Lord Ares, page 1
Lord Ares
Lords of the Masquerade
Book Three
Jade Lee
© Copyright 2021 by Jade Lee
Text by Jade Lee
Cover by Wicked Smart Designs
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
ceo@dragonbladepublishing.com
Produced in the United States of America
First Edition May 2021
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
License Notes:
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
ARE YOU SIGNED UP FOR DRAGONBLADE’S BLOG?
You’ll get the latest news and information on exclusive giveaways, exclusive excerpts, coming releases, sales, free books, cover reveals and more.
Check out our complete list of authors, too!
No spam, no junk. That’s a promise!
Sign Up Here
*
Dearest Reader;
Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.
Happy Reading!
CEO, Dragonblade Publishing
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Jade Lee
Lords of the Masquerade Series
Lord Lucifer (Book 1)
Lord Satyr (Book 2)
Lord Ares (Book 3)
Lord Scot (Book 4)
The Lyon’s Den Connected World
Into the Lyon’s Den
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Jade Lee
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
About the Author
Chapter One
ONE YEAR AGO
One would think that a man in a Roman Centurion’s helmet and an armored skirt would look ridiculous. Lilah Rees studied the gentleman very closely and determined that that conclusion would be both right and wrong.
The man had the physique to play Lord Ares at tonight’s masquerade. Broad shoulders, thick arms, and a barrel chest beneath the breastplate armor. He held a spear that he routinely banged upon the ground as he issued some commandment much to the amusement of the audience.
But though he looked handsome in his costumed attire, he did not have the demeanor of a true showman. He did not prance, and he certainly didn’t entertain for long. He merely stood to the side of the dance area and seemed uncomfortable in a helmet that pinched his temples. Or so Lilah assumed given the way he kept frowning and adjusting the headgear.
And yet she found him handsome, alluring, and completely out of her reach. Though he was playing the role of Lord Ares at tonight’s masquerade, he was in fact her brother-in-law’s friend Aaron, Lord Chambers. A future earl, a wealthy man, and the picture of robust, perhaps even lusty health.
Lilah watched him from afar and imagined him as her hero in a fairytale story that filled her romantic heart to overflowing. Then she tucked away her romantic heart and focused on the practical. She was a by-blow—a bastard—and Lord Chambers was as far above her as Ares was above mere mortals.
She needed to get started on her plan to catch a husband. Tonight was a rare opportunity for her to meet such a man. She attended a masquerade that allowed a by-blow like her to mix freely with the haut ton. She had dressed with care, applied her cosmetics to perfection, and had even practiced flirting to the best of her limited ability. She could only hope it served because bastards didn’t get many opportunities to snare a husband.
First step: dancing. Since this was a masquerade, the usual dance cards were ignored. The dance floor was more of an unformed free-for-all where partners matched willy-nilly and one could snare a donkey or a fairy prince. With a quick wave to her family, she headed into the exuberant mix of costumed partygoers.
She charmed a man in a dark domino who was sadly much too young for her. She spun about the room with a belching baron who was already married and on the hunt for a mistress. She promenaded with a dandy who spent the time criticizing the stitching and fabric of her green fairy costume. And the whole time, she wondered if this were the full range of gentlemen for her. If so, she was in for a lonely, single life.
She also couldn’t help her attention from wandering to Lord Ares where his bright helmet and thick staff towered over the guests. Indeed, her imagination made him ten feet tall as he inspected every newcomer and pronounced them worthy of attending his revels.
She turned a sigh of longing into a pretend whisper of delight. Her current partner was another man too young for her tastes, but perhaps she could mold him into an appropriate husband. His conversation was stilted, and he had an unfortunate tendency to blush, but he might grow into some confidence. He would never be a Lord Ares, but it was unfair to compare him to their host. And beggars couldn’t be choosers, but surely there had to be someone better out here than a stuttering youth.
There wasn’t. At least none that she could find, even with her sister Diana’s help. The eligible suitors guessed her identity as a bastard and stayed away. The ones ignorant of her parentage were on the hunt for a mistress or a faster tumble as a night’s entertainment.
She was an excellent catch, damn it. She could organize a household, discipline unruly servants, and even manage pets. She would cherish her husband and educate her children. But that was the painful curse of being a bastard raised as a gentlewoman. She was by definition improper.
Nevertheless, she smiled and persisted.
