Following the line of his figure down, she noted dark green attire that matched his mask. Even knowing she was there, he kept his focus on the book, and Phoebe was more curious than ever to know what had captured his attention so thoroughly.
She pressed her nose to the wooden lattice and scrunched her eyes even further to get a better glimpse. Phoebe’s eyes roved over the page, trying to make out words?—
He took her in his embrace, his hands skimming her naked curves?—
Phoebe immediately lifted her gaze, though her face flushed.
“I am sorry,” she said quickly, stumbling as she backed into the other side of the privacy chamber. “I shall leave you to your reading?—”
“My reading? Does it disturb you that I peruse this text which speaks of pleasures of the flesh?” The voice returned. She couldhear a hint of amusement coloring the tone. “What is wrong? Why do you feel you must scurry away? Many ladies who come to Lord Spencer’s Masquerades are not so afraid of such topics.”
Phoebe stilled. She pressed her hand to her heart and inhaled slowly. She willed her pulse to return to a normal speed so that she might be capable of answering the gentleman, but her heart continued to beat erratically.
I do not know what is wrong with me.
She was thrown by his seemingly simple questions. When she was in the privacy of her own room, at her parents’ townhouse, Phoebe had often read novels that were filled with scenes like the ones in the gentleman’s book.
Yes, and if I were at home, sheltered behind my bed curtains, and away from prying eyes, it would be acceptable for me to peruse such bawdy plotlines and dream of what might happen between a gentleman and a lady.
But here…? In the library at Lord Spencer’s home?
Phoebe was scandalized. She knew not what to do next. It occurred to her that she should saysomething,but what could she say to a gentleman who read these texts then sought to speak of them with a young lady he did not know?
“I am guessing by your silence that this is your first time at such a ball like Lord Spencer’s,” the voice said. “You know, of course, that Spencer is not his true name?”
With a tight throat, Phoebe said, “I am aware that nobody ought to give their true names here.”
A low, deep chuckle came in response. “I do not care for such anonymity. If a person cannot be themselves at all times, then they ought to change their ways, not their name.”
Phoebe swallowed hard, feeling so much like an outsider. His quiet laugh mocked her. “Nonetheless, I am sorry I interrupted, but I must take my leave. You were clearly seeking solitude so that you might read your book without interruption. Or you were expecting another person and…”
She knew that she was rambling slightly. Nervous butterflies flitted through her stomach as she waited, once more, to hear him speak and tell her why he had truly come to this room and positioned himself so that he might hide from everyone else.
Her eyes lifted to that latticed partition. Phoebe felt a desperate need to learn the identity of the man who read such daring things on the other side.
He said he did not care to remain anonymous, so I am not violating his privacy by trying to catch a glimpse.
Cautiously, she leaned forward and laid a gloved hand on one of the wooden slats.
Oh, how I wish I could pry this flimsy structure apart and see who is really hiding behind those reptilian scales.
The idea of learning this gentleman’s real name overwhelmed Phoebe. She no longer cared what might be happening in the ballroom nor did she spare a thought for the lascivious acts that might be entertaining those flippant partygoers who had daringly entered the red ribbon rooms. Now, she could only think of the man who was divided from her by the partition.
Perhaps he is someone like me, she thought, and then chased that notion away. But then, another idea rose to replace the first:This is someone who might have to read in secret.
“I was only waiting for somebody eager to listen,” the stranger answered, that velvety voice dropping even further. “The Blooming Flower of Spring,” he quoted, and she saw the brief brush of fingers over a title page to tell her further. “Have you ever heard of it?”
And, Heavens, in all her time of reading such material, material that had made her very being sing, Phoebe had to confess, “No, I have not.”
“A shame. It is a good title so far.” He shifted his position in the chair and looked up at her. The green scales near the eyeholes of the mask sparkled as he said, “I am sure you can only read bitsand pieces from your vantage point. Would you like me to read aloud so that we may share this text together?”
Phoebe paused. Her face flamed hot as her lower lip caught between her teeth in both hesitation and allure. She could not fathom a response, not yet.
Before she could utter a single word, the masked stranger continued in a sultry tone, “The point of Lord Spencer’s Masquerade is for the guests to enjoy themselves freely. Surely you want to hear me read a passage?”
Phoebe’s heart rate accelerated once more. She was already intoxicated by the sound of the man’s voice. She could not fathom what would happen to her if she stood still and listened to him read aloud those scenes of seduction.
When she said nothing, he continued speaking in a low, husky voice. “Nobody has to learn about it. Even the two of us know very little about each other because of this very convenient wall which separates us. As much as it would please me to see your face and reveal my own, I respect the ways of this event. We will remain anonymous.”
