When Ash Falls (London Fairy Tales #4)(41)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“But the men… they will be… forward?”

“Very.”

“And isn’t that… unwelcome in London society?”

“Extremely.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

Ash sighed. “Most who attend this ball are married and use it as an excuse to rekindle the romance within their marriage — at least that is how it got its start. There will be many debutantes, as well as young titled gentlemen in attendance, simply looking for a time without the pressures of a typical ball. Use your time wisely, and perhaps someone will catch your attention.”

“And if they don’t?” She worried her lower lip. “Then what shall I do?”

“Easy.” Ash reached for her hand and gripped it within his own. “Then we dance.”

“Admit it,” she said in a sour voice. “You’ll be happy to be rid of me.”

“Why are you asking me to lie?”

Her head jerked to attention.

“Letting you go… will be one of the hardest things I’ve done in my existence. Then again, I’ve always heard it’s difficult when the chickens leave the roost.”

“So now I’m a chicken?”

“That all depends on if you’re brave enough to take a step out of the carriage.”

As if on cue, the carriage pulled to a stop, the door opened, and Ash waited.

“If I entertained any sort of fear, I would not have propositioned you the way I did — nor would I have followed through.”

“Touché.” Ash smirked. “Shall we?”

Sofia lifted her head like a princess ought and stepped out of the carriage.

Ash offered his arm.

They walked slowly up the stairs.

There was no announcing at this ball — only anonymity and masks. Upon entering, all one could see were candles lit in dark corners, black masks, and red dresses. To prevent people from being examined too closely, one of the rules was that each woman had to wear a red dress, and each man had to be in head-to-toe black.

It was a breathtaking sight — if one was a heathen set on a war path toward hell. Several half-naked sculptures in the finest white marble decorated the main ball room. Lining each wall were chairs of all types for lounging about. Wine flowed like honey, and the dimly lit room made it impossible to make out people’s features.

“I misspoke,” Sofia whispered in Ash’s ear, tickling his flesh. “Earlier in the carriage.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a bit fearful right now…”

“Don’t be,” Ash said softly, wrapping his arm around her delicate shoulders. “We may be in hell, but I know firsthand that angels can protect you from its flames.”

“And who shall protect me from you?”

Ash stopped walking and whispered across her neck, his lips grazing her soft skin. “Absolutely no one. Will that be a problem?”

“No.” She let out a breath and shuddered in his arms then turned to him. “Are you going to kiss me now?”

“Later.” Ash’s eyes locked in on her lips. “Meet two amiable gentlemen, and I’ll kiss you.”

“Sort of like a prize at the end of a race?” her voice teased.

“I’ve never been a prize.”

Sofia stepped away. “You are now.”

Her words affected him in ways he’d thought impossible. His entire body became instantly warm — not aroused, simply warm — as if she truly cared, as if she truly meant that he was the prize she sought.

It wasn’t true — couldn’t be true. He had to keep reminding himself that the weeks would eventually come to a close, and, at the end, she would exchange the prize of Ash for something greater, something that would last.

Bowing his head, he quickly moved to the edge of the room where he could watch Sofia — where he could keep her safe.

She approached a group of ladies — not gentlemen — and Ash breathed a sigh of relief.

“Beautiful evening,” Sofia said as she approached the three ladies talking amongst themselves.

“It is.” One turned to her. “And don’t you look lovely tonight, though, admittedly, not as lovely as the gentleman we saw you arrive with.” The woman’s eyes gleamed in Ash’s direction.

Sofia fought to keep her jealousy at bay. “Yes, he’s wonderful, isn’t he?”

“A specimen,” another lady piped up. “Then again, I imagine he isn’t even close to being as mysteriously handsome as Lord Grimm.”

“Lord Grimm?” Sofia repeated. Why had she never heard of him before? “Who is he?”

The ladies’ mouths dropped open, as if timed.

The one with flaming hair placed a hand on Sofia’s arm. “Oh, my dear, he is but a ghost, a legend. He has only just returned to the continent, and, rumor has it, he’s on the hunt for a wife!”

Sofia stored that information for later. “And he’s handsome?”

“So very handsome,” the woman to her left gushed. “And brave! What I wouldn’t give to dance with the man, but he rarely attends such functions, and, even when he does, his scowl is enough to cause a woman to stutter. He never asks anyone to dance, though at the last ball he danced with a woman twice! Then again, she was foreign.”

As was Sofia, but she didn’t feel the need to point that out.

“He sounds divine,” Sofia said.

“Oh he is…” The redhead purred. “Tell me, what is the name of the fellow you arrived with?”

“I thought we weren’t to use names?” Sofia corrected the woman’s error.

She grinned mischievously. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m afraid I like to play by the rules.” She gave a low curtsy. “Good evening.”

Quickly, she weaved through the crowd to find Ash. He was leaning against the wall, surveying the room like the soldier he was.

“How was the latest gossip?”

“Informative.” Sofia put her hands on her hips. “Tell me, do you know of this Lord Grimm?”

Ash quickly looked down at his feet. “Lord Grimm, you say?”

“Yes. I wish to speak to him.”

“You cannot simply walk up to a man as dangerous as that and speak to him about the weather, Princess.”

“Then you must speak to him.”

“Me?” Ash seemed to pale further. “Why ever for?”

“He’s seeking a wife.”