Her legs shook as she lowered herself into a curtsy. Isaac bowed.
They were both silent.
Isaac’s height had been the first indication of his identity. He towered over her stepfather and his companion, the other Mr. Ellington. Besides his stature, she had immediately recognized his dark hair, his golden-brown eyes behind his mask, and his lips. Four years later, he was still the only man she had ever kissed.
He was still the only man she had ever loved.
It was a secret, a piece of her heart that she rarely revealed to anyone. Her history with Isaac Ellington had held her back from countless opportunities, and she despised him for it. He had broken her heart, yet she had still been unable to forget him.
She had hoped to never see him again, but here he was, and she was reacting exactly the opposite of how she would have wished to.
“Mr. Ellington is an excellent candidate for my club, is he not?” Stepfather could always be relied upon to force a cheerful air into a space where it did not exist. “I expect we should all become more acquainted in the near future.” His chipper tone made her skin simmer with nerves. No. She did not wish to become further acquainted with Isaac Ellington.
She squared her shoulders and drew a slow breath, correcting her expression despite the turmoil within her. She needed to prove that he did not affect her. She didn’t want him to think that he still had any sort of hold on her after so many years. How weak. How pathetic and silly she would look if he knew that he was the reason she had never married. He had broken her beyond repair, and before that, he had set a standard for what her heart was capable of feeling for a man. That standard had never been reached, not once in her mother’s efforts to keep her in the marriage mart. But when Lord Blackstone became her stepfather two years before, he had thought himself capable of finding her a match.
And now, he had almost succeeded.
“Ah, there you are, Miss Hale.” A jovial voice came from the stairs behind her. “Did you forget that you promised me a dance?” Sophia was rarely eager to see Lord Finchley, but this was an exception.
The tension deflated from her body as she turned away from Isaac, taking Lord Finchley’s outstretched arm. “Of course not. I have been looking forward to it.”
The earl was dressed in a sapphire blue coat, peacock feathered mask, and polished black boots. His blond curls spilled from behind his mask, coiled and shaped by an attentive valet. His arrogant smile was nothing compared to that of Mr. Percy Ellington, who craned his neck in search of her sister, no doubt. At least Lord Finchley was a respectable gentleman, one who seemed to have a genuine interest in marriage.
Mr. Percy Ellington’s interest in her sister had been troubling her for weeks. Sophia could sense a fortune-hunting rake from miles away, but Prudence was still too young to have developed such a talent.
When Sophia had first become acquainted with Mr. Percy Ellington, she had wondered if he was a relative of Isaac’s, but tonight it had been confirmed. As a result, she now had even more evidence to suggest that Prudence should stay away from Percy. If he was any relative of Isaac’s, then he was not to be trusted with something as fragile as Prudence’s young heart.
“Please excuse us,” Sophia muttered in no particular direction as Lord Finchley led her down the staircase. Her heart still hammered. She felt as if she had been thrown into the sea, cold and shocked and drowning. Her lungs struggled for air as the image of Isaac’s face seared itself behind her eyelids. The candles blurred together in streams of light, the emerald tones of the gowns and capes of the room lumping together.
“Are you unwell?” Lord Finchley’s voice was just as muffled as the rest.
Sophia swallowed hard, gathering her composure. “No, I am quite well.” She would need to focus in order to remember the steps of the dance. She couldn’t risk ruining Lord Finchley’s opinion of her. She had already made up her mind to marry him if the opportunity arose, so she couldn’t allow a chance meeting with a man from her past to sabotage her. She was three and twenty after all. Much of society considered the failed Seasons of her past a hinderance to her future success. She was halfway on the shelf already, and Lord Finchley might notice if she wasn’t careful.
Situated at the center of the room, she and the earl began their dance. Her mind raced with distraction. Her skin burned beneath her mask, and she made the mistake of looking toward the balcony.
Isaac stood at the base of the stairs now. He held his mask in one hand, his face in clear view.
Sophia bumped into Lord Finchley, stepping firmly on the toe of his polished left boot.
“Oof,” he grunted in pain, bending over at the waist. He recovered quickly, leading her into the next steps of the dance. She stumbled again as she struggled to catch up to his movements. Her throat was tight. She had never danced so horribly in her life, and she never would have dared to make such a mistake while dancing with an earl.
Aunt Hester, seated against the wall, watched from behind the thick glass of her spectacles. Her hand froze— a cube of cheese an inch from her parted lips.
Sophia’s mortification rose at Lord Finchley’s pained expression. He was clearly embarrassed to be dancing with her. She gritted her teeth, finally reclaiming her wits enough to finish the final steps without error. Her heart sank as she made her final curtsy. Surely an earl of thirty-six years hadn’t waited solong to marry only to select a wife who couldn’t perform a simple dance.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You were right. I am not well.” It was the only excuse she could give.
Lord Finchley’s expression transformed to a look of concern. “I knew my intuition was correct. I shall fetch you a cup of water at once.” He bowed before striding toward the drink table.
Sophia caught her breath, but the room was still spinning. Her relationship with Lord Finchley had finally caught the attention of theton, and there was enough gossip to suggest that he might offer a proposal soon. Had her inadequacy that night changed his decision at all? Time would tell. Her nerves refused to settle as she felt Isaac’s gaze on the side of her face, burning a hole through her mask. It was his fault she had forgotten the steps.
Fear crept into her heart as he took a step toward her. Was he…was he coming to speak with her? She choked on a breath. She couldn’t face him yet. She wasn’t prepared.
Panic seized her muscles, and she walked in a straight line toward the door.
She was unfamiliar with this particular townhouse, but most of the London interiors were consistent and predictable. There had to be a room with an unlocked door somewhere in the corridor. A study, morning room, drawing room—anything. Her skirts rustled almost soundlessly, but the faux arrows in her quiver clattered together in the silence of the corridor as she made her way to the nearest room. She turned the brass knob and slipped inside.
The moment the door was closed, she leaned against the wall. She could only take a few moments for herself—just enough time to collect her emotions. Prudence needed her, especially with their half-blind aunt as her chaperone. Aunt Hester wouldn’t beable to tell Prudence apart from any other ladies in the room, not with all of them masked.
