He harrumphed. “I do not always like the games you play, poppet.”
“Liar.”
“Miss?” The domino she’d smiled at stood before her. He bowed deeply. “Dance, ja?”
“I’d love to.” She gave the Dutchman her hand. “Ta,” she said to John. “Find me when you’re done.”
John scowled, but with a warning look at her partner, he turned on his heel and threaded his way across the ballroom.
She stepped on her partner’s foot. “My apologies,” she said before finding John in the crowd again. Rothchild had disappeared, but John was aiming for the doors he had stood next to.
Her mask concealed her identity and she was in a well-guarded embassy. There was nothing for her to fear, yet still her lungs squeezed when John disappeared from sight. If she told him her history, her fears of being recognized, perhaps he wouldn’t have left her.
If John knew her parentage, how would he react? Would they go on as before? Or would he feel his duty towards her had changed because she was a gentlewoman?
The Dutchman drew her into his arms for a waltz, his cheeks pink beneath his mask. “You enjoy ball?”
“Very much so.” She firmed her arms to put an inch more space between them. She had teased John about wanting to dance, but truly if he wasn’t her partner there wasn’t much joy in it.
The Dutchman hummed the melody as he twirled her about, seemingly happy to let conversation languish. His obvious joy in dancing with her raised her own spirits. John would be back shortly. She was dressed in a fine gown and dancing to a lovely orchestra. She began to hum along, as well.
Her partner pressed his hand to her back and spun her out in time with the music.
She laughed as he pulled her back in.
“Good, ja?” He grinned down at her.
“Very good.”
He spun her out again amid a wave of her giggles. Out and back until her sides hurt from laughing.
“We dance good together,” he said.
The music came to a crescendo, and he spun her out one last time.
Her hand slipped from his and she stumbled into the man next to her. He caught her by her elbows.
“Easy,” he said, his deep voice chilling her to the core.
Netta froze, her mouth open, her pulse racing. Her mind screamed to wrench herself from his hands, to flee, but all she could do was stare into his jade green eyes.
He wore a white mask and a jacket in the same matching silk. His cravat was knotted high on his throat. His thin lips curved.
She knew those lips. That smile. They haunted her dreams.
“How fortunate for me.” Harlow Sudworth, the man who’d changed the course of her life, stood before her. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you all evening, and here you’ve landed right in my arms.”
Chapter Twenty
Netta shook her head, but a monster still filled her vision. Her throat swelled shut; no words could escape.
Not that she had any to say. For once in her life, she was stunned into silence.
The Dutchman bowed to her as the music ended, but she and Sudworth paid him no notice.
“Will you give me your name, or must I wait for a proper introduction?” His voice was serpent-smooth, teasing, and the memory of how charming this man could be chilled her blood. Charming, until he didn’t get his way. Then the fangs popped out.
Her body trembled, and she jerked herself back, away from the threat, and Sudworth narrowed his eyes.
