Liam guided Rose back to the center of the dance floor just as a rousing waltz began. With a few practiced movements, he took hold of her hand and waist in the traditional style and began an elegant three-step with expert precision.

He had assumed Rose would have no trouble falling into step with him, and he was right. Even saddled with her apparent mixture of apprehension and surprise, her waltz was perfect. Her steps, posture, and fluidity all graceful and measured. She'd likely had professional training, and it showed.

“You can dance!” she blurted. “Dance properly!”

Her exclamation was both endearing and unladylike, and Liam's lips quirked in a smile.

“Surprised, are ya?”

“Well...yes,” she admitted. “You have no time for reading, for leisure, for concerts, or the theatre. Your idea of a hobby is drinking whiskey or shooting guns. Therefore, yes, I'm surprised.”

Liam nodded. Her answer was amusing. “Good. Glad I can surprise ya.” He released her waist, spun her in a full circle, then reclaimed his hold on her. “The hosts should share a dance, don't ya think? At least for the guests' sake?”

“They should, yes. It's proper,” she granted, her tone cautious. “You're smiling. Is that for the guests' sake, as well? Or to lure me into a false sense of security so that I'm that much more confounded when your tongue lashing begins?”

“Tongue lashing?” Liam repeated. His chin jerked up and to the side in a silent chortle. “Ya gotta choose your words with more care around me, Rose.”

“You don't seem angry,” she noted.

“Should I be?”

“I assumed you would be, yes.”

“What gave ya that idea?”

“Well, I…” She trailed off for a few seconds, her pretty mouth set in a frown. “I very well may have cost us the opportunity to secure a donation from Mr. Pembrook when I…”

“When ya so eloquently told him to go fuck himself?”

Rose pulled a face. “Not the words I would choose, but yes.”

Liam guided her around in a wide arc, spinning her elegantly before drawing her back to him. His eyes met hers. “D'ya regret what ya said to him?”

Her expression was resolute. “Not a word.”

“Good,” Liam stated. “The haughty sot needed to be knocked down a peg. His pretentious ass of a mate Belvedere, as well.” He guided her back a few measures, pivoted to the left, and continued without breaking stride. Rose followed his every cue and movement without the slightest hesitation.

“You think so?” she asked, her eyes widening even as she dipped into a pivot.

“I do, aye,” he told her. “And they're lucky it was you that heard them speak that way to Elijah rather than Audrey. Had she been within earshot, they'd be leavin' tonight's soirée without all their teeth.”

“A punishment to fit the crime, but not ideal for optics,” Rose remarked. “So…you're not angry?”

The mental image of his sister's impressive right hook meeting Pembrook's jaw nearly caused him to laugh. Audrey didn't allow anyone to talk down to her son, and neither did Liam.

“No, I'm not,” he told Rose. “Even if Pembrook had caused a scene, yelled some pompous excuse for obscenities in me face, told me I was a crooked fuck and he'd never give the Institute a single shilling, and stomped outta here with all his richest mates in tow, I wouldn't be angry with ya, Rose. I'd be thankin' ya.”

“Thanking?” she echoed, her features arranged in a look of shock. “You can't be serious!”

“But I am,” Liam insisted. “Listen, Rose, I'll be stark and bloody honest with ya.” He inclined his face close to hers in hopes that she could see and hear his sincerity. “Audrey probably knows me best, and she'll tell ya: there are few things in this world I prize higher than money. Precious few. Strength or defect, who the hell knows? But one o' those things is loyalty. And you showed some fierce fuckin' loyalty tonight. Fierce. I'll never forget what ya did here in this ballroom for my nephew. And I'd be willing to wager that Elijah won't either.”

Rose said nothing. She merely stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth opening and closing as though she were searching for a word from a language she didn't understand.

Liam smirked. “Speechless at last, eh? I could get used to this.”

“Don't,” she stated with a wry smile. “Shan't last.”

“Fair 'nuff,” he joked.

Rose seemed to be studying him, her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “I understand your reasons,” she said after a few bars of instrumental. “And frankly, I'm relieved. I thought perhaps I'd ruined the night, with nothing to show from your wealthiest guest.”

“Nah. You couldn't ruin the night if ya tried. But it doesn't hurt that after ya gave Pembrook that posh...er...?” Liam scrutinized her for a moment, trying to recall her hilarious turn of phrase. “‘Tongue lashing’? That's it, tongue lashing. Afterward, he approached me, bashful as a schoolboy caught with his hand up his teacher's skirt, and issued me a blank cheque.”

Rose jolted in his arms. “Blank?”

