Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(79)
Nineteen years, and now Signa didn’t even know whether her mother would have cared about such efforts.
She bowed her head. “Thank you, Elijah—”
Elijah cut her off as soon as she began to speak. He set down his glass and took Signa’s gloved hands in his own. “It’s you who deserves to be thanked.” He squeezed her palms. “So deep was I in my sorrow that I am ashamed to say I’d begun to lose all hope. I owe you a great deal of gratitude for what you’ve done for my daughter, Miss Farrow. For you, this ball is my first gift of many.”
Percy went stiff beside her. “If you’ll excuse me, cousin, I’ll find you later on the dance floor.” He straightened his tie, then the buttons on his gloves—and he was gone without another glance toward his father.
If Elijah was bothered, he didn’t show it. Signa tried to mirror his lack of concern, not letting Percy’s feelings about his father sour her own mood. It was a relief to feel welcomed, a relief to see that Elijah was in no hurry to rush her out of the manor. Signa couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so comfortable in a home. Couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t looked forward to leaving.
“I hope that one day soon we will be standing here at a party to celebrate Blythe,” Signa said.
Elijah’s grip on her hands slackened, and though she couldn’t say for sure, given the poor lighting, Signa thought she saw his eyes well up. “Indeed,” he said softly. “I would like that very much.” He straightened then, dropping her hands altogether. “Now, don’t waste this night with an old man like me. Go on and find someone to dance with. Find fifty people to dance with, should you wish.”
So Signa did. Into the dizzying, swaying bodies she ventured, lingering close enough to appear interested in a dance—but not close enough to get trampled by heels or whipped by flying skirts. With dreamy eyes she watched two women dance with each other as though they were floating upon a cloud, silk dresses swirling around them. She watched with a flutter in her heart as a handsome man offered his hand to a young lady while hoping the next one would choose her.
But the next handsome man Signa saw did not offer his hand, but stole her breath instead.
On the outskirts of the ballroom, Sylas Thorly sipped from a flute of champagne. Signa’s heart stuttered at the sight of him, for in that moment he looked little like staff, or like a young man who worked in the stables, but every bit a proper gentleman in a well-fitted suit of deep onyx and a mask that appeared as though it had been carved from fine metal, crafted with intricate carvings. She had to do a double take to ensure she wasn’t mistaken, but Signa knew she’d recognize those smoky gray eyes anywhere.
Though she knew full well that she shouldn’t be so attracted to him and that she should instead be trying to figure out from whom he had borrowed such a fine suit, Signa couldn’t help but to stare at him for a beat longer. God, he was handsome. Though the very moment she thought it, she forced herself to glance away. Already she was treading a very fine line with her relationship with Death and didn’t need any additional considerations to add to the mix. Not to mention that Sylas had made it clear that he had someone important to him already. Signa needed to get her head on straight.
Still, she felt compelled to know why he would dare risk coming here, even if it was a masquerade. It wasn’t as though she could approach him directly. So, instead, she made her way to a display of sweets nearby, making a show of inspecting them. When her eyes caught Sylas’s from above a beautifully glazed fruit tart, he finished his champagne and set it upon a table as he made his way to the display. “That color suits you,” he said with a wry smile. “You look beautiful.”
Signa steadied herself, not about to be bested by surprise and let him see her trip up. She cleared her throat, quick to right herself, though she had no idea how long she’d be able to keep up with this charade of examining each and every available sweet. That lesson had obviously been missing from her etiquette book.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “You could be caught!”
“Relax,” he said as he plucked a mincemeat pie from the display and took a bite. “Dressed like this, I’m certain no one will recognize me. Besides, this is precisely where I need to be. If someone is trying to harm the Hawthornes, the distraction of the night is a perfect time for them to strike. I want this solved just as much as you do, so I’m keeping an eye out.”
Signa no longer bothered with pretending to select a sweet but held his stare directly and asked, “And why is that, Mr. Thorly?” Surely it couldn’t be for the money alone, could it? Or was there something he needed it for that desperately?
Sylas’s jaw tensed. “It’s no different than I’ve told you already, Miss Farrow. There is a woman I care for immensely, and by assisting you and taking your offer, I’m caring for her in the only way I’m capable of at the moment.”
She wanted to press for more—to know who this girl was and in what ways their deal helped her—though Sylas was spared from answering by a familiar voice that called suddenly from behind Signa, “What a wonderful party!” It was Diana Blackwater who spoke, taking hold of Signa’s arm. Eliza Wakefield was at her side, fanning herself with a frilly white-lace fan. Signa supposed it was meant to look expensive, though it reminded her very much of a tea doily.