The Corinthians Series: Rules of Masquerade

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

It was unprecedented and everybody was expected to arrive in droves. It doesn’t matter if the party was held in mid September, everyone will make the journey to East Sussex and Lord William knew it. Those lucky enough to receive an invitation had penned an affirmative immediately. Those who are not included in the invite list only glower in envy. After all, it’s not every day the Marquess of Sheldrake and Downshire would be opening the Moonhurst Estate in Brighton to look for prospective brides. 

There will be a handful of guests expected to arrive in a seven days time, a dozen of ladies and gentlemen for the soiree. Everything was set and the Moonhurst Estate had been polished to perfection, ready to serve as a backdrop to his elaborate plot to seduce his hotheaded fiancée.

He was going to seduce Lady Charlotte, as the thought crossed his mind William could not help but to grin, oh he was done for the moment he laid eyes on her in the park. He had been ensnared by her antics and her innocent charm. Charlotte might not realized just how uncorrupted she was but after spending a few moments with her alone William could see it as clear as day. The way her eyes widened as he took liberties of touching her, seducing her, rocked him to his very core. Her voice would tremble ever so slightly but there was no fooling William Hernshaw, Corinthian and rogue. Not even trained courtesans, who makes it their business to learn multiple ways to ignite lust in a man, can imitate such fresh innocence.

He wanted her, wanted her with a passion that burned him at night. Not even a cold shower in the morning can douse his desire fully. William had resorted to pacing his house up and down to the point that it would irritate Lorelei, who he swore; own the sweetest disposition in England.

“I’m sure the preparation for your party is causing poor Albert an aneurism.” Lorelei spoke in the confines of their carriage, rocking slowly as they made their way to Brighton. William took his eyes from the scenery outside the window. The weather had been perfect since they had started their travelling and the refreshing September breeze lifted his spirits even more.

“Ah, I’m sure he’ll be all right. After all, he was the one who always nags me for not coming down to Brighton as much. Albert should be ecstatic that I am bringing along two dozen other people with me.” he replied and Lorelei allowed herself a fond smile.

“I had such good memories of Moonhurst. It’s a pity we don’t visit Brighton very often.” Lorelei took a swift glance out the window before considering him again, this time with critical eyes. “I think it is quite unkind to trick Lady Charlotte into this scheme of yours Will. Why can’t you just admit it to her that you are her true fiancée instead of playing this charade?”

William’s lips curled into a smile. “Because it’s fun.” He answered simply. Lorelei shook her head in discontent.

“It might be amusing to you but what about Lady Charlotte? She would not find it as entertaining being the one deceived.” Lorelei urged on.

William smiled on and reached for his sister’s gloved, bestowing a kiss on each of her knuckles. “Don’t worry, I know what I am doing Lorry. In a way, you could say that I am doing this because it is the best for both Lady Charlotte and me. I can use this party as an excuse for us to get to know each other.”

Lorelei nodded finally in comprehension while one hand was idly curling the ribbon her bonnet. Dressed in brown travelling cloak with green lace trimming she looked fetching. She was too young, so full of life and still very much lovely to deserve the mantle of widow. One some days William could not even look at Lorelei without feeling the prod of guilt nudging his conscience. If only he was there when his grandfather had accepted the hand of old Marquess of Clare, Lorelei would not be a widow now. He would have made sure that she was suitably married instead of the old toad who, after less than two years after walking down the aisle, croaked. He had gone to meet his maker at the ripe old age of sixty five.