Page 16 of Twice Upon a Midnight

She looked up hopefully at Hendricks. “Did the gentleman who gave me this bring it himself?”

“No, miss.” The butler had no idea he’d just dashed her hopes with that answer and continued, “It was delivered by a bookshop clerk. There was some confusion, I must say, as he thought you were one of the guests and asked if we could send it along to your address.”

She smiled as she traced her fingertips over the book’s embossed cover. The night of the party, she hadn’t wanted Spenser to know her full identity, fearing how he might behave toward her if he knew the truth. She’d simply wanted to be seen as someone who enjoyed literature as much as he did. That was only fair, she reasoned, given that he had also hidden his identity from her.

But now, perhaps, they would both know…

Her heart soared as she opened the book and unfolded the little note card tucked inside.

Thank you for the waltz. I will always

remember it. And you.

~ Spenser

Her trembling finger traced over the masculine handwriting. She didn’t know whether to laugh with happiness or cry because it was the most thoughtful, perfect gift she’d ever been given.

Yet she still didn’t know his real name.

CHAPTER EIGHT

E

lla stood at the edge of Lady Throckmorton’s ballroom, surrounded by a group of young ladies and lords. She was very much aware from the looks her parents were sending her from across the room that they were thrilled she’d managed to find her way into society—if only by superficial appearances. None of the people around her were truly friends. Certainly, the gentlemen were all vying to win permission to call on her, and the ladies simply wanted to benefit by proximity to the men. Ella knew that.

But if allowing them to pretend to welcome her into their fold made her parents happy, then she would play her part.

Of course, though, she couldn’t help but take searching looks across the room for any glimpse of a particular masked man who sent her poetry.

During the past three days, she and her mother had been unable to continue their search for Spenser; the duchess’s busy social calendar prevented them from calling on any more of the men on their list until tomorrow. But he had sent her several more letters in which he revealed his heart, more books of poetry that showed his soul, and all of it only made Ella more impatient to find him. She knew she had another sleepless night ahead of her.

Just the memory of Spenser’s company lightened her chest and made her lips ache to kiss him again. But would he be here, at this next society masquerade? Had her unidentified masked man been invited to this ball, too?

It would be nearly impossible to find him, even if he had been. Lady Throckmorton loved fancy dress parties, so she’d insisted that all her guests wear costumes and masks. Which was why, thanks to her mother’s imagination, Ella now looked like Marie Antoinette’s perverse idea of a shepherdess, right down to the large white wig perched on her head, a gown cut to resemble a peasant’s dress—if peasants made a habit of wearing satin and lace—and a ribbon-wrapped shepherd’s crook she’d happily handed over to the surprised footman at the door rather than bring into the ballroom with her.

Although, as she considered the overeager attentions the flock of gentlemen cast upon her in their bids to outdo each other, she might yet need it to herd sheep and keep them away.

“This year’s Royal Society exhibition is grand,” one of the young lords commented as the group around her discussed upcoming events. Baron Saxon, son of Viscount Ellery, wore a costume of all black and a feathered mask undoubtedly meant to resemble an eagle in his attempt at joining in with the masquerade. But then, did it really matter if he tried at all, given how he’d so directly approached Ella tonight and introduced himself? She knew why he was here, and it wasn’t to please Lady Throckmorton. “The quality of paintings is far better than it’s been in years.”

Art? Hmm…perhaps the herd of sheep encircling her weren’t all so empty-headed as they first appeared. Hoping for intelligent conversation, Ella asked, “What artists stand out, in your opinion?”

Saxon smiled patronizingly at her question. “Well, I haven’t been myself, of course. Why waste my time looking at pictures when there are more beautiful sights to take in elsewhere?”

He quirked a smile as he raised his glass to her in a small toast. That bit of blatant but empty flattery had the misses around her nearly swooning behind their fast-flitting fans. They found him utterly charming.

Ella found him simply cloying.

She turned away to sweep another searching glance across the room and brought her glass of champagne to her lips. If she couldn’t find interesting conversation, then at least—

Her breath caught in her throat. Her masked man was here.

As she stared across the crowded room, she had no doubt that the dark-haired man making his way through the crush toward her was the same one she’d met in the garden. Even though he wore yet another mask, she would never have mistaken those broad shoulders or the chest that narrowed to a thin waist, the hard planes of his cheeks below the mask, the muscular thighs beneath his tightly tailored trousers…the sensuous curl of his lips when he realized she’d seen him.

Disregarding all rules of propriety, he ignored everyone around her as he approached. The group stepped back to allow him to pass as if they recognized an inherent authority in him.

He stopped in front of her and gave a low bow. When she curtsied, she saw the sparkle in his chocolate eyes and the faint curl of a smile at the corners of his mouth. They were surrounded by hundreds of partygoers, yet for the two of them at that moment, no one else existed.

When she extended her gloved hand, unable to find her voice—for heaven’s sake, barely able to breathe!—he lifted it to his lips to place a kiss on the backs of her fingers. The dashing gesture sent a ripple of jealous whispers through both the men and ladies in her group, and she simply didn’t care.