Chapter 4

Four

WAYLAND'S, LONDON - JUNE 5, 1816

WILLIAM

I spun slowly, certain I would be faced with a phantom. It would be some other lady behind me. Or, if it was her, she would not be nearly as enchanting up close.

I was wrong.

The light that spilled from inside the hell through gauzy curtains was minimal, but the moon was full and the clouds had parted after an earlier rain. It was more than sufficient to see, even without my spectacles.

Every attempt to convince myself that her beauty was a lie had been a pitiful exercise. She was breathtaking. She stood before me, her hands clasped in front of her gown. A gift wrapped in the finest of silks, her gilded mask the bow on top.

She called herself a lady and that was evident in her carriage and gown. Not just anyone could afford fabrics that fine nor the pins scattered in her hair topped with glittering stones that caught the light.

A frown graced her face once again. It was a sharp reminder that I'd been staring, awestruck and silent, for far too long.

I exhaled, breathing a minuscule bit of my anxiety into the night. And then I replied, praying it would be the least bit sensible. "I'll make a note. Smiles for a set. What does it mean when a lady follows you onto an abandoned balcony?"

An unexpected laugh burst from her. Her hand found her chest, where she traced a glinting chain that dipped beneath the bodice of her gown.

"In my experience, it means she intends to seduce you," she retorted, her voice was full, midrange and sensual.

She was a forward one. There were no unintelligible riddles to decipher here. I feigned a casual air, leaning back against the rail. My success was debatable, but at least she did not laugh outright. "And in this instance?"

Her slippered feet were tiny when they took a step forward. With another, she positioned herself beside me. She braced herself on the balustrade with her forearms, preserving her gown. Her forearms were bare.

Now close enough to touch, her scent enveloped me. A warm, spiced vanilla overpowered the suddenly cloying cacophony of flowers below.

"Perhaps a conversation? A set? I hadn't intended a seduction." She turned her head toward me, capturing my gaze.

Now that I could see clearly, I was certain. This was no debutante; she was a woman grown.

Amusement crinkled at the corners of her eyes, barely visible at the edges of her mask. But those lines were a worn and familiar track across her skin.

"Tragedy," I replied boldly. My heart tripped when my head caught up with my mouth. But what good was a masquerade if I couldn't be someone different tonight? Someone better, braver. Someone worthy of such a lady's flirtation.

Her shoulder brushed against mine in a motion that could only have been deliberate.

"I haven't ruled it out entirely," she teased, a smile crossing her lips.

I raised a brow in deliberate interest. Of course, I had no way of knowing how effective the effort was with the mask.

"You do not attend these events often," she added, moving to slightly safer topics.

"No, not if I can help it."

"What happened tonight?"

"The devil's schemes. It's the only explanation." That earned me a smile and another shoulder bump.

I considered for a moment, before deciding to get the next bit out of the way so she could be off. Then I could nurse my disappointment in silence.

"Wayland and Ainsley are clients of mine. It's good for business. And my friend's sister is dragging him about to every single lady within until one agrees to wed him. I'm moral support, I suppose."

"A tradesman? I am intrigued. What do you do?" Her gaze was thoughtful as she eyed me.

"Really?" I asked, incredulity seeping into my tone. "I expected that to send you running back inside."

"You did not answer my question. And I'm still here." Low and provocative, her voice was so different from the childlike ramblings of her .

This lady's accent was slightly stiff, formal, as if it were an affectation. Interesting .

"Isn't that the point of a masquerade? The mystery."

"Evasive," she pointed out. "Not my favorite quality in a man. Still, I'll allow it. Until midnight." The scold was brief, airy, and there was no heat behind it.

"I'm an open book. What do you wish to know?"

"Your occupation, sir."

"Your guess, first," I retorted.

She straightened, half turning to face me. Her gaze dipped to begin at my toes before sliding up my legs, then to my waist. There was a tightening in my breeches due entirely to her scrutiny and I could only pray it wasn't evident in the dim light.

Her preoccupation was an opportunity to study her as well. She was thin but her arms and shoulders were muscular. She carried herself with strength too. Clearly she had other interests outside of those usually afforded to ladies.

She was as small as I'd thought, and I had a few inches on her.

Light spilled through the doors and window catching in her curls. Up close, I noted the gold strands were tamed with amethyst pins. Swirls of honey, caramel, sand, and ice, mixed to form golden, champagne ribbons.

The skin of her neck and chest looked velvety soft and my fingers itched to brush across it.

Her lower lip was just slightly fuller than the upper and it was quirked in a half smile. And her eyes awaited mine. They were more olive for the dim lighting.

She was amused. That was clear from her expression and I felt the blush forming, but there was nothing to be done for it. Besides, she ogled me first.

"Solicitor."

My brow lifted of its own volition, impressed. "I must know how you found me out."

"A lady must have her secrets, sir."

"What if I guess one of yours?"

"Be my guest. Only your best shot, of course." She could not possibly suspect my military service. Not from just this.

The desire to impress her welled within me. She had danced with at least two gentlemen, so she was likely unwed. Her countenance was lived in. She was no newly presented debutant. That left her as an independently wealthy lady or a widow of means. While I was generally socially inept, even I knew not to mention deceased husbands when flirting.

"Do you acquiesce?" She questioned, offering me my answer. Something about the way her lips pursed forming the word…

"You're French."

"Remarkable," she confirmed.

"How did you know my profession?"

