She tried to think of male names that started with R. Ronald, Reginal, Ryan, Richard… None fit the extreme power he so naturally embodied. The evident authority made it impossible for her to ask his name. Were they even allowed to share names? Hadrian had, but he didn’t seem like a man who respected many rules.
“You’re staring,” he murmured.
“Sorry.” She dropped her gaze. Heat flooded her cheeks.
“You don’t have to bow your head.” With utter refinement, he lifted her chin, his touch light as a feather but tender enough to cause her breath to hitch.
She looked away, focusing on his shoulder, his collar, anywhere but those impossible eyes.
He pulled her closer, as if excusing her awkwardness and taking mercy on her. Traces of cologne tickled her nose, but beneath it hid something else. The faint trace of whiskey, but also something else. Fresh air, the way it smells after a cooling rain on a warm day. Earthy, as if he were a man who enjoyed being outdoors. Green and growing, visions of wild stalks and vines filled her mind.
The music shifted, slowing for a moment, and she feared the song had ended. She wasn’t ready for their dance to end, didn’t want to see who would claim her next. But the tempo built again, and he matched the rhythm perfectly.
Somehow, impossibly, she matched him.
“You’re a quick learner.”
“You’re a good leader.”
His laugh was soft, almost surprised, as if he hadn’t expected to enjoy this. Honestly, she hadn’t either.
And just as she had the thought, the song ended.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
His hand remained on her waist. His fingers stayed interlaced with hers.
The ballroom shifted as tributes were shuffled into the arms of others, but he had yet to let her go. For a split second, everything else fell away. Distant and unimportant.
“Don’t forget your safe word,” he said, maintaining hold of her hand even as another man appeared at her elbow. He held her hand until she was pulled away, her fingers threading through his, hidden gaze locked with hers.
The next dance swept her in the opposite direction the moment the tempo shifted, spinning her across the floor. When she turned again, he was gone, and the spell was shattered.
After that, she never saw him among the dancers again.
Daisy was passed from one partner to another, spinning through the crowd like a leaf in a storm. The faces blurred in a sea of masks and hands, as voices demanded compliance and whispered sinful things. Some were crude. Some were polite. All of them were hungry. Except for one.
When a man with blond hair and a golden mask shaped as a stag gripped her tightly, she feared she’d found another Hadrian.
“Peter Pangbourne,” he introduced with an amused grin. “And you are absolutely delicious.”
He was younger than the others, closer to her own age, she’d guess. There was an easy confidence about him that bordered on arrogance. His touch was entitled, but there was no malice beneath his polished surface.
“Relax, darling,” he laughed when she stumbled. “Dancing’s like flying.”
“I don’t like flying.”
“You’re thinking too much. Focus on happy thoughts.”
Her thoughts had abandoned her, replaced strictly with observations.
Peter treated the dance like a game, like everything was a game, and she was simply the latest entertainment. He spun her and laughed, amused by his own behavior and more detached than anyone in the room.
At the end of the song, he released her into the arms of someone else without a single goodbye.
Daisy had been passed around so much in such a short time, it was dizzying. The room began to tilt, but the music played on.
Another partner. Another dance. Another set of hands learning the shape of her.
