As our carriage advanced toward the wide stone steps of Melrose House, a cold mist spread through the air outside. This masquerade ball, held on the evening of November 29 and attended by Edinburgh's elite, was the city's grandest social event of the season. The ballroom was housed within a massive structure that displayed all the splendor of its architecture: soaring ceilings, gold-leafed columns, polished floors gleaming beneath the light of crystal chandeliers…
Jasper was the first to step down from the carriage. He wore a tailcoat shifting between navy and black, with silk lapel details; a pocket watch with a chain rested in his vest, and his hair was meticulously slicked back. The sparkle in the eyes visible behind his blue-and-gold mask revealed that he saw the evening as nothing more than a playground.
Laurence followed, with a more noble, more classical bearing. He had chosen a deep burgundy jacket; his black cravat was secured with an elegant pin. His mask bore gold embroidery against a jet-black base. His fingers trembled slightly, it was unclear whether from the urge to play music or from the attention of the women around him.
I was the last to step out. Unlike my brothers, I had no interest in elegance; everyone needed to recognize my cold authority. A jet-black tailcoat lined with crimson velvet, a white shirt; at my neck, a simple yet expensive cravat. We had left the color and shape of the masks, indeed, all of them to Laurence; he had decided on matte black for mine, with red ribbons. As I entered, the dark cloak draped over my shoulders slipped down and was swiftly taken and hung by a servant. I had smoothed my black hair back; my face was sharp and frozen, and even my gaze made it clear that I hadn't come to the ball for amusement.
The moment we stepped inside, a warm light enveloped us. Beneath the massive chandeliers, an orchestra was playing Schubert; the entire hall was filled with moving lace, flower-embroidered skirts, golden masks, polished shoes, and the freshly shaven faces of aristocrats. Couples danced slowly at the center of the hall, while along the edges people leaned toward one another to whisper, clink glasses, and trade gossip. The walls were adorned with golden fallen-leaf decorations symbolizing autumn, arrangements of dried orange flowers, and large mirrors. Everything quietly proclaimed the duke's wealth.
The orchestra fell silent all at once. At the top of the staircase at the far end of the hall appeared the Duke of Edinburgh, Cedric Montague Melrose. He wore a ceremonial coat in dark green with gold detailing; leaning on his cane, he descended and delivered his speech in a brief but resonant voice:
"Welcome to this year's Autumn Ball. Tonight, we gather in the name of Edinburgh's prosperity and unity. May dance, music, and fellowship accompany us all."
Applause rose. Wine was served.
The moment the speech ended, Laurence was pulled toward the center of the hall. Three women wearing black, gold, and silver masks surrounded him. Each took hold of his arm, pleading:
"Please play something for us, Mr. Laurence… Please…"
Laurence inclined his head slightly, a devilish smile playing on his lips.
"Ladies… first one... two maybe three dances, and then my fingers shall labor at the piano for you."
Jasper pulled a small metal contraption from his pocket and wound it. The mechanical structure, shaped like a rosebud, suddenly unfolded its arms, revealing reddish metal petals.
Each of the ladies gasped in surprise.
"Mr. Jasper… this… is marvelous!"
Jasper bowed with satisfaction, giving a subtle wink. "Ravencroft elegance."
Unlike my brothers, I withdrew alone to a corner. I took a dark wine from a passing servant's tray. Standing in a shadowed part of the hall with my back against the wall, I observed everything. No face interested me; no laughter reached me. I was here because I was a baron, dance, music, drink, or women held no appeal. I took a sip of wine; it burned slightly as it slid down my throat.
There was something wrong with the emptiness inside me; it felt as though it had grown. And when I considered the only cure for that increase, no one came to mind but Miss MacLeod. Did I want to kill her? Of course. Things were still strained between Elora and me, she had effectively shattered my authority in a single day. They now knew about my relationship with Miss Wood, and that hadn't been part of my design. I hadn't killed anyone in a while; I felt restless. And that night… Jane, drenched in my blood in bed… ah—
Suddenly, every hair on my body stood on end. I straightened and moved at once toward the corner where the duke stood.
The ballroom's crystal chandeliers cast trembling golden reflections across the shoulders of my black coat. The warm scent of candles, the perfumes of women, and the sharp resinous polish of the wooden floor blended together. The music hadn't yet begun; the hall breathed in a low, collective murmur.
When Duke Cedric noticed me, a smile both arrogant and paternal appeared on his face. He extended his hand; the handshake between two men carried a distinct weight despite the noise of the room. The lines on the duke's face deepened with a warmth that suggested he truly knew me.
"Well, if it isn't our young favorite, Lord Ravencroft," he said in a rich, ostentatious voice. His gaze swept the hall over my shoulder before returning to me. "And whom have you come with?"
I squared my shoulders slightly and replied with my usual confident, emotionless courtesy.
