The two continued their conversation about mundane topics for a whole hour, yet neither seemed to mind. The moon had shifted in the sky, casting softer light onto the balcony as laughter occasionally slipped between them like a shared secret.
"It was delightful speaking with you, Lady Evelyn," Lucas said, his British charm evident, his voice as smooth as velvet. "Would you care to return to the ballroom or head home?"
"I would love to stay," Evie replied with a soft sigh, "but unfortunately, I fear I have already exceeded my curfew. Anny will be furious." Disappointment shimmered behind her eyes. She longed to stay longer, to keep unraveling the mystery that was Lucas, but time was a relentless taskmaster.
"In that case, I shall summon the butler to prepare your carriage," Lucas said, turning toward a nearby velvet cord hanging by the balcony doors. As he gave it a gentle tug, he glanced at her with a flicker of curiosity. "May I inquire about your family name?"
Evie felt her cheeks warm instantly. She hadn't expected that question, nor had she thought ahead about how she'd be leaving.
"Err...about that," she said with an awkward smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I actually arrived here in a local carriage. I didn't arrange for a private one."
Lucas raised an eyebrow, clearly more intrigued than judgmental. "That's delightfully rebellious of you," he said with a grin. "But don't worry I've got it covered."
Just then, the same man who had greeted them at the door appeared, his footsteps nearly silent against the polished floors. He bowed low with practiced elegance.
"Lionel, prepare a carriage for Lady Evelyn," Lucas instructed without missing a beat.
"Yes, master," Lionel replied, bowing once more before disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
"You really shouldn't have," Evie said, though her protest was soft, touched by gratitude. Her cheeks burned a little hotter, and she clasped her hands in front of her to hide the flutter in her fingers.
"I could not allow such a beautiful lady to walk home late at night," Lucas replied, his tone both gallant and teasing. There was a spark in his eyes something unspoken that danced just out of reach.
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
As they made their way back through the grand hall, Evie's gaze drifted to the haunting portraits that lined the walls. Shadows curled along the edges of the frames, and one painting in particular drew her attention again a figure in a dark cloak, its mask ornate and lifelike, with eyes that seemed to follow her.
Lucas noticed. "You keep looking at that one," he said, a hint of something darker in his voice. "They are mere art pieces, designed to captivate. But if you scrutinize them closely, if you trace the patterns... you might uncover something hidden. Something meant to be found."
Evie tilted her head, studying the painting's corner. "What kind of something?"
"There are symbols. Recurrences. Like breadcrumbs," Lucas explained. "It's said the painter encoded a story in them one only the most observant can piece together."
She squinted at the base of the painting, spotting a faint emblem a crescent moon veiled by a key.
"Whoever created these must've had a few screws loose and way too much time on their hands," Evie said with a wry smile, though her voice was a little quieter now.
"What if it was the Lord himself?" Lucas asked, a mischievous undertone threading through his words.
Evie raised a brow. "Then the Lord needs a better hobby."
Lucas laughed. "Aren't you afraid he might overhear you insulting him within his own manor?"
"He's likely still preoccupied in the ballroom," she replied breezily. "Unless you're planning to betray me."
He leaned in just a little, close enough for her to catch the clean scent of sandalwood. "And if I do?"
She smiled at him, calm and sure. "I trust you."
Lucas chuckled, a low, warm sound. "Dangerous thing, trust."
By the time they reached the entrance hall, the air had grown cooler, brushing gently against their skin as the grand doors swung open. Outside, the carriage stood waiting, lit by lanterns that glowed like small, golden moons.
Lucas offered his hand as she approached the step. Evie placed hers in his, the contact making her heart skip unexpectedly. His fingers were warm, steady. She paused before climbing in, looking back at him with a soft, open expression.
"Thank you, Lucas. For tonight."
Lucas lifted his mask just enough to reveal the curve of his lips full, gentle, with the barest hint of a smile and brought her hand to his mouth. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles.
"The pleasure was mine, Lady Evelyn," he murmured against her skin.
Evie felt her breath catch. She slipped into the carriage, her thoughts spinning like leaves in the wind. As they began to roll away, she touched the spot he had kissed, her fingers tingling. She had caught a brief glimpse of his face just enough to know she wanted to see more.
The manor drifted into the distance, its dark windows watching.
"M'lady, what is your destination?" the coachman asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.
Evie hesitated a beat, her gaze still locked on the fading silhouette of the estate.
"Home," she said softly. Then, almost to herself, "For now."
The ride home was quiet, save for the soft creak of the wheels and the occasional call of a distant owl. Evie sat back against the plush seat, the scent of Lucas's cologne still faint on her glove. She replayed every moment his smile, his words, the way his voice dipped when he said her name. She couldn't help it. Something about him was... different. Mysterious. Unsettling, in the best way.
When the carriage finally came to a stop in front of her modest townhouse, the sky had turned a deep navy, stars blinking lazily overhead. She stepped out quietly, her shoes barely making a sound on the stone steps. The light in the sitting room had been extinguished her grandmother was already asleep.
Evie exhaled softly in relief. The last thing she wanted tonight was a scolding, or worse, a long lecture about being out so late in a borrowed dress.
She turned the key gently in the door and slipped inside, careful not to let it creak. The hallway smelled of lavender and old books, a comfort she hadn't realized she missed. She passed by her grandmother's room and peeked inside just enough to see the older woman snoring softly beneath a patchwork quilt, the cat curled at her feet. Evie smiled faintly. She didn't dare disturb her.
In her own room, she lit a single candle and stood in front of the mirror. Her cheeks were still pink, the ghost of Lucas's kiss lingering on her skin. With a soft sigh, she carefully unfastened the back of the gown, wriggling out of the delicate fabric like peeling away a dream.
She laid the dress gently across her writing desk, smoothing out the folds, inspecting it under the candlelight. No stains. No rips. Thank God.
"Still perfect," she muttered to herself. "Mr. Thomy would have made me sell my soul to pay for this."
She remembered his warning when she picked it up"One snag and it's yours, girl. 15 silver coins."
Evie rolled her eyes and let out a tired chuckle as she slipped into her nightgown. She padded over to the window and looked out toward the horizon, where the manor would be, tucked behind the trees and the hills. She couldn't see it, but she felt itstill pulsing in the back of her mind like an unfinished sentence.
That masked painting. The way Lucas said there were clues, stories to uncover. She should've found it silly—but it didn't feel like a joke.
Pulling the covers over her, she settled into bed, one hand resting beneath her cheek, the other absently touching the spot on her hand where his lips had been.
Who are you, really? she thought, staring at the ceiling.
But sleep was already tugging at her lashes, her