“Aye. Blank,” Liam confirmed. “Said he trusted me to choose the amount that was fair and appropriate for the expansion of the Clementine Mercer Institute. Said no one could ‘put a price on people's lives.’ You did that, Rose. You.”

“My goodness,” Rose murmured. She glanced down for a few seconds, then her chin lifted and she smiled. “What a bit of serendipity. So unexpected. I must admit, I'm thrilled.”

“You and me both, love,” Liam said. “Though the next time ya plan on tellin' off some entitled prick, lemme know in advance, will ya?”

“So you can intervene?” she guessed.

“So I can sell tickets,” he corrected.

Rose made a surprised scoffing sound that turned into a laugh. “Agreed. But I must demand a percentage of the profits.”

“Businesswoman after all, are ya?” Liam teased her. He found he was powerless to stop the grin that wanted to intrude upon his face. “Fine. Fifteen percent.”

“Twenty-five,” Rose countered, arching an eyebrow. “Or I walk.”

“Wild card strike, is it? That's bad for business. Alright, you've got yo'self a deal, Miss Sinclair.”

The song reached its rousing conclusion, and after a moment's hesitation, Liam released Rose. He offered her a bow from the waist, and she curtsied in return. When he straightened, his eyes caught sight of a woman entering the ballroom. A woman who had no business being there.

“Fuck,” Liam cursed under his breath.

【♖】

“What? What is it?”

Rose glanced over her shoulder in search of whatever or whomever had caused William to curse. The concern was immediately apparent. Standing in the entrance to the ballroom was a stout, voluptuous woman with lush raven curls, flamboyant red lips, and a dress that would be considered disreputable at best by even the most liberal of people. Wide slits traveled up the sides of the slinky black skirt to her supple thighs, and the neckline plunged precariously far past the point of showcasing a tasteful amount of decolletage. Her ensemble would have been more appropriate in a brothel than a black-tie soirée.

“William?” Rose asked as she actively tried not to stare at the woman's chintzy dress. “Who is that?”

William cursed again, but managed to keep his expression controlled. “New barmaid at the Broken Crown. Romanian, and loose as an old screw in a plank of rotten wood. Taken a shine to me brother, so I was told.”

“Oh, dear.”

A moment later, a second raven-haired woman joined the barmaid beneath the arch of the double doors. This one was taller, slightly less buxom, but dressed just as provocatively as the first. The pair linked arms, conversing excitedly with each other.

“Act like nothin's amiss,” William instructed Rose softly in her ear. “No urgency.”

When she nodded, he took her hand and they vacated the dance floor at a brusque pace.

The two scantily-clad women were beginning to draw the attention of some of the guests near the entrance. In her peripheral, Rose saw them wiggle their fingers suggestively at a few of the male attendees, causing glares from some of the wives. An elderly gentlewoman in a boisterous feathered headpiece gasped outright at the women's revealing dresses.

William led Rose over to where his brothers were huddled with their sister by the far wall. The three of them were chortling about something or other, drinks in hand, oblivious to the ballroom's newest occupants.

“Jackson,” William snapped, clapping a hand on his brother's shoulder. “What the actual livin' fuck is that tart doin' here?”

Jackson's grin morphed into a lopsided line of confusion. “Who?” He turned his head in the direction William indicated, and his face took on an instant sickly pallor. “Shit…”

“Yeah, Jackson,” William said, his nostrils flaring. “Shit. We're in it now. Why is she here? And who's the other one? The taller model?”

Ransom, who had also traded in his jovial demeanor for something akin to quiet panic, said, “Other one's her sister.”

A dangerous glint shone in William's eyes. “And how d'ya know her sister, Ransom?”

“Uh, well,” Ransom hedged. His eyes shifted back and forth between William and Rose. “It ain't polite to say.”

William expelled an exasperated breath. “No barmaids. Remember that? No barmaids, no whores. I heard myself say it,” he seethed. “What the bloody hell were you two thinkin'?”

“Your wives are here, you dumb fucks,” Audrey scoffed, shaking her head. “Your very-important-for-family-business wives, and their very important fathers.”

With matching looks of blind terror, Jackson and Ransom glanced toward a group of women chatting around a champagne table.

Rose looked, as well. Ransom's wife Luisa was engaged in an animated conversation with another guest. But Jackson's loquacious wife Tuppence was eyeing their group with a curious expression. Not ideal. Turning her head discreetly in the other direction, Rose could see that the Romanian sisters were beginning to cause a sensation.

“We didn't invite 'em!” Ransom exclaimed, his voice hoarse.

