if you could attend a pleasure masquerade.”
“To be fair...” Her teeth clenched. “…you never explained what type of masquerade we would be attending.”
“On purpose.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, you’re very welcome.” Ash winked. “It was not I who accepted, so the fault lies with you.”
“How do you figure?” Sofia raised her voice. “The Devil Duke is your friend, and I was simply helping you be more…” She waved her hands into the air. “…friendly!”
“Ah, sweetheart…” Ash licked his lips and surveyed her scandalous outfit. “…was I not friendly enough his afternoon? You didn’t seem to have any complaints then. Care to voice them now?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not amusing.”
“No, I’m dashing. There’s a difference.”
Sofia pressed her lips together, a smile battling to break through. “How am I to find a husband at a pleasure ball? And while we’re having this conversation, ten minutes before we are to arrive at that very ball, how am I supposed to find a husband if everyone is…” She blushed. “…distracted?”
Ash leaned back and tilted his head. Her dress was red, scandalously low-cut, and left nothing to the imagination, though she was wearing a mask, so at least she wasn’t recognizable. “You’ll simply talk to men you find amusing, dance a bit, drink some lemonade, and I’ll bring you home when your feet ache.”