Being swept into his arms without so much as a how-do-you-do had crowned a fantasy she hadn’t realized she’d been keeping. It was as if she had been waiting for that moment her whole life. To be desired so completely that not even a moment could be wasted on words.
Hot, shattering kisses were the only conversation they required. Raw, desperate, honest. A claiming and a submission melded into one.
And now, the night had been set to music.
The effect was magical. Waltzing with Max in this ballroom made her feel as though they had been transported to another world. It was unlike any other dance she’d ever performed.
Perhaps because with him, she wasn’t performing. She wanted to be here. Wanted to be withhim. It felt like all the other dances she’d ever suffered through had been practice for this moment.
She had no need to count the beats in order to match her feet with his. They were of one rhythm. Their bodies cleaved together into a single form as though they shared a single heartbeat. She could not hide her quickness of breath at sharing this masquerade with him.
Her pulse had been skittering with excitement and trepidation since she’d woken up that morning. Consumed with fear that he would not show. Or certainty that he would.
That his first act had been to kiss her in greeting should not have come as a surprise. He was a grantor of wishes. No greater desire filled her heart than for her lips to be tasting his.
For now, she would settle for dancing.
Max’s strong arms swirled her through the crowd. “How long has Lambley been doing this?”
“Forever, I think.” She let the sound of the orchestra fill her heart. “The masquerades were already an open secret before my come-out.”
He stroked her hand with his thumb. “Is it what you expected?”
“More,” she answered honestly.
The duke’s residence was as enormous as rumored, and filled to capacity. Thrice as many elegant lords and ladies swirled beneath the crystal chandeliers than would fit in Almack’s assembly rooms.
Lambley, of course, was instantly identifiable. He never wore a mask. Bryony could not help but wonder if he saw through her peacock feathers to the breathless, giddy woman beneath.
Other guests she recognized because their masks were token at best, or their voice and manner gave them away. A constant hum of chatter buzzed amongst the crowd. Even though neither she nor Max appeared to have any inclination to waste this moment with conversation, a never-ending stream of friendly faces wished them well or raised their glasses in their direction.
At first, she was charmed. The deafening cheer when she’d entered the room had been marvelous. No one knew who she was, yet all were delighted to see her. It seemed fitting that the mood in the ballroom should be festive and celebratory. Heaven knew she herself felt like cheering any time Max pulled her into his arms or lowered his lips to hers.
It took a moment to realize that the random toasts from the crowd did not elicit the same response in Max.
Because she knew him with and without his mask, she sifted through the observable facts to determine why.
In this setting, poets, rakes, and earls treated Max like one of their own. Doe-eyed countesses and expensive demimondaines alike cast flirtatious glances at him from behind their masks. He was not an outcast, but someone to be welcomed with open arms.
And it infuriated him.
Here amidst the gilt and splendor of a ducal estate, he was finally as good as any other… but only because he had hidden his true self.
The masks no longer seemed so charming.
Bryony’s heart twisted for the proud, stoic man who continued to lead her about the dance floor. Threading their way through an entire ballroom full of people who would not acknowledge him if they had met anywhere else.
She squeezed his hand in hers as they swirled amongst them.
Snobs and dandies were the ones who should attempt to live up to Max’s level, not the other way around.
She tried to imagine what it would be like to waltz with him without masks in a salon as crowded as this.
In what world would it be possible? Would part of him have to crumble inside in order to even try?
Her stomach twisted. He was not the one who ought to change.
Nothing he could do would make him into an idle lordling, and there was no reason to pretend.
