“Hmm.”
“You don’t wish to?”
He shook his head, studying her face. Even half-hidden behind her gold mask, he was positive the most beautiful, intriguing, and confounding woman had run into him.
“Do you like to eat…” He searched his brain for the correct word. “Dinner?”
She laughed, glancing over her shoulder before turning back to him. “Depending on who’s cooking it. Yes, I suppose I do.”
He attempted to stuff his hands into his pockets, only to remember this jacket didn’t have any.
“That’s good. I do too…”
The woman leaned forward and scrunched her nose. “Are you sure we cannot know one another’s names?” She bounced back, standing tall. “I would like to know very much.”
“If we are meant to know, then we will find out.”
How did he think of this drivel?
“That’s surprisingly romantic of you.”
The cravat was still tied around her wrist, but he checked his collar, nonetheless, certain it was tied too tight around his throat. Henry Davies, a romantic?
“No, no, no. I wouldn’t say that.”
She spun around, backing up a few steps toward the party. “It’s past dinner, but would you like to go for a walk? Maybe a tavern? There’s one nearby.”
He preferred this small sliver of heaven in a cluster of sycamore trees. The lantern lights hanging by the paths illuminated the space around them. Here, they were free to talk. Here, they were free from the judgment of others. Once they removed themselves, London would swirl around and tear them apart.
And he had wished to leave only moments earlier—until he met her.
“Dance with me,” he said in a burst of panic. He hated to dance and had made it his life’s mission to avoid such merriment.
She barked out a surprised laugh. “You most definitely need a surgeon.”
“Why? Do you not like to dance?”
“Oh, I like dancing fine enough. But I’m almost certain you don’t like dancing.”
He grinned, clasping his hands behind him. “Normally, you would be correct.”
“What’s different then?”
You.
“There is no one here to see.”
“You prefer to dance when no one is watching? What is the fun of that? Oh, you don’t seem to be the type to enjoy fun.”
“I think you might be teasing me, but you are correct. Dancing, parties, I avoid them whenever possible.”
“I am most definitely teasing you.” She licked her full lips in a slow, sensual sweep of her tongue. “What brought you here this evening?”
“My colleague’s birthday. I agreed to stay only for an hour.”
“Remind me to never invite you to one of my birthday celebrations.”
“I am still here, am I not?”
“I knocked you over, and you bashed your head against a rock. I believe you might be here under duress.”
His cheeks hurt from the stupid grin spread across his face. It pushed the troublesome mask up against his eyelids, and he wished to remove the blasted thing. But that would do no good. Was it supposed to hurt when you smiled?
“Will you dance with me, lady mischief, or shall I stagger out of these woods alone, and a little worse for the wear?”
The stranger peered up toward the sky, revealing the long line of her neck. Henry wondered for a moment how soft her skin would be there, and if she would shiver if he trailed kisses from the hollow of her throat to her mouth. These questions were so strange for him to consider. He didn’t quite understand this madness, but he knew he would die a little if she refused his invitation to dance. And he also knew that until this very moment, he despised dancing more than taxes or mushy peas.
She narrowed her eyes behind her mask and lifted her nose, studying him before holding her hand out for him to grasp.
His heart, which had for thirty-one years worked well up until this night, tripped a beat. Enough for him to catch his breath as his hand reached out for hers, and her gloved hand slipped into his palm. And then he tugged, erasing the distance between them there in the dark circle of sycamore trees.
Their own private space as the rest of London carried on with their raucous masquerade.
“I don’t believe I have danced in the middle of a forest before.”
Henry had only danced in precisely one ballroom, only one time, as a favor to a friend whose younger sister was a sworn wallflower. Perhaps it had been his friend’s attempt at matchmaking. Either way, it didn’t stick, and he and his dance partner had parted ways amicably, both happier to be by themselves.
But this stranger?
