“This isnotmy idea of fun.”
“It will be once I’ve kissed you.”
Although Cecily had hoped William had grown out of being the scoundrel he had once been, she had not come unprepared. Her maid, at her request, had pinned her hair up with several large hairpins, one of which she withdrew now, jamming it into the fleshy part of his arm. He howled and leapt back, colliding with the wall and almost sliding behind the curtains. A few masked guests looked around, but the purpose of a masquerade was not so they could become involved with another’s business, and they quickly turned away again.
“Donotthink you can touch me without my permission,” she said with all the cold dignity she could muster. “Or you may be certain I’ll do that again.”
“What thedevilwas that for?” he hissed, clutching his arm. It was bleeding, she noted dispassionately. “You’ve ruined my best coat!”
“Well, then. Next time, I hope you’ll accept a lady’s refusal when she gives it.” Cecily turned and surveyed the crowd, keeping her head high as she located her second mistake of the evening.
Stabbing her only method of returning home.
If she had fully thought this through, she would have procured an alternate method of travelling home. William’s ego would not take her besting him lightly, and he was definitely not enough of a gentleman to escort her back home. At least, not without her relinquishing something in return.
Not for the first time, she wished Percy had been available to escort her instead. With him, she could be safe, at liberty to enjoy the dancing and the thrill without fear. Her lip quivered, and she tilted her chin up higher.
A figure emerged from the gloom beside her, and she started, thinking for a moment it was William. But no: this figure was far taller and broader, and instead of wearing a black mask as William had done, his was white and feathered, just like hers. Her gaze dropped to his hands, and she frowned. They looked familiar—ones she had seen around a book recently; ones that she had imagined pressed against her skin.
“Bravo,” Percy said, nodding to William. “A truly magnificent performance.”
There could be no mistaking it. Percy washere. Percy, her husband, whom she haddistinctlyheard saying had an engagement tonight. Could he have meant this? Or did he arrive because he thought she wanted him to?
The question was, did he recognise her?
The spark in his eyes told her that he did. And he was waiting to take his lead from her—whether she confessed to recognising him, or whether they would continue as strangers.
The thought appealed. No history between them, no resentment, none of the difficulties that had plagued their marriage since its outset. If she could pretend she did not know him, would she like him?
So she tilted her head and smiled. “I like to think I am not a lady to be trifled with.”
“I would be tempted to agree.”
“I don’t suppose you would like to dance?”
He stepped a little closer, the difference in height between them so achingly familiar. “Would you?”
“Yes. You see, unfortunately my former partner is indisposed.”
Percy turned his amused glance after William, who was storming away through the crowd. A lady in a provocative dress attempted to stand in his way, fluttering her fan at him, but he shoved her aside. A surprise, given his tastes, but clearly he was in a rage.
“I cannot think it too much of a shame,” he said. “Your former partner does not strike me as an agreeable gentleman.”
“He was not,” she said with feeling, casting another glance at Percy, certain he had seen the whole sorry affair and knew precisely who William was.
“Then may I say how relieved I am to hear you are no longer in his clutches.”
“I have not been for a while.”
He eyed her thoughtfully, then smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.” He held out his hand to her. “Your dance, ma’am.”
She accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her into the middle of the floor. A Viennese waltz was playing, and she felt a little flutter of nerves as he laid his hand on her waist. “My hairpin is very accessible,” she warned him.
He chuckled, low under his breath. “I doubt anyone who saw you in action would ever consider you an easy target, my dear.”
“May I have a name to call you by?”
His hesitation was so slight, she barely felt it, and then he nodded, leaning in a little closer. “Why not Odysseus? You could be Circe.”
