The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(80)
Odette’s laughter rang into the starlit sky. “One glass of champagne, and you’re far more entertaining than the Bard himself.” The edges of her lovely face crinkled as she gazed upon Celine, her expression warm. “Before I forget, you look divine in that color. It’s a perfect match for your eyes.”
Her words caused Celine to flinch. Her tormentor that night in the Quarter had used that word. Divine. Meaning “of the gods.” She certainly didn’t feel “of the gods” tonight.
“I should have gone dressed as a tree,” Celine said in a flat tone. When her gaze ran the length of the hedgerow, she caught a glimpse of yet another satyr, his goat ears high on his curly head, a tail fashioned of wool and feathers pinned to the back of his gabardine trousers.
Exasperation rippled through her chest. “Have any of these fools actually read the play?”
Odette cackled with merriment, her long purple mantle swirling about her feet.
A familiar figure caught Celine’s attention across the way. Her heart missed a beat when a pair of sapphire eyes skimmed dangerously close to where Celine stood, the smile below them sweet and serene.
Pippa Montrose was in attendance at this soirée, dressed as Titania, the queen of the fairies, if Celine had to hazard a guess. She’d arrived on the arm of a placid young man with a slender frame and large round spectacles, likely Phoebus Devereux.
Thankfully, it appeared Pippa had yet to spot Celine across the crowded expanse.
Without a second thought, Celine turned in place, positioning her back to Pippa, all the while wishing she could shrink into the rosebushes. If Pippa saw her, a confrontation would likely ensue. Pippa had sent two messages to the hotel today alone, both inquiring after Celine’s welfare. In the latter part of the afternoon, Pippa had come to the Dumaine in person, hoping to check on her friend. Celine had begged off each attempt to make contact, spinning a web of white lies designed to keep Pippa as far away from her as possible, even if it meant damaging their relationship.
Better that Pippa feel cast aside than remain in the murderer’s notice.
“We should leave,” Celine muttered to Odette, just as another passel of jubilant partygoers hoisted a young man onto their shoulders and proceeded to cheer as if his horse had won the Derby.
Odette drew closer, her features tufting with concern. “I thought you wanted to meet with Bastien. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.” Celine struggled to appear nonchalant. “It’s just been three hours since we arrived. If he had any intention of showing his face, he would be here by now.”
Odette tossed a dismissive hand into the air, the jewels adorning her fingers flashing. Definitely not made of paste. “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, he’s always late to these kinds of things. The fiend enjoys making an entrance.”
Despite Odette’s reassurances, doubt unfurled in Celine’s stomach. Madeleine and Hortense had arrived not long after Celine and Odette, dressed as ethereal fey, their dark shoulders gleaming with gold dust. Boone had trailed in their shadow a moment later, garbed in white, a literal halo about his head. A sight that had caused Odette’s body to shake with laughter.
Celine was about to renew her objections when Odette waved her fingers in the air above her head, her smile bright.
“Nigel!” Odette took hold of Celine’s hand to tug her along.
Closer to where Pippa and Phoebus stood engaged in conversation with the crème de la crème of the Crescent City.
“Odette,” Celine gasped, trying to extricate herself from Odette’s determined grip.
The damp warmth of the night and the dull roar of the festivities succeeded in drowning out Celine’s protests. Nigel met them halfway, two masked figures sauntering behind him at an unhurried pace. His tall frame wove with ease around the countless bodies milling and spilling about. Like most of the other guests in attendance, he’d taken a rather blasé approach to his costume, resorting to winding a few willow branches around his arms, their leaves drooping, the overall effect lackluster, save for the laurel crown gracing his brow.
Boone appeared out of nowhere, startling Celine as he sidled next to her, his loose white shirt billowing about his trim torso, the halo of gold across his forehead tilted askew.
Grateful for the cover his closeness provided, Celine paused to peruse his attire. “And who are you supposed to be?”
“Theseus,” Boone said without hesitation.
“The founder hero of Athens?” Disbelief flared across Celine’s face. “Be serious. You’re dressed as an angel.”
Boone shrugged. “Honestly I thought this was a fête for saints and sinners.”
“And you thought to go dressed as a saint?”
“Didn’t you know, darlin’?” he drawled. “All the best saints are sinners.”
Despite everything, Celine laughed, the sound filling her lungs, causing her tightlaced stays to stretch farther. She pressed a hand to her sternum, exhaling slowly to catch her breath. With the hunger of a seasoned sinner, Boone ogled Celine’s chest, the irony not at all lost on her.
Nigel grinned as Odette shoved Boone in the shoulder, a note of warning in her eyes. The next instant, she turned to Nigel and sighed a soul-deep sigh. “Just whom are you hoping to channel in that godforsaken costume? I expected better of you, Lord Fitzroy.”