Until she couldn’t take it anymore and headed alone to the buffet. But once there, a female performer caught her eye. The woman stood in the shadows of a tree, well beyond the dance floor at the edge of the green where acrobats, knife throwers, and the like performed. She appeared to be scanning the crowd for someone, and Lilah was drawn to her merely out of curiosity. Or perhaps nostalgia because her mother’s acting troupe had performers such as these.
Or perhaps it was memory, since a closer inspection revealed one of her oldest friends as the woman threw up her arms in relief upon spying Lilah.
Was it really her friend? It wasn’t possible. And yet Lilah moved quickly around and past the buffet, ducked behind the dancing arena, then headed into the shadows between the elite and the performers.
“Margarite, is that you?” Lilah asked.
The young girl of her memory was now older, slimmer, and considerably more muscular than the nine-year-old she remembered. It was only the particular curve of her cheek and a mole set above her right eyebrow that gave away her true identity. And the fact that she’d always loved bright pink tutus, which is what she wore.
“Me?” Margarite gasped. “Is it you?” She stepped back and looked Lilah up and down. “Cor, but you’re all grown up and dressing fancy.”
Lilah didn’t say that this gown was a cast-off from her half-sister Diana. Or that she had altered it herself. She merely smiled and gestured to her childhood companion. “What are you doing here? You’re dressed like—”
“A rope dancer?” She cocked her head back toward the juggler’s area and sure enough, there was a rope strung between two trees. “I started dancing ’ere a couple weeks ago. It’s good pay if’n I can keep the men off.”
Lilah nodded, reminded once again that as difficult as her life was—caught between respectability and not—she still had a full belly and a safe place to sleep. Margarite didn’t, and it was only a quirk of fate that had taken Lilah’s life on a path different from Margarite’s. “Who is protecting you tonight? Are you safe?”
“You’ve been looking for me?”
“You ain’t never come by since the day you left.” There was accusation in her voice and Lilah flushed.
“I wasn’t allowed,” she said.
“I guessed as much. But you an’ me, we were the best, right?”
They’d been inseparable. Two girls of nearly the same age raised in an acting troupe. They’d played dolls together, learned their letters together thanks to Lilah’s mother, and even slept in the same bed. Until Lilah’s father had taken her away to a better life.
“I’ve missed you every day,” she said.
“Margarite!” a man’s voice called. Both women turned to see a large man in juggler’s dress looking all around him.
“Who’s that?”
“It’s Jamis. He’s in charge of the troupe now since his dad died.”
“Jamis?” She remembered him as an older boy with a penchant for knives.
Margarite nodded. “He’s the reason I wanted to talk to you.”
“Jamis? Why?”
“Yer mother got a letter. Twice now.”
“My mother?”
“And I told Jamis that the letter rightly belongs to you, but he just rips ’em up. Says yer mom is dead and you are too, seeing as how you forgot us.”
“I never forgot—”
“It doesn’t matter. He gets mean and rips ’em up.”
“Margarite!” Jamis’ voice cut through their hurried conversation.
“I gotta go back,” Margarite said. Then she winked. “Come watch me act. It’s a good one!”
“Of course, I will.”
Margarite rushed away, first by running, then by doing flips as she made it to the rope strung between two trees. Lilah followed, merging into the audience as she watched her friend leap upon the rope and perform an amazing dance to music played by a man on his violin. She might have known the man years ago. She certainly remembered Jamis, who was working the crowd for coins. But mostly she watched, and she wondered at how different her life was now from theirs.
She didn’t think long about the letters. Jamis had destroyed them, and she’d long since given up thinking about what she couldn’t change. She simply enjoyed the show while her mind wandered through memories of her childhood with Margarite.
She lingered too long. Her family was likely looking for her, and it was inappropriate for her to be standing alone even at a ton party. Especially at a ton party where unwed girls were normally watched by their mothers. But she was feeling at loose ends tonight, a woman caught between the actress life she’d been born into and the semi-respectable one with her father’s family. So she stood alone and watched. And when the show was over, she remained there thinking like a bewildered idiot.
She should have been more careful. She certainly knew better, but she was lost in her thoughts and had forgotten how easily drunk men could corner a woman. Especially a lone woman in a pleasure garden.
“Lookee here, I found a pretty bird.”
“Not a bird. A fairy!”