"With the twins."
The duke laughed; the sound echoed through the ballroom's hum.
"Ah—when they are the center of women's attention, what is left for the rest of us?"
"I have no doubt you could win anyone over with your intellect, Your Grace."
The duke paused for a moment upon hearing the elegant yet sharp compliment; a glimmer appeared in his eyes, both amused and impressed.
"If you say so…" he murmured. Then he studied me from head to toe, as though weighing my standing in society, my cold allure, my dangerous composure. "Is there a lady who has caught your attention this evening?"
I cast a sidelong glance over the crowd, laughter hidden behind masks, hands waiting to dance, a mass eager for fresh gossip to fall upon waiting tongues.
"Women have always been my nightmares," I said after a breath-long consideration. "Still, I'm sure I'll find someone to dance with."
Duke Cedric nodded with satisfaction; the answer struck him as both honest and refined.
"I hope you enjoy yourself, Baron Ravencroft. I would like to speak with you again after the dance."
Light trembled along the collar of my black coat. I inclined my head slightly, without a trace of emotion; even that bow rested upon him like a refined threat, flawless in its aristocratic precision.
After finishing my drink, I drew a heavy breath within the hall gleaming beneath the golden light of candelabra. The music drifted like a delicate veil through the air stirred by crystal chandeliers, wrapping the dancers' steps in satin. The men had lined up at one end of the hall; opposite them stood the women in their colorful gowns like a garden of flowers, each carrying a silent excitement, wondering who would approach her.
Out of hundreds of faces, only one caught my eye.
Her black dress devoured the light, while blood-red stones framing her chest and neckline flared like fire. Two thin, razor-straight strands had fallen loose from her chignon, strands I would recognize anywhere now. Just as she would recognize me.
In a few strides, I cut through the crowd. When I reached her, it felt as though the entire murmur of the hall withdrew for an instant, leaving behind a hollow, echoless void.
I inclined my head, extended my hand; despite the grandeur of the ballroom, my voice emerged like a soft whisper.
"May I have this dance?"
The woman turned toward me slowly. Her eyes traveled across my face with an icy, crystalline patience, examining even the slightest flicker. Her lips curved faintly but it was not a smile; rather, the shape of a judgment. She tilted her head just barely to the side, and with the movement, the red stones caught the light once more and ignited.
"Dance is a matter of emotion." Her gaze slid from my hand to my face, then into my eyes unhurried, deliberate.
"I don't believe I could do that with an emotionless man."
And without the slightest hesitation, she refused me with a gentle yet decisive tilt of her head.
Was she angry with me? Because I had brought my brothers to apologize? Or was she still irritated because of that position during sex? Or… could she be jealous because of whatever lay between Lady Margaret and me? If she wished, she need not be with me at all. Besides, if she truly was Lady Margaret's childhood friend, who would sleep with their childhood friend's lover? She was definitely jealous.
When my outstretched hand remained suspended in the air for a brief moment, the music of the ballroom suddenly felt much farther away, muffled, distant.
I straightened. The heavy crystal chandeliers scattered their broken yellow light over me; the glow cooled my pupils for an instant and steadied my breath. As my gaze drifted across the women waiting their turn, a masked woman with green eyes caught my attention standing just a few steps behind Lady MacLeod. The tulle cascading from the shoulders of her green dress embroidered with silver followed her movements like a trembling shadow; the small black fan resting in her hand was an emblem of composed elegance.
Without realizing it, I slipped through the crowd. I knew who she was, if my suspicion was correct, even a single dance with her would elevate my standing in society. I stopped before her, took her fingers with practiced grace, and inclined my head slightly, lifting her hand to my lips. A fleeting contrast flared between the warmth of my skin and the coolness of hers.
"You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen," I said, in a smooth, seductive hush. "Like a precious gem… Had I seen you first, my lady, I would never have allowed those eyes to search for another."
Though she tried to avert her green eyes beneath the mask, she failed. In her gaze shimmered both a shy brightness and the first spark of admiration. A pale blush spread across her cheeks, visible even at the edges of the mask. Her fan trembled slightly; then she lifted her slender wrist in a graceful curve and gestured toward me. I had succeeded, I had captured her interest.
As we walked toward the dance floor, the reflections of the chandeliers glided through her hair.
At that moment, only a few steps away, Lady MacLeod was invited to dance by a gentleman with a courteous bow. The warmth of his smile sparked a brief surprise in Jane's eyes, followed by a polite curve of her lips. Jane inclined her head gracefully and accepted the offer.
What difference was there between that man and me? He was emotional, and I wasn't, was that it? Hah! Who did this woman think she was? As if she imagined I would make an effort for her.
The ballroom was now filled with the mingled steps of couples and the soft vibration of music, everyone caught in the center of their own small story, stealing glances at others from the corner of their eyes.
