Her throat tightened, her hands moistened, and her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. It was as if, for that moment in time, the room around them fell away until nothing remained except the two of them. In the distance Sophie heard the musicians begin to warm up their instruments, but she had no conscious thought about music, dancing, or anything else save the gaze of the man standing directly in front of her staring into her own spellbound eyes.
The music began and people started to form lines in anticipation of the next dance. Had the affair been in one of London’s eminently fashionable homes or assembly rooms, the dance might have been a French cotillion or some other similarly intricate and high-class selection. As they were at a more relaxed residence, all of the evening’s dances would be either waltzes or country-style dances performed in long rows. This first choice for the next round was a common line dance.
He solicitously held out an arm. “May I have this dance?”
There was nothing Sophie wanted more than to dance with the handsome stranger. She nodded, and placed her hand on his arm.
“Yes, you may.”
He chuckled, the sound sending shivers of pleasure up her spine. She was more aware of his presence, the scent of his aftershave lotion, and the heat coming from his body through her palm than she thought possible. Sophie’s response to this unknown man was involuntary, but if it had been something she had some control over, she wouldn’t have tried to stop the exquisite sensations coursing through her. The closest she had ever gotten to feeling this way about anyone had been in her dreams.
“This is not a dream,” she whispered.
The first strains of music covered the sound of her voice. Still, somehow he was as aware of her as she was of him.
He leaned toward her. “Pardon? Did you say something?”
Swallowing her excitement, Sophie took her place in the ladies’ dance row. She shook her head.
“No. I didn’t.”
With a quizzical half-smile, he murmured, “As you wish.”
He took his place across from her. While they waited for the music to begin, Sophie took the chance to study him. There was something familiar about the man. There was no doubting it anymore. Somehow, somewhere, sometime they had run into each other and he had left an imprint on her memory. It was most likely a random encounter, one of the sort where no names were given, when gazes locked or polite passing nods were exchanged, she decided. What else could it possibly be?
If she had met a man this charming—
really
met him, in a face-to-face, proper-introduction manner—she would have remembered him. They had only “known” each other for a short time, barely long enough to exchange the most rudimentary comments, yet Sophie knew she would never forget him.
This man was unforgettable. In her mind, and in her heart, Sophie knew she would never forget the man or the evening for as long as she lived.
****
Three hours later, Sophie was even more certain the night would go down in her personal history as one of the very best of her lifetime.
Her masked partner had been attentive and witty. He was intelligent and spoke freely on a wide range of topics.
Their discussions ranged from literature, about which Sophie knew much, being a bluestocking by her own admission, to theatre, about which she was woefully lacking, as the family had little money to spend on such an extravagance. They touched upon current events, both agreeing the madness of King George was entirely troubling as well as somewhat embarrassing. Still, they supposed, one couldn’t choose whether or not to be touched in the upper works, so the King couldn’t be blamed for his mental disturbance. After all, there had to be some leeway on certain matters, didn’t there?
Perhaps the most exciting part of the conversation was the small kindnesses her unidentified partner bestowed upon her. They came several times during the dance, and each time he anticipated her needs she was touched by his thoughtful nature.
When Sophie felt parched from dancing, he procured a glass of punch without her having to request it. After one particularly strenuous round, she was so hot in her heavy gown she felt she might actually swoon. It was, now that the moment was truly upon her, not something she wished to do—it might spoil the fun she was having or, just as distressing, might knock her mask askew. She needn’t have worried. Just when she thought she might crumple at the man’s feet, he placed a gentle hand beneath her elbow and steered her toward a partially open window. They stood side by side and gazed out at the winter wonderland that lay beyond the cold pane of glass, and for that moment Sophie was appreciative of the dreaded dress and its smothering qualities.
“This is the final dance of the evening.” As the hours went on, the hoarseness in her partner’s voice deepened. Now every word was a rumble, so low and throaty she imagined she spoke to a wolf or lion instead of a man. More than once Sophie had clenched her fist by her side, so great was her desire to reach out and place a hand on his chest to feel the reverberations she knew accompanied each statement or inquiry. “I confess I’m disappointed our time together is nearly at an end.”
