Heat filled her, though it had as much to do with their location as it did the gentleman at her side. Between the warmth radiating from the dancers, the candles filling the chandelier and sconces, and being covered in this shawl and mask, sweat gathered at Katherine’s temples.
Glancing towards the far wall, she spied the dark blur that indicated a doorway, which led to the outside courtyard. She longed to step through them; despite the doors being propped wide open to let in the air, the room was stifling. Yet as much as she yearned for a few minutes outside, she didn’t know if she was bold enough to suggest such a thing.
But with each passing minute, the heat grew, and there was nothing to be done. It was either escape into the autumn night or risk fainting dead away. Katherine tugged on Mr. Archer’s arm, nodding towards the doors.
“I must insist we get some air,” she said. “I fear I am liable to melt.”
The gentleman didn’t fight her, but his smirk was clear for everyone to see. “My dear lady, if you wish to steal away to the garden to tarnish my virtue, you need only ask. There is no need for the pretense.”
Katherine scoffed, though she was loath to admit it sounded more like a snort. “Do not pretend to have any sensibilities now, sir. I know full well that you have no compunctions about stealing embraces in gardens. From what I hear, you are quite the skilled kisser.”
*
David gaped, and he was grateful they slipped through the door and out into the cool autumn air, for he was certain he was blushing enough that his mask couldn’t hide it.
“Do the ladies of town gossip about me?”
“As if that is any surprise,” she murmured. “Miss Woodhouse has told every young lady in town that you are far more skilled than Mr. Breadmore. ‘Titillating’ is the word she uses most often.”
The pair strolled into the dark. Despite the moon hanging high in the sky, the light from the ballroom made it difficult to see much of the garden, but they followed the paved pathway past the shadowy shrubs and flowers.
“With so much responsibility resting on my shoulders, you cannot fault a man for seeking diversions,” he replied, guiding her further into the greenery as the autumn breeze helped to cool his flaming cheeks.
“Ah, so rather than taking up riding or hunting, you prefer kissing?” she replied with a laugh. “Certainly a different sort of sport. They say practice makes perfect, and surely you’ve mastered it by now.”
Reaching up to straighten his hat, David wished he could defend himself from the accusation, but there was no defense to make—though he also couldn’t help but smile at the Mystery Lady’s pluck. A gentleman ought to have a lady strong enough to humble him when it was needed.
“Would you care to see what a bit of practice can do?” For all that he’d intended the question to be another of their many jests, when he turned to face her, his hand rested at the small of her back, holding her to him in a manner that erased the laughter from his tone.
The moon hung high above him, casting light upon her face and allowing him to see her eyes widen at his question. She stood stiff in his arms, but she didn’t back away, either. David’s gaze fell to her lips, and though sanity demanded he release her, he couldn’t.
Tonight was so fully unexpected, but then, love was not on a timetable, set to arrive at certain intervals. And perhaps it was silly to say “love,” for he hardly knew the Mystery Lady. However, something deep in his bones recognized the kindred spirit hiding behind that mask.
David refused to believe in soulmates. Despite how popular it was to speak of love in such terms, it ignored so many important truths. Love wasn’t an accident into which people “fell.” Love was a choice. It required effort and compromise. One could not love properly if one was not willing to give of himself.
“Soulmates” made it sound as though magic were involved, erasing all hurdles to irrevocably bind two hearts together. It implied that all other love was a poor imitation and that only the truest of affection was based on fate dropping another into one’s life on a whim. The idea of soulmates was the antithesis of pure love, and David couldn’t accept that such things existed.
Yet he couldn’t deny the deep connection he felt with this woman he hardly knew.
*
Despite her placid exterior, every nerve snapped and sizzled at the feel of Mr. Archer’s hand on her back. Katherine stood fixed in place as he stared at her. Had she truly heard him correctly? For all that she had almost convinced herself that he was, in fact, wooing her, hearing Mr. Archer ask such a bold question set her mind and heart into a frenzy.
Mr. Archer wanted to kiss her?
Was that what he was asking?
And not in jest but an earnest desire to kiss her?
For the briefest moment, Katherine wondered if she were sleeping. Perhaps the carriage had crashed on the way to the masquerade, and she was in heaven, living out her greatest fantasies. Of course, any version of heaven she could imagine wouldn’t include Mr. Mowbry leering at her.
But Katherine knew all that was silliness anyway, for this was real. Mr. Archer was standing with her, under the moonlight, asking to kiss her. And she was standing there like a gaping fool, unable to speak.
“I do not treat such things lightly, sir.”
Where had that come from? She longed to throw herself into his arms, but for all that she dreamed of embracing the fantasy of this moment, Katherine knew her heart wouldn’t survive if Mr. Archer were merely amusing himself. Not that he was the sort to toy with a lady’s affections, but clearly, it did not mean as much to him as it did to her.
“There is nothing light about my feelings at present,” he murmured, drawing closer.
