Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 03] by Duke Most Wanted Page A

himself will come to steal you away tonight, see if he doesn’t.”
    Sophie gazed into the mirror. She looked completely unlike herself—in other words, she looked beautiful. It felt like a lie . . . yet, were those not her eyes? Was that not her natural height, her hair, her bare arms, her long neck? How could it be dishonesty when it was only a change of dress and a bit of powder and rouge?
    And a mask.
    Patricia handed her the outrageous mask, a white owl-feathered, pearl-bedecked creation that ought to have been hung on a wall as art, not hung on her face. Still, it covered her nose admirably, yet left her eyes exposed in a way that made them large and fathomless. Now she truly was someone else entirely. Now she truly was Sofia.
    Sophie was no more.
    You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are just as you are meant to be, a sylph, a reed in the water, a slender flame!
    Lementeur’s words rang tinny and weak, barely present through the pounding fear and insecurity that robbed her of her breath.
    If this was a mask, then she could be unmasked. If this was a lie, she could be found out. Plain, bookish, socially awkward Sophie Blake could never become Sofia. Never, it was impossible, it was all some horrible trick—she would never, ever be able to pull this off!
    Why not? You’ve done worse!
    Yes, and look where that got her! She forced herself to inhale slowly. One lie was much like another, it was true. If she could make her way here to London under false pretenses, surely she could make her way onto the ballroom floor.
    Sophie had been able to do only so much. Now Sofia must finish the job, or all the deception would have accomplished nothing. That would be the worst thing, to go back to having nothing at all.

    GRAHAM HAD TAKEN his valet’s advice and endeavored to begin his search at Lord and Lady Waverly’s masque. He didn’t have a costume, so he chose to go as a duke. He wore his usual evening attire and simply added a plain, black silk mask. He was not the only fellow who opted out of the sumptuous madness.
    It wouldn’t have done him any good to hide behind a King Henry VIII doublet, for all eyes were upon him the minute he stepped into the ballroom.
    Only that morning had his advancement been announced by the ubiquitous yet invisible Voice of Society. By the time he’d returned to Eden House from his aborted attempt to see Sophie there had been a pile of invitations so high they slithered over each other to fall from the silver salver.
    Now the Society mamas would have him pinned in their tenacious sights as never before. A poor fourth son was a long way from a man who could make their daughter a duchess!
    Very well. He would do his duty and pursue an heiress. Luckily there were several at the masque. Graham knew the mamas by sight. All the young and titled did—although usually for the purpose of avoidance.
    This evening Graham made himself available. Papas came to him to idly chat about the weather, the best tobacco, the races and oh-have-you-met-my-lovely-daughter?
    Graham smiled. He bowed. He danced like the performing bear he was. Throw him some coin and seehim stand on his head for an heiress! There were tall ones and short ones and thin ones and a few astonishingly curvaceous ones.
    “So how are you enjoying your first Season, Miss Millionpound?” He could hardly keep his gaze properly on her face. She was full-bodied and fair-haired and wore a grandiose version of farmgirl attire, sky blue silk with rows of old-fashioned white ruffles about her considerable decolletage and a ribbon in her hair.
    She had possibilities, for he did think it rather audacious of her to wear a milkmaid costume when sporting those . . . assets.
    “Season?” Blue eyes blinked at him. “Oh, I like summer all right but I much prefer winter. More time to sit.”
    “Er. Yes.” Another turn about the floor before he could try again. “I like your costume. Very . . . mischievous.”
    Another slow blink. “I’m not