An Invitation to Scandal by Kelly Boyce

entirely.
    “Dammit!”
    He strode to the bell pull and rang for his valet. It appeared as though he would be going out this evening after all.

 
    Chapter Four
     
    Entry into the party proved a simple affair. One merely inserted the key into the front door and entered a small vestibule. There, a large, towering man with ebony skin greeted Abigail. He took the key from her and, with a sweeping gesture, silently ushered her into the inner sanctum.
    The hum of conversation greeted her arrival, punctuated with raucous laughter and the clinking of glasses. Somewhere in the background a quartet of strings played a bawdy tune she doubted would ever be heard at Almack’s.
    She stepped a little further into the main room, skirting the crowd. The room was extravagantly appointed, if rather gauchely decorated. Hints of shabbiness, however, were evident. Little telltale signs betrayed the truth, that the owner was not quite as flush as she may appear on the surface, such as the ill-fitted livery worn by the servants that was obviously handed down and not custom cut.
    The rooms were all connected and Abigail, making a cursory check for Lord Roxton in one and not finding him, simply moved from one on to the next.
    Her nerves balanced on a jagged edge, waiting for someone to find her out, to realize she did not belong here. But so far she’d been left alone, though the looks she received from some of the men present as she walked about let her know she was not invisible.
    She tugged self-consciously at the bodice of her dress, wishing she had not allowed Muri to lower it to such a degree, or cinch her stays so tightly her normally small chest practically popped up to twice its normal dimensions. Despite her disguise, she felt hideously exposed. Did no one worry their secret would be revealed? Then again, perhaps it served in everyone’s best interest to turn a blind eye. After all, the success of these parties depended upon their secrecy and discretion. Anyone could expose anyone else at any time, and vice versa. Perhaps the threat of retaliation kept everyone from wagging their tongues. In order to acknowledge you knew of someone else’s attendance, you would have to reveal your own.
    Still, knowing this did little to ease Abigail’s misgivings. Most men had dressed as either a pirate or a highwayman, just as Muri predicted. Some wore basic black silk masks over their nose and eyes; others wore extravagant headpieces that made Abigail’s feathery confection look positively dull in comparison.
    How in the world was she to pick out Lord Roxton? She had been certain she would simply know , but now she wasn’t so sure. Oh, some men were easy to rule out as candidates. Several were overly rotund, their need for indulgence obviously extending beyond their amorous appetites. Others were simply too short, or too thin, or too tall. In fact, there were very few present that possessed the combined assets of broad shoulders, trim hips and long, muscular legs of Lord Roxton.
    But some did, and many had disguised themselves so well, she couldn’t see beyond their masks and head coverings to determine if their hair held the inky blackness of Lord Roxton’s. Or the small dimple in his left cheek.
    What if…
    She shook her head, unable to finish the thought. For if Lord Roxton had in fact chosen not to attend, then she…well she was the biggest fool of all, wasn’t she? Risking her reputation and that of her family’s for nothing.
    A wrinkle of disquiet rippled across her conviction. Why hadn’t she listened to Caelie’s counsel? And why wasn’t Lord Roxton here? She had been so certain his recent behavior had all been for show. Leopards did not change their spots…did they?
    Abigail grabbed a glass of champagne as a tray passed by her line of vision. The bubbly liquid made her want to sneeze as she downed it quickly with several large gulps. Her mother would be horrified. Then again, if her mother knew where she was, gulping champagne