An Invitation to Scandal by Kelly Boyce

Nicholas had always found him rather eerie.
    “The ladies are all a twitter about the masquerade,” Baron Caldwell said. “I’ve been awash in talk of ribbons and frills and such for an entire week. It is nice to have another man about to converse with.”
    Nicholas didn’t know how the baron did it. With a wife and three daughters, it was a wonder he remained sane. Or solvent. Then again, the last part was only partly true. The Baron struggled. With three dowries to supply and no son, he found himself in a bit of a pickle. He had to marry his daughters off to men of means to secure their futures. Yet he had not the means to procure such men.
    Unless one of those men had buggered his own reputation to such a degree most parents corralled their daughters away from him, with only the most desperate considering him marriage material.
    And the baron was desperate. Despite Miss Caldwell’s much exalted reputation, she was still only the daughter of a baron. Their people had never amassed a fortune, never made a name for themselves. They had lived quietly and somewhat frugally and managed to get by.
    Of course, all of the families before theirs had had sons. Baron Caldwell, an only child, had produced only daughters.
    And daughters were, as any man knew, an expensive proposition.
    The quiet swish of dresses and soft lilt of female voices preceded the women’s entrance, giving the baron and Nicholas time to rise to their feet to greet them.
    A close copy of her husband, small and portly, the baroness possessed a sense of joviality their eldest daughter had not inherited.
    Nicholas bowed slightly. “Baroness. Miss Caldwell. It is lovely to see you again. You both look particularly beautiful this afternoon.”
    Indeed, Miss Caldwell did. Her appearance was a study in perfection. That she was beautiful was never in question. In truth, she was quite stunning. Her dark hair and large brown eyes complimented her ivory skin. Only her mouth, slightly wider than fashion dictated, kept her from utter flawlessness. And yet no warmth lived within those features. Nothing welcomed a man in and made him feel he had found a home. Every attempt he had made to cultivate closeness had been rebuffed. She never looked at him as if she wanted him. Or even liked him.
    He could have been anyone, so long as he came with a large enough purse.
    He found it difficult to believe someone so beautiful could be so mercenary. Where she derived this particular trait from, he could not fathom. Neither parent appeared to possess it.
    Then again, they had allowed him to court their daughter. Perhaps they hid it better than she.
    “Shall I assume you will be attending Lord and Lady Doddington’s masquerade, Lord Roxton?” The baroness asked him the question. Caldwell rolled his eyes and Nicholas struggled to suppress a grin.
    “I have not yet decided.” While he had promised he would be there, in retrospect, he’d been a fool to agree. He could not risk Miss Laytham discovering who he was. He certainly could not risk what the gossips would say if they were caught together. His father would pitch a fit.
    A wry smile twisted his lips. That alone would almost make it worth it.
    “You find indecision amusing?” Miss Caldwell folded her hands in her lap, her own generous mouth turning up at the corners, though Nicholas would never go so far as to call it a smile. In retrospect, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen her truly smile. Certainly not with the abandon Miss Laytham—he cleared his throat. No, better to stay off that particular road.
    “Forgive me, Miss Caldwell. No. My mind merely entertained a thought that pleased me.”
    “I see.”
    This was not going well. Charming Miss Caldwell was akin to crossing frozen ice. One never knew if their next step would crack it and send them plunging into frigid water. Or if the ice would hold and see them safely to shore.
    The thought of landing in water, brought forth another memory, one more recent, of a sodden