Page 12 of The Gilded Masquerade

“As our parlor maid explained on her way out the door.”

Richard laughed. “Yes, I admit, it was a very effective ruse. Come, let us see if the American is amenable to an introduction. Might I suggest a little less stiffness and a little more … smiling?”

They continued pushing through the crush, arriving at the angel in the nick of time as another approached. Jovially, Richard said, “Miss, please allow me to present this fine gentleman.”

Their eyes met and she smiled sweetly, undoing his poor mood. She nodded her head. He bowed genially.

Spellbound by her radiance he stiffly greeted, “I am very happy to make your acquaintance. May I have the honor of this dance?” Blurting, “It is a waltz,” with a forcefulness that took even him aback.

“I dearly love to waltz. It would be my pleasure to dance with you. I’m much obliged for the introduction, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

He winged his arm, offering it to her for a second time. The lady’s fingers rested lightly upon him and his heart thundered arriving at the edge of the dance floor. Waiting for the musician’s cue, he formally bowed.

“Les Patineurs” introductory bars began and the intoxicating woman demurely curtsied a graceful ballroom inclination, one hand lightly holding her skirt.

Bound by their secret, neither mentioned their innocent, unchaperoned engagement in the library, which only served to heighten the palpable attraction between them. In other circumstances, he would have liked to pursue an acquaintance with her. Alas, he would make the most of this singular, spectacular four minutes.

Anticipatory nerves, when they surfaced, had always been his greatest challenge, but now, standing beside this bewitching creature, inhaling the sweet jasmine fragrance she emanated, felt beyond his good regulation.

“Shall we begin?” he asked.

She said nothing, but her smile and lingering gaze spoke volumes.

Offering her his hand, she placed her delicate one within his care. Their joining felt so natural, like they had always been meant to be cradled or guided by the others. Could magnetic attraction happen between people? Surely, the barely perceptible placement of his right hand upon her back was fighting a charged ferromagnetic pull to draw closer. The temptation to hold her was too forceful even for him to overcome, but he must. His gloved hands felt warm and possibly perspiring from nerves.

They swayed, feet and bodies following the other in perfect synchronicity as her flowing skirt and the music wrapped around them. Her frame aligned with his as though pulled by the same energy. She turned so elegantly—so trustingly—under his arm, yielding to his lead. Oh, the ungentlemanly thoughts it conjured.

“The waltz suits you exceedingly, madam,” he finally breathed.

“You flatter me, sir. Perhaps, it is not I, but my partner’s lead.”

Captivating seconds of moving as one passed in silence, until a promenade figure.

“Did you enjoy the volumes?” he bravely asked.

“I scarcely had time, but a wonderful diversion nonetheless.”

Yes, she is. Who is she? It was best he didn’t know.

Each changing tilt of her head as they turned displayed the soft, kissable curve of her neck. So overwhelmed by her, he felt as though they were the only dancers, the only two people in the entire ballroom.

Slowly spinning her in time, he delighted at how she spontaneously—almost—let herself laugh.

“What humors you?” he breathed. “My dancing?”

“On the contrary. I’m having such a gay time.”

“Then, we are of like mind,” he said.

Her response was an immediate flush to her cheeks, followed by a sweet smile.

They continued to dance as one, her arm gracefully reaching and floating outward with each turn under his arm.

As the last notes faded and silence briefly claimed the floor, the invisible pull they felt toward one another seemed stronger, as though a magnetism bonded their clasped gloved hands. Unconsciously, he delayed releasing her fingers, holding them for a fraction longer. She, too, deferred her retreat from their hold upon the other. Time halted in stillness; the charge between them heightened in unspoken words and beating hearts. Their fingers slowly withdrew from the other’s. He formally bowed, and she demurely looked down, curtseying. Then … in a fleeting, breathless pause, she looked up, meeting his gaze, lingering in her curtsey longer than what decorum would allow without creating a whisper in the ballroom—had anyone other than he noticed. It happened so fast.

“Thank you for the dance, sir,” she softly said, gaze holding steady to his.

“It afforded me the utmost felicity.”