Chapter Four

A fter Seth had left Blythe with Tessa and her husband, he ventured into the card room to see who was playing. Even though everyone was masked, there were few people who he did not know. That was mainly because he recognized not only how they played but the rings worn on their fingers.

It was his intention to stand back and observe the games, but his attention was drawn away when a vision in emerald silk stepped through the door. Golden curls tumbled about her shoulders, some caressing the swell of her ample breasts. Seductive coral lips nearly beckoned him even though no words were spoken.

He could not take his eyes off her as she wandered the card room and then exited. For a moment he thought that maybe it was Frances as the lips were similar, as were her mannerisms and the way she walked, but Seth was too afraid to hope. He knew that Frances could not have afforded to attend this charity ball, nor would she ever wear a gown with sleeves that were off her shoulders and the bodice cut in a manner to tantalize every gentleman with a pulse. Every gown he had ever seen her in was always modest and more suited for a matron, not a beautiful young woman.

Besides, her family had returned to Yorkshire that very morning.

Then he paused. He had only assumed she’d left with them. What if she remained in London?

With those thoughts, he watched and then followed the two women as they exited, enjoying the sway of green silk and recalled a conversation from long ago.

“I hate that my wardrobe must be only whites and pastels,” Frances grumbled as they painted the cottage library a bold blue. She had only been seventeen and making plans because her uncle hoped to provide her with a Season the following year.

“When you are older you can wear crimson if you like, but others will gossip if you do so as a miss embarking on her first Season.”

“However, that will not stop me from wearing a bold color while out in Society, even if nobody will see it.”

Seth had been confused because he couldn’t imagine what she could mean. Stockings were not usually seen, though a foot was sometimes viewed so if she were wearing a bold color, others would take note.

“Garters!” she announced.

Seth had nearly stumbled from the ladder at her pronouncement.

“I shall wear emerald garters under every gown.”

“Emerald,” he had echoed.

“Of course, it is my favorite color.”

He wanted the woman to be Franny. Nobody else had ever stirred his desire this quickly. It was also the very reason that he had to at least dance with her.

As soon as the two women stopped, he approached. Seth could have spoken, but he would rather simply enjoy her beauty without the disturbance of words. Her eyes were the familiar brown that he had looked into so often, but it also was not an unusual color, so he tried not to hope that it was her. Oh, how he wished masks had only been necessary to cover the eyes and not most of the face because he needed to know for certain that it was Frances with whom he danced.

Each time their hands touched or arms entwined he became acutely aware of her and even more certain of her identity. Every sense of his being came alive. Never had he been affected in such a way by a simple country dance and no woman had ever caused such awareness except for Franny.

As the music came to a stop, Seth bowed and the mysterious woman curtseyed. With a small smile and slight nod, she turned and walked away from him. It took everything within his being not to grasp her hand to keep her from leaving his side while he whisked her off to a place where they could be alone so that he could remove the mask, but he did not dare. What if it wasn’t her but someone else?

Then she joined Tessa and His Grace, where Blythe also stood, which meant the other woman with her was Lady Bethany, who Frances had been with last night.

Seth slowly smiled as he would not need to travel to Yorkshire after all, and he most certainly would dance with Franny again tonight.

Frances could not help but smile as she made her way to where Bethany stood with Tessa and His Grace.

“Who was that?” Bethany asked.

“I have no idea, but he dances marvelously.”

“I do not believe I have ever seen you dance before,” Tessa observed.

“That is because I was rarely asked and it has been three years, I believe, since I have done so.”

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

“I was, very much so.” She nearly laughed then searched the crowd for her troubadour until she found him near the refreshment table. When he noted that she watched, he lifted his glass as if toasting her.

She needed to know who he was and even though she had intended to be gone before masks were removed, she might just remain so she could look upon what she was certain was a handsome face.

With a sigh, she turned back to her employers and friends and noted the medieval woman. “Have introductions been made?”

“I assume you know my identity,” Tessa answered. “However, my friend wishes to remain anonymous.”

“It is still a pleasure to meet you,” Frances greeted the woman.

She simply smiled and nodded.

Other gentlemen came forward and asked her to dance and Frances happily took to the floor and found herself enjoying the ball very much. Some flirted, others were bold, some asked her to slip away, and some were shy. Never had she received so much attention and she could only assume that it was because nobody knew who she was, or how poor her family was, but appreciated what they could see. Several glances strayed from her eyes or lips and to her breasts and each time it happened, Frances became more self-conscious while at the same time, enjoying the power she held over gentlemen finding her attractive.

However, none of them interested her nearly as much as the troubadour and Frances found herself often searching for him among the crowd. A few times she would see him and at other times he seemed to have disappeared and she feared that he might leave before she got the chance to see his face and then, just before midnight, as a waltz was about to begin, he was standing before her and held out a hand.

Without thought, she placed her hand in his and allowed the troubadour to lead her once again to the dance floor. She curtsied and he bowed, and then his hand was on her waist while the other held her hand. Frances grasped his shoulder just as they stepped. With each turn, the troubadour pulled her closer and closer, which would have been scandalous at any other ball but it appeared as if several rules were bent while in disguise.

Frances’ blood heated, her skin tingled and her body seemed to come alive and ached with longing.

The same had only happened to her with one person—Seth. Slowly she looked up and met his familiar blue eyes and as much as Frances wanted to deny who held her in his arms, she could not.

Was he even aware of whom he danced with?

Her entire face was covered except for her lips, so it was likely he did not even know.

Panic spread through her being with what would happen when he did realize who she was.

She had to get away before the masks were removed. Seth had promised to never acknowledge her. What would his reaction be to finding he waltzed with her?

And, what of her reputation?

No, hers would not be harmed. This was a masquerade so she could not be blamed for dancing with a rogue because she had not known who he was.

But how did she get away before he recognized her?