As the woman and I danced, the golden shimmer of the hall revolved slowly around us; candle flames trembled in the crystal chandeliers, and our shadows blended together across the polished parquet floor. Her gloved hand was as light as a feather in my palm; the delicate tremor of her fingertips betrayed not youth, but aristocratic refinement.
"You appear severe from the outside," the woman said with a gentle smile, her green eyes smiling behind the mask. "But your words… they are quite captivating."
The hand I had placed at her waist tightened just a fraction, guiding her more attentively; my steps remained flawless. "And you," I replied, "are entirely captivating."
She inclined her head slightly amid the flowing crowd of the ballroom.
"The first woman you invited to dance wore the same color as you. Did you know her?"
"Merely a coincidence," I said, recalling Jane's black dress with a sidelong thought, then catching the green glow behind my partner's mask. "Had I known I would meet your eyes, I would have worn green."
A faint blush appeared at the edge of her mask. Our dance slowed; the steps became ritualistic. My hand rested steadily at the small of her back, while her gloved fingers pressed lightly into my shoulder. When the music changed, murmurs rose from every corner of the hall.
A bell rang.
That familiar signal, it was time for the masks to come off.
Couples reached for their masks one by one. I watched the movements of the woman dancing with me: she removed her mask with a graceful twist, revealing her face and My breath caught for a brief instant. Yes, exactly as I had suspected: one of the most illustrious names of the aristocracy; famed for her emerald eyes, the sole heiress to several banks and coal mines, Lady Celestine Hawthorne. A woman known for her power, her wealth, and her inaccessibility.
"I knew a gem would emerge," I said as she lowered her mask completely, while I untied the ribbon of my own. "But I didn't know the gem would be this valuable."
Lady Celestine let out a soft laugh; the diamond necklace at her throat fractured the light around her.
"And I," she replied, "didn't expect you to be this handsome, Lord Ravencroft."
So she knew who I was. It seemed that while I was trying to catch her attention, I had already done so without realizing it.
Just then, a servant bowed and whispered something into the lady's ear. Her smile didn't quite fade, but the shadow of obligation settled over her expression.
"Please excuse my departure," she said with a courteous inclination of her head. "I would very much like to make it up to you another day."
"I have no doubt that you will."
I watched her for a moment as her dress rippled through the ballroom light while she moved away. Lady Celestine was known to attend balls, yes but she usually refused dance invitations. That she had accepted mine, after witnessing my earlier rejection, was telling. I supposed I owed a quiet thanks to Miss MacLeod.
I covered every trace of my expression with a mask of aristocratic composure and made my way toward the Duke. At that moment, just beside the stage, Laurence was taking his seat at the piano; the murmur of the hall blended into the swell of music.
I joined Duke Cedric, who had said he wished to continue our conversation after the dance. He gently swirled his goblet, the wine sloshing against the glass.
"To be honest," he said, "I want to hear how you impressed Lady Celestine."
"I just talked."
The Duke chuckled softly. "You have the devil's favor, Lord Ravencroft. It is impossible not to be impressed by you and by your family."
At that moment, a tall, fair-haired man stepped forward. With his sharp jawline, neatly combed hair, and pale blue eyes that made one feel an unsettling chill at the nape of the neck, he carried a disturbingly calm presence. Looking more closely, I recognized him as the emotional gentleman who had danced with Miss MacLeod.
As the Duke introduced us, the man inclined his head slightly.
"Detective Alistair Godfrey," he said. "The man assigned to handle Edinburgh's recent… unpleasant affairs."
I shook his hand. He bore my father's name and I disliked him already.
Alistair's palm was cold; less like a detective's hand than a gravedigger's, cold from having held the dead, yet intent on examining the living. He smiled faintly, his eyes lingering on my face for longer than courtesy required.
"I have heard quite a bit about you from the Duke, Lord Ravencroft," he said. "A young baron… a brilliant medical man… so they say."
I shrugged, adopting an air of careless indifference.
"The Duke exaggerates. I am merely an ordinary man striving for the well-being of his siblings."
Alistair tilted his head slightly, just as a wolf would when studying its prey.
"Ordinary…" he murmured, almost to himself.
"Very well. There are few ordinary people left in Edinburgh these days. Most murder cases no longer fit… familiar patterns."
The Duke interjected with a laugh, clearly attempting to smooth the tension.
"Ah, Godfrey always darkens the mood with his matters. Don't trouble yourself, Lord Ravencroft. You are young, wealthy, handsome… surely the safest man in all of Edinburgh!"
"I heard you wept over Mr. Wood's death," Godfrey continued. "Losing a close friend in such a manner… I can scarcely imagine what you must have gone through."
"Yes," I replied evenly. "You truly can't imagine."
The Duke hurried to fracture the tension once more, speaking quickly.