“Dance with me, pretty fairy!”
Three men, all dandies by the look of them. Not dangerous, at least not yet, but certainly in a mood to play with her.
“Excuse me, I must get back to my mother,” she said loudly. Her gaze darted to where Margarite and her protectors had been. But they’d already moved on to a new spot on the lawn as Jamis threw knives at Margarite where she stood against a tree. No help there and none from the crowd that was looking at the entertainment.
“Don’t fly away,” one of the dandies coaxed. “Dance with me.”
She smiled warmly at him. “Of course, I will. The set is forming over there.” She tried to duck past him, but his friend caught her wing and then her arm to hold her fast. “Let me go. Please!”
“We want a dance!” he said, then he swung her around while one of the others started humming a waltz.
She stumbled as he pulled her around. She twisted in his arms, but his hands were hard where they held her in place. And even as she squirmed, she could see no help beyond the three men. Panic started to beat hard and fast in her throat. What an idiot she’d been! She tried to twist free again and nearly succeeded, but the next man grabbed her.
“Let me go! I’m Lady Byrn’s daughter.” If ever she needed a title to protect her, it was now. But it didn’t work.
“Did you hear? She’s a Lady Bird!”
“No, please!”
“Damnation!” a loud voice cut through. It was deep and booming, and it did absolutely nothing to distract anyone. Nothing, that is, until one of the men was abruptly hauled back. And then a moment later, the second one went sprawling. Lilah didn’t fully register it. She was busy trying to fight the one who held her. But that quickly ended as a large hand grabbed the back of the man’s neck and squeezed until he yelped. Finally, she wrested herself free, scrambling backwards while her gaze shot to her rescuer.
Lord Ares.
He looked like a gladiator from old, from the tip of his plumed helmet through to his broad shoulders, and the spear butt he used to trip up the two men trying to regain their feet.
“Are you idiots?” he demanded in a harsh voice. “There are willing women throughout London. Find one of them!”
“It were just a bit of fun,” the nearest said.
“And what if her mother had seen? You would have to marry her. Is that what you want?”
“What?”
“Wot?”
“Wat?”
Apparently willingness made no difference to them. Marriage, however, did. Lord Ares harrumphed in true disgust.
“Get out. All three of you. And you can be sure I will remember your names from now on.”
He stood there, his legs spread with his spear planted firmly in the ground. And when the two on the ground were slow to get up, he clapped them with the butt of it.
They protested, each one of them, but he would hear none of it. And soon the three drunks were rushing toward the exit. Which left her there shaking while Lord Ares turned to look at her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his tone gentle.
She stared at him, her tongue unaccountably tied. She managed to nod, though, and soon she was able to straighten her clothing. Nothing serious. One wing was ripped, and the shoulder of her gown had been pulled askew. It was quickly righted, as was her mask which had somehow tilted across her eye. Her hands shook, her heart beat painfully fast, but she was able to set herself to order. If only she could find her tongue.
“Thank you,” she finally managed. When the words came out breathless, she said it again more firmly. “Thank you, my lord. I shouldn’t have wandered away, but I was watching the rope dancer.”
“It’s my fault for allowing those blighters to be invited. They’re idiots, all three of them, but they’ll be in the House of Commons soon and I thought they’d take advantage of this opportunity to learn a few things.”
“At a masquerade party?”
He arched a brow at her. “I invited every one of the members of Parliament. It’s always good to have some social time one and all. Gives a chance for more casual discussions.” He shrugged. “But you can lead an idiot to water—”
“But you can’t make him discuss politics?”
He smiled. “The country is in a deplorable state when a debutante understands the situation better than the men supposedly running it.”
“I make no claims to understanding it. Merely that calling something a party and hoping that young men won’t drink is an odd sort of logic.” Not to mention that she had never been and never would be a debutante. That was reserved for the legitimate daughters of the ton.
“I’m ever hopeful that people will rise to the occasion,” he said as he extended his arm. “I am sorry that you became the victim of my optimism. Are you feeling better?”
“I am,” she said, as she set her fingers to his forearm. This close, she could see he wore linen beneath his breastplate, but the sleeves had been torn away such that his arms were bare. Nothing was between her hand and the warmth of his skin, the wiry touch of his hair, and the pulse of the thick muscles there. It was just a man’s arm, but the feel of it made her cheeks warm with delight.