She smirked, mischievous behind her mask. "I hope you will not consider it outside the bounds of gameplay. You mentioned your friend's sister was dragging him about, matchmaking. That could be none other than Lady Grayson. The matchmaker is always my dearest Kate. Which made your friend her brother, Lord Leighton, whom I know to be a solicitor. While I had already supposed solicitor, I also noticed that you have ink in your nail beds. It was a safe guess."

"We never established rules. I am impressed."

"Was the way I said acquiesce what gave me away?" she asked.

"It was. And your accent, there is something forced about it."

"That is a disappointment. I thought it was quite natural."

"I have one for you. If Lady Grayson is always matchmaking, why is she not trying to match you ?"

I earned a half-hearted chuckle. "Oh, she has tried. Though, I suspect she has washed her hands of me."

"Why is that?" I had missed the slight stiffening with my last question, but now she turned statue-like beside me—her smile nowhere to be found.

"Are you trying to determine what, precisely, is wrong with me?"

I bit back a curse. How had I managed to butcher this? "No! Of course not. I was, rather clumsily, trying to determine your marital status."

"I see…" She drew the word out, long and slow. "What were you intending to do with that information? Once you had gathered it?"

"Probably find a different manner in which to bungle this."

She huffed a single chuckle. "I have no present attachments you need be concerned with."

That was very precise language.

"Do you, sir? That is, do you have any attachments at present?"

Sallow, impossibly pale skin, charcoal hair, and sunken eyes, the clearest of blue, flitted through my mind. It was strange. I had thought of her more this evening than I had in months. My instinct was a decisive yes, but… Was it ever really an attachment? And if it was… it had been seven years.

"The question was not meant to be a trick," she added.

"No, I have no attachments."

"Are you certain? The answer required a great deal of consideration."

"I have never been wed," I assured her.

Her eyes narrowed behind the mask, studying me, testing the truth of my statement. Perhaps she parsed my own overly exacting language. She returned to her perch against the railing, this time leaning her back against it, risking the delicate fabric of her gown.

"I see. No attachments for either of us. I ask again, what did you intend to do with that information once gleaned?" Her bare hand settled against the railing. Her littlest finger an inch, maybe less, from my own. My skin hummed with interest at her proximity.

"I don't… I hadn't considered that far." Jade eyes bored into the side of my head. The flush was sliding down my neck now. She straightened abruptly.

How had I ruined it this time?

"You're shy!"

"What? No!" I protested.

"No, you are. That is delightful." Even though it was at my expense, her grin was infectious. "You were all right at first, when you were peeved with me. And when we were playing our game. But now that you've established that I'm flirting with you..."

"Are you?" I asked before I could think better of it.

"Am I what?"

"Flirting with me?"

"You cannot tell? I am losing my touch. I suppose I should make it more obvious then." Her hand slid atop mine. Soft, gentle fingers slotted between my own, pressing us both into the rail below.

My stomach gave a pleased flip.

There was something lovely about the sight of her small, well-manicured fingers separated by my blunt ones. My nail beds were perpetually stained with ink, and they stood in contrast with her immaculate ones.

Summoning my bravery, I asked, "What else is involved? With the flirting? I want to be sure to do it properly."

It occurred to me in that moment that I'd never really bothered with flirting. When I met her , I was too young, too naive, and too much of a dolt to attempt it. And when I found her again… well, there was no point in flirting.

It wasn't even an atrophied muscle, my attempted flirtation; it was one I'd never used at all. For the first time I wished I had exercised it.

"That was an excellent start," she offered. "I am especially vain and susceptible to compliments. Perhaps you should try there."

"Oh, but I should like to tread new ground. You are so lovely, I doubt there is a compliment in existence that you have not received already." The praise spilled out so easily, so naturally, that it required no thought at all.

"Well done, you!"

I had intended it as fact, not flirtation, but she was pleased with my success.

"I appreciate the effort. Shall I speak plainly and stop this torturous assignment?"

"Yes, please."

Her laugh was genuine and unaffected. "Very well. I hope you do not think too poorly of me after I have finished. Where to begin… I am a widow, one who has been more than two years without a… companion. Tonight, I am feeling especially lonesome. You are particularly handsome. And there's something about a masquerade… So, if you'd like, I can return inside, leave you to your hedgerow skulk?—"

"Don't!"

She smiled, satisfied with my outburst. "We could also continue our lessons in the art of flirtation. Or—and this is my preference—we can determine if our interest is mutual and something more than intellectual."

She could not possibly mean…

"It is. Mutual I mean." She pressed herself off the railing, leaving my hand bereft of her warmth.

I did not have long to mourn its absence before that same hand cupped my jaw, drawing me down to her.

"Well then. I suppose all that is left is to see if this is a purely scholarly attraction."

The hand cupping my jaw held me steady as she shifted to her toes. Too afraid to move, to shatter this illusion, I waited as she closed the distance. My eyes fluttered shut as her impossibly soft lips met mine. Pressing once, twice before she tilted my jaw to suit her needs and settled into the kiss with the quietest of moans.

Blood rushed through my ears, throbbing with my pounding heart. A second, perhaps two passed without comprehension. Then the reality of the situation came into sharp focus. The most beautiful woman I had ever seen was kissing me.

And I was disappointing her.

Frantic to prove myself, my hand moved to her waist of its own volition and instinct took over. My free hand found the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Not close enough. The one on her waist tugged too.

Finally, I had all of her, every beautiful inch, pressed against me. Soft curves found a home, purchase, against my chest. Lips parted, breath mingled, and tongues danced, and I wanted more . More of this. More of her.

More of everything.