"There will be no prince, Nancy. Only an evening's respite from reality." Lavinia allowed her fingers to brush the silk of the dress, marveling at its softness. "One dance, perhaps. That's all."
"One dance," Nancy echoed, her smile knowing. She reached for the pins in Lavinia's hair. "Now, let's see what we can do with these brown locks of yours. The Duchess of Lushton's masquerade awaits, and we have a transformation to complete."
Lavinia surrendered to her friend's ministrations with a deep sigh.Just one night,and then back to reality before the clock strikes twelve.
Lavinia stepped into the ballroom and immediately felt as though she'd wandered into a dream from her past life. “Breathe,” she commanded herself.It's only a ball. Only the world you once belonged to, now viewing you as an intruder.
She touched the emerald mask secured over her eyes, drawing comfort from its concealment. Behind this shield, no one could see Lady Lavinia Pembroke, daughter of the late earl, reduced to taking in mending to support herself and her sister. They saw only a mystery—a woman in green silk who might be anyone at all.
Perhaps Nancy was right, she thought, watching the dancers with a pang of remembered pleasure.Perhaps I did need this, if only to remember.
A footman offered champagne from a silver tray, and she accepted. Then Lavinia skirted the edge of the ballroom, preferring observation to participation. The mask granted her a peculiar freedom; she could watch openly, critically, without concern for how her expressions might be interpreted.
"May I have this dance?" A gentleman in a crimson mask and matching waistcoat materialized at her side, hand extended expectantly.
"Thank you, but I'm merely observing this evening," she replied with a polite smile.
He tried again, commenting on the excellence of the orchestra, but Lavinia maintained her refusal. After he departed, twomore gentlemen approached in quick succession. Each time, she declined with increasingly creative excuses.
"I find my slippers are not suited to the rigors of a country dance."
"I've promised my next three dances to my companion, who appears to have been delayed."
"I fear I'm still recovering from a twisted ankle. Most inconvenient timing."
She was just congratulating herself on her ingenuity when a voice rang out above the music.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the final waltz before the unmasking!" The master of ceremonies gestured grandly to the orchestra, who readied their instruments.
A momentary hush fell over the gathering as couples began forming for this last dance. Lavinia glanced at the ornate clock on the far wall—a quarter to midnight. Time for her to slip away, before curious eyes could peer beneath her mask. She set her empty champagne flute on a passing tray and turned toward the doorway.
"Leaving so soon?"
The voice came from just behind her right shoulder—deep, resonant, with a hint of amusement that seemed directed not ather, but at the entire glittering assemblage around them. Lavinia turned to find herself facing a broad chest clad in impeccable black evening wear, forcing her to tilt her chin upward to meet the stranger's gaze.
His mask was simple, elegant—black with subtle silver accents that caught the light when he moved. Unlike the ornate disguises favored by most of the gentlemen present, it covered only his eyes and the bridge of his nose, leaving visible a mouth that curved at an angle that hinted at amusement and extraordinary moments.
"The final waltz is beginning," he said, extending a hand toward her. "Will you do me the honor?"
Lavinia's instinct was to refuse, as she had all evening. But something in his direct gaze, in the confidence of his stance that nonetheless stopped short of arrogance, made her hesitate.
I came to remember.One dance before I disappear again.
"Very well," she said, placing her gloved fingers in his palm. "Though I warn you, I'm woefully out of practice."
The instant their hands touched, Lavinia felt an unexpected jolt of awareness travel up her arm. His fingers closed around hers with a gentle firmness that somehow conveyed both respect and an unmistakable attraction. She drew in a sharp breath as he guided her to the dance floor.
"Out of practice?" he murmured as they took their positions. "Somehow I doubt that very much."
The music began, and they moved into the waltz. His hand at her waist was steady, proper, and yet Lavinia felt it as distinctly as if it had been placed against bare skin rather than silk. She struggled to remember the last time a simple touch had affected her so strongly.
"Do you enjoy balls, my mysterious lady in green?" he asked as they turned in perfect time to the music.
"They are lovely illusions, nothing more," she replied, surprised by her own candor.
His eyebrow raised above the edge of his mask. "Illusions?"
"Certainly. Masks or no masks, isn't that what society always is? Everyone playing parts, hiding their true natures behind proper words and artful smiles."
