“It hardly matters,” Jasvian cut in, his voice sharper than intended. “Even if she were here, you wouldn’t know it was her. The enchantment would hide her identity entirely.”
“Only until midnight,” Hadrian reminded him with a smile.
“Perhaps you would be wise to consider the full array of eligible young ladies present this evening,” Jasvian said, busying himself with realigning the already perfectly aligned documents on his side of the desk. “There are countless young ladies of impeccable lineage in Bloomhaven who might still capture your attention if you’d only give them the chance.”
Hadrian leaned against the edge of the desk, a knowing smile playing at his lips. “And how precisely would you know this, when you’ve spent every ball haunting the periphery of the room, declining dance invitations and avoiding conversation?”
“That’s entirely different,” Jasvian said stiffly. “I’m not looking for someone to wed.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken, my friend,” Hadrian said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “None of us are looking until suddenly, inexplicably, we find ourselves caught. I suspecteven the great Lord Jasvian Rowanwood isn’t immune to such fate. And I feel compelled to mention that, unlike some, I find nothing whatsoever wrong with Lady Iris’s lineage. Her unique heritage strikes me as rather refreshing in our often stifling society.”
Jasvian opened his mouth to protest, but found himself bereft of a suitable retort. That wasn’t at all what he’d intended when he mentioned the eligible young ladies present this evening. He’d merely been attempting to direct Hadrian’s attention elsewhere—anywhere that wasn’t fixed so determinedly upon Lady Iris. ‘Impeccable lineage’ had been a thoughtless choice of words, he realized with a twinge of something uncomfortably like shame. In truth, he scarcely thought of Iris’s heritage anymore. Somewhere between their spirited exchanges and increasingly entertaining written arguments, her mixed blood had ceased to matter. In his mind, she existed now as simply … Iris.
“Well,” Hadrian continued, moving toward the door, “I still intend to enjoy the evening. Will you at least consider coming down later? The refreshments, if nothing else, will no doubt be worth experiencing.”
“Perhaps,” Jasvian said noncommittally, though they both knew it was unlikely.
After Hadrian departed, Jasvian leaned back in his chair with a groan, unable to deny his inexplicable relief at the knowledge that Iris wouldn’t be present tonight. She wouldn’t be dancing with Hadrian while he remained isolated in his study. Yet with this relief came a profound frustration directed entirely at himself.
What was happening to him? He could scarcely get through a single morning without composing some message to send her way, even when she was sitting just across the study, seemingly absorbed in her books while he pretended to focus on hisledgers. He would craft each note with ridiculous care, then find himself unable to properly attend to anything until her response arrived. And when it did—those clever, sharp-witted replies that matched him barb for barb—he would read them multiple times, analyzing every phrase for hidden meanings that likely didn’t exist.
It was maddening. Completely, utterly maddening.
Even now, far from the tea house, he imagined he could detect the lingering scent of that tea she’d been drinking lately—something with cinnamon and spice, but undercut by a surprising freshness he couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, the scent had become a constant presence in the tea house’s study, interwoven with the fragrance of orange blossom like an invisible reminder of her that refused to dissipate even when she was nowhere near.
And worse, far worse, were the moments when she’d tilt her head just so while considering a passage in one of Lady Rivenna’s tomes, or when she’d absently tuck a strand of dark hair behind one ear, revealing the delicate curve of her neck. Those observations had no business taking up space in his ordered mind, yet they intruded with increasing frequency, disrupting his concentration at the most inconvenient moments.
He was Lord Jasvian Rowanwood. He had responsibilities. Lives depended on his focus, his control, his unwavering attention to detail. He did not have time for … whatever this was. This distraction. This preoccupation. This utterly inexplicable tendency to find himself glancing at the tea house’s study door whenever it opened, hoping, against all sense, that it might be her.
Abruptly, he pushed his chair back and rose. He moved to the window and pushed the curtain aside. Below, guests continued to arrive, their elegant attire catching the light as they proceeded into Rowanwood House where they would receive theirenchanted masks. He thought again of his morning conversation with Iris, of her teasing suggestion that he might find ‘dazzling conversation with a mysterious young lady.’
Jasvian glanced at his reflection in the window glass—disheveled hair, loosened cravat, rolled sleeves. Hardly appropriate attire for a masquerade. Yet the thought persisted, growing stronger rather than fading. Perhaps there was wisdom in what Hadrian had said about finding freedom beneath a mask, even if only for a single evening.
With a decisive movement, Jasvian turned from the window and headed toward his chambers. His work could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he would attend the masquerade after all, if only to lose himself in the revelry and enchantment for a few hours. Perhaps, beneath a magical mask, surrounded by music and dancing, he might finally find respite from the one thing his disciplined mind seemed incapable of controlling—his increasingly persistent thoughts of Iris Starspun.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Moonlight spilledacross the narrow alleyway behind Starspun House as Iris slipped through the servants’ entrance, her heart hammering against her ribs. She clutched the plain cloak tightly around her shoulders, concealing the simple evening gown she’d worn at dinner.
“Lady Iris!” Brenna’s hushed voice followed her. “Remember, I’ll be waiting up after midnight to help you sneak back inside. It’s unlikely anyone will be awake then to see you, but on the chance that someone is.”
“Thank you, Brenna,” Iris said, turning back to her lady’s maid with a grateful smile. “I appreciate your assistance.”
Brenna’s smile stretched wider. “Oh, of course, Lady Iris! This is the most thrilling adventure I’ve been part of since I started working at Starspun House!”
Before Iris could respond, movement in the shadows at the end of the alley caught her attention. A figure emerged, silvery in the moonlight. “Iris! Come on!” Rosavyn beckoned, barely containing her excitement.
With one last grateful nod to Brenna, Iris gathered her skirts and hurried toward her friend. Together, they slipped around the corner of the tall hedge that bordered the property, gigglinglike schoolgirls as they made their way to where one of the Rowanwoods’ enchanted carriages waited, its lamps dimmed to avoid drawing attention.
“Into the carriage, quickly now,” Rosavyn urged, ushering Iris ahead of her.
Inside, Charlotte sat waiting, surrounded by a pile of fabric and ribbons. Her face broke into a delighted grin at the sight of Iris. “You made it! I was beginning to worry.”
“Was there ever any real doubt?” Iris replied, breathless with excitement as Rosavyn climbed in behind her and pulled the carriage door closed.
“I believe you did attempt to argue with me when I first presented my plan,” Rosavyn said.
Iris laughed. “I hardly put up much of a protest!”
