“Ah, but I will brandish my pistols and shoot anyone who dares look at my lovely partner. That is certain to keep my character as blackened as ever.”
The Mystery Lady let out a humming chuckle, and David couldn’t help but smile at the sound.
“So, what say you?” he asked, nodding at the dancers. “If you cannot fatten my purse, you might as well entertain me for a few minutes.”
“I fear I am not dancing tonight. My costume doesn’t allow it.”
David glanced between the dancers, skipping about to the bright reel, and the lady’s delicate shawl draped in a manner that was unlikely to hold given the rigorousness of the steps. And considering his heavy coat, mask, and hat, David knew just how uncomfortable a rousing dance was in the rig. He’d barely kept his pistols in place when he’d stood up with Miss Jennings; they were forever attempting to slide down his trouser leg.
Clearly, both he and the Mystery Lady ought to have planned better for their fancy dress. But heaven smiled upon ridiculous gentlemen at times, for at that very moment, the last strains of the song ended, and the next dance was called.
“Come now, a waltz is unlikely to unsettle either of us.” Then, sweeping off his hat in a courtly bow, he added, “Please, my dear lady, do me the great honor of standing up with me.”
“I thought this was to be recompense for some imagined debt I owe you.”
David straightened and plunked his hat back on his head with a laugh.
“You are right, of course. Do forgive me if my highwayman manners are lacking.” Wrenching a pistol free of his sash so he had both in his hands once more, David leveled them at the Mystery Lady. “Now see here, woman. You’re going to stand up with me, and you’re going to enjoy it.”
“When threatening my person with toys is the only way in which you can secure a dance? Highly unlikely. It doesn’t speak well of your lightness of foot.”
David stifled a laugh and nudged her towards the dancers. “Come now, accept your fate.”
While he expected another witty retort, the Mystery Lady remained fixed in place, her face turned to the dancers. David straightened and tucked away his pistols, his mask hiding the furrow of his brow as he studied her. Had he pushed their jesting too far? Made her feel obligated or uncomfortable?
Before David could think what to say to this strange turn of events, she spoke in a whisper that barely carried above the noise of the ballroom.
“I fear I am not a very good dancer at the best of times.”
Despite wishing to frown at the fear in her tone, David used the only part of his face she could see, giving her a warm smile.
“It is a slow waltz. The steps aren’t intricate, and you need only hold fast to me, and I will keep you from toppling over.” He paused, his grin lifting to one side. “And if anything happens, tell everyone I’m the clodhopper who tripped you.”
He couldn’t be certain that it was a laugh he heard, for it was low and halting, but he offered up his arm and added, “If at any point you do not wish to continue, simply tell me, and we will stop.”
It was silly, but David’s heart lightened when she threaded her arm through his. Guiding her in amongst the other couples, he turned to her and took her in a simple hold, eschewing some of the more elaborate dance positions and placing his hands at her waist so as not to upset the shawl draped around her head and shoulders. The Mystery Lady hesitated only a moment before placing her hands on his shoulders.
Then the first strains of the music began, and the two stepped easily into the rhythm of the dance. For all her objections, the Mystery Lady moved with enough fluid grace that David felt like the clodhopper he’d jested about.
*
Generally, when any gentleman deigned to ask Katherine to dance, it left her feeling giddy and anxious (except Mr. Mowbry, of course). No matter how much she knew it was only kindness and friendship that prompted Mr. Archer’s request, she couldn’t help but think about the beautiful possibilities that might arise from that moment. Especially in a waltz, when one’s attention was fixed exclusively on one’s partner.
But Katherine’s heart was thumping a rapid beat not from anticipation but nerves. It was a strange sensation to be so wholly at another’s mercy. The room swirled about her, and she could see enough to spy the dark blotches moving near her—but not well enough to judge whether or not they were about to crash into another couple.
Trust, it seemed, was a terrifying thing. Even with Mr. Archer.
But there she was, embracing the ridiculousness of the evening as he’d prodded her to do, and when Katherine allowed herself to relax into the dance, she couldn’t help but see the enjoyment to be found. Even when blind.
“And what has brought you to our gathering tonight?” asked Mr. Archer—or Mr. Turpin, rather, for he continued to employ that roguish tone.
Katherine had a quick and ready answer that was likely to make him laugh, as her reason had more to do with obligation than desire, but the memory of their previous conversation surfaced, reminding her that unless she truly wished to be the spoilsport she’d labeled herself, a bit of frivolity was warranted. Not that she cared much about others’ opinions, but Mr. Archer was one of the few people who saw her for what she was—and liked her.
It wouldn’t do to trample on his fun.
Besides, it was quite amusing to play the part alongside him. A masquerade was all about playacting, after all. And if she was stuck hiding behind a mask, then she might as well embrace the moment as Mr. Archer had prodded her to.
Adopting a low tone more suited to the character she played, Katherine said with a dramatic turn, “I fear I am on the run from a blackguard who is determined to marry me.”