“Wouldn't have done,” Jackson avowed. He shook his head, his complexion ashen. “No idea how they even heard about this party.”

“That hardly matters now,” Audrey stated. “We need to get rid of them before they make a scene. Look like a couple o' shoddy whores. Tsk! Those dresses, for fuck's sake!”

Ransom ran a shaky hand through his hair and muttered in a low, urgent voice, “Luisa will have me balls for this. And her father'll have me kneecaps. You know how Italians ‘take care of’ problems! I'll be gettin' a divorce and a casket for summer holiday, lads.”

“Is it too late to sneak out the back door?” Jackson asked.

“Don't you dare!” Audrey hissed. “That'll make it worse!”

Something about this bizarre situation struck Rose as all too convenient. She chanced another covert glimpse at the women in question. Their dark eyes were taking a leisurely visual tour of all the people in attendance. The shorter sister's face lit up in recognition as she spotted Jackson among the crowd. With a tug to the taller sister's arm, the pair flounced through the swirling throng of dancers and headed straight for Rose's little group, coquettish smiles on their heavily done-up faces.

Jackson saw them, too. He swiveled his head, peeking at his youthful wife again. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Fuck! Tuppence can see her smilin' at me. How the fuck am I gonna explain this? They're comin' this way!”

“Whose fault is that, Jack?” William demanded.

Rose inhaled sharply. If those women reached Jackson and Ransom, it would not only cause irreparable harm to their marriages and the family's businesses, but the scene itself could discredit and ruin the entire benefit. Friends or not, kin or not, Rose couldn't let that happen. If a fire was to be extinguished, she had to act swiftly.

Exhaling in resolve, she took charge.

“Hush, all of you,” she instructed in a calm, direct voice. “Jackson, stop looking back at your wife. Your nervous glances augment your guilt, not absolve it.”

Jackson sucked in a breath. “Right. Yeah, you're right,” he admitted. He squared his shoulders and faced Rose.

“Good. Now, we have mere seconds,” Rose said, her delivery congenial but rapid. “Your wife doesn't know this barmaid, correct?"

“No. Never met her.”

“And likewise, she doesn't know that you two are acquainted, correct?”

“Aye, that's right.”

“Then as far as Tuppence is concerned, that barmaid could be smiling at me,” Rose said. “I'm standing immediately next to you, aren't I?”

“Aye…”

“What's her name?”

“Her name?” Jackson's anxious eyes darted back and forth between the buxom newcomer and Rose again.

“Her name, Jackson, yes,” Rose insisted. “Tell me her name, and I will save you.”

“It's, um...Bianca. Bianca Cazacu.”

“And her sister's called Desdemona,” Ransom hissed in addition.

Giving Jackson's arm a brief squeeze of reassurance and Ransom a nod, Rose hurried across the dance floor to intercept the Romanian sisters, a huge smile of greeting plastered on her face.

“Bianca! Desdemona! My goodness, it's been too long!” Rose cried out in a loud, blithe voice. “My dear friends! I'm thrilled you could make it to our little gathering. How perfectly splendid! Did I neglect to mention in your invitations that the party is black-tie? How silly of me!”

She reached the pair of unwanted guests and held her arms out wide in a gesture of welcome that also served to bar them from the Mercer brothers.

Rose was met with a matching set of bewildered stares.

“We don't know y—” Desdemona began in her heavily accented English.

“What to say?” Rose spoke over her. “No, nor do I! The ballroom really is resplendent, isn't it? It steals your very words.”

Bianca seemed to be catching on. Her gaze migrated over Rose's shoulder to where Jackson stood with his brothers, then back to Rose's face. Lowering her voice to a murmur, she said, “We received invitations to come tonight. As consorts. Me for Jackson, Desdemona for Ransom.” She reached into her petite handbag and began to pull out the proof.

Rose stayed her hand. “Yes. I'm sure you did,” she whispered. “But Jackson didn't send them. Neither did Ransom. Someone is playing a very nefarious game.”

“But why?” Desdemona demanded, her thin eyebrows pulling down and together.

“Who would stand to gain from such a deception?” Bianca queried.

“I may have an inkling,” Rose replied in hushed tones. Her eyes were hard even as she continued to smile. “Someone who would benefit greatly from sullying the Mercer name, particularly at such a grand and public affair. But we can't talk here.”

Bianca and Desdemona each gave her a nod of understanding.

“Come, ladies!” Rose exclaimed, raising her volume so that any guests in the vicinity could hear her. “It's such a beautiful night. You simply must see the terrace!”

【♜】【♞】【♟】

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