"What I ask of you, Baron Ravencroft, is to host a gathering among the social elite. I would like you to introduce Detective Godfrey properly, encourage them to be gracious toward him."
Godfrey laughed lightly. "After all, who knows? Perhaps the culprit belongs to society itself."
The Duke and I joined his laughter, our glasses clinking together.
At that moment, a beautiful piano melody rose through the hall, Laurence's elegant, rapid, almost intoxicating touch. The women flocked toward the stage at once, accompanied by soft shrieks and applause. I raised my glass to my brother, though my eyes remained fixed on the detective. Alistair acknowledged me with a slight nod.
"I would like to speak with you later," Godfrey said. "In a more… private conversation. I have a few questions."
"Of course," I replied. "Whenever you find the opportunity."
"I will... Always."
As the detective disappeared into the crowd, my gaze caught sight of a woman slipping away, her straight hair loosened, moving with quiet intent toward somewhere unseen. A wave of curiosity rose sharply within me. First the overly perceptive Detective Godfrey vanished into the throng, and now Miss MacLeod appeared to be going somewhere as well. Suspicious.
I asked the Duke for his leave and followed her. When she entered a room, I stepped in after her. The chamber was dark, and behind me I heard the sound of the door locking.
I turned at once.
Miss Jane approached, holding a candle that cast a warm, trembling light across her face.
"We need to talk."
She had lured me here deliberately, she knew I would follow her hair. Damn it, I had fallen for her game.
"Speak."
She stepped closer and whispered beside me.
"Mr. Godfrey, the detective. That man is not ordinary. You should be careful."
I raised one eyebrow.
"And why are you warning me?"
"Because I don't want you to be caught."
Was she confessing her love? Why would my capture or lack thereof matter to her this much? Perhaps she feared my dealings with her father would be disrupted, or that her family name would be stained.
"Is one enemy jealous of another enemy?" I scoffed. "How pathetic."
"That man never delivers criminals to justice, Mr. Ravencroft." When her voice trembled, I realized she was genuinely frightened. The fingers holding the candle were shaking.
"You couldn't have learned this much about him during a single dance, could you?"
"When he arrives, he will be staying with us. Godfrey is a family friend, distantly related, even. I may not be able to attend the medical faculty anymore either. He affects me… badly."
"Ah… now I understand." A soft, almost delighted laugh escaped me. "You want me gone before he gets rid of me, because if I eliminate him, it benefits you as well. Is a murderer asking another murderer for help?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation. "If I could kill him, I would. His mind works in a way we can't comprehend."
Yes? She had admitted it, plainly. I immediately understood why she had failed to kill Godfrey herself: he operated outside her personal rules. Just as I did, choosing the correct moment, time, place, and person before striking.
"And during this process…" I asked, an involuntary chuckle almost a note of joy, creeping into my voice, "seeing you will be nearly impossible, Miss MacLeod?"
"Of course," she replied. "He's obsessed with me. If I can sleep at night…" Her fingers clenched the loose fabric of her skirt.
"…that alone would be a blessing."
What was there between Mr. Godfrey and Miss MacLeod? Somehow, it felt wrong. As though that detective was doing things that left the woman before me cornered. What did she mean by not being able to sleep? An unease I couldn't quite name spread through my body.
"Obsession rather than love?" I asked.
"I don't know," she replied. "I can't tell the difference between the two."
"Most of our conversations benefit you," I said coolly. "What do I get in return? A child from you? No. And if you can't even offer that, what exactly can you give me, Miss Jane?"
"The only way I could make you happy seems to be with my corpse."
My entire body froze in shock.
"So be it."
"Then please, after you finish Godfrey's business, kill me. You can take my hair too, I don't care. That's the only thing I can give you."
She loathed Mr. Godfrey so deeply that she was asking a murderer for help. And that murderer was me. I was certain Miss MacLeod despised me, yet this was the first time I had seen her reduced to such desperation so much so that she even gave me permission to kill her. Oh God… when my body reacted to that helpless expression on her face, I extinguished the candle with a soft breath, plunging the room into darkness. I couldn't bear to look at her any longer. If she had kept that gaze on me for even a moment more, I would have bargained with the devil again, just to feel my skin against hers.
When my lips met Jane's, her heart was so quiet it couldn't even feel the lingering warmth left by the extinguished candle. Yet her lips surrendered something in my touch, absence, lack, the naked hatred she held toward herself. As the kiss deepened, my left hand closed around her jaw; my thumb traced beneath her throat, reminding me how fragile she was and that fragility only stirred me further.
When I pulled back, the same thing shimmered in her eyes... eyes I could barely see: the stillness of someone who had already accepted that nothing of herself remained.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked. "There's no logic in kissing me."
"Because you are desperate," I whispered. "And because you didn't hesitate to show me that… I rewarded you."