Sophie felt a sharp stab of regret. The evening had been glorious, and she unreservedly wished it might never end.
Hours earlier, she had given up a number of social pretenses. Now, she did not attempt to hide the truth from her dance partner.
With a sigh that felt pulled from her toes, she said, “Your honesty is refreshing, sir. I wish we could be so forthright, even when our faces are not concealed.”
“Ah, so you admire honesty?”
“I do. It is, I think, one of the most compelling traits one can possess.”
He cleared his throat, and then asked, “And what other traits do you hold in high esteem?”
When she hesitated, he shrugged and the movement took her attention from their conversation. His finely tailored jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, something that had happened more than once during the dancing. Sophie could not help herself; she was mesmerized by the strength that lay beneath the expensive fabric, hidden but still such a vital part of the man he could not conceal himself completely from view. The attraction to his muscular physique was surprising, since she was typically more inclined to find a man’s intellect more intriguing than his stature.
“Are you keeping me in suspense merely to heighten my desire to hear your opinion? If you are, I assure you it’s not necessary.” His words were tinged with amusement. “I’m on the edge of my seat—no, that isn’t right, is it?” They stood beneath a gas lamp, in the golden circle of light it cast. There were no chairs within sitting distance. “I cannot be on a chair’s edge, can I? Well…as we are standing, I shall amend my statement and admit that I am on the edges of my toes, just waiting to learn what other qualities you find most desirable in a man.”
A small giggle escaped her lips. On the edges of his toes, indeed! His wittiness had kept her smiling all evening. It amazed her that he could find something humorous at every turn of a phrase.
While she wasn’t prone to flirtatious behavior, Sophie couldn’t resist a bit of teasing. “Oh? I wasn’t aware we were discussing the most desirable traits in men. That, of course, changes things.”
“How so?”
Throwing caution to the wind, she said, “Well, of course I wouldn’t mind a man having some of the same qualities of my female companions. Loyalty is important. Also, honesty, as I’ve mentioned.”
He nodded thoughtfully. A lock of hair had fallen forward over the top left corner of his mask, giving him a roguish look that was both attractive and slightly scandalous.
Emboldened, Sophie continued, ticking the qualities off on her gloved fingertips. “Women friends should be comforting and see the meat of a matter without having it explained to them. They should be able to share the good times as well as the bad. Oh, I suppose a female companion must possess some very important characteristics.”
All attempts at flippancy died in her throat when her masked partner’s gaze locked with hers. His eyes seemed somehow familiar. She had thought that all night but she couldn’t place where she had seen them before. Now his stare gave her the impression he could see right past her mask and into her soul. It was an odd feeling, not entirely unpleasurable but not altogether comfortable, either.
“I’m somewhat muddled about this whole character trait matter. If you will bear with me, I’ll try to think through what you’ve said—aloud, since that’s the way I solve problems.”
Sophie had her back to the wall, so when he raised one arm and placed his hand on the wall behind her, she was effectively sheltered by his body from sight of the rest of the party. The nearness of him, the scent of bay rum cologne mixed with the faintest whiff of brandy and his mask, only inches from her own, made Sophie’s heart hammer so hard she was tempted to put a hand on her chest to still it.
A small grin crossed his face. She could not see most of it, but she could tell by the way his mask moved that he was smiling.
“So you expect women friends to be honest, loyal, comforting, and intuitive. Also, they should laugh when you laugh and cry when you cry. Is that it?”
It sounded so trivial when put in those terms, but since it was essentially what she had said, Sophie nodded.
“You don’t want a man to be those things?”
“Of course I do. It’s just—”
He leaned closer, and she saw a gleam in his eyes. “It’s just what? That you do not think you’ll find a man who possesses all those traits so you limit yourself to believing they can only be found in your female friends? Is that it?”
Never before had she felt like a cornered mouse. It wasn’t his fault. She’d cornered herself with her words.
“No, that’s
not
it.” Sophie scrambled for a way out of the sticky spot. So much for flirting. It was apparent she needed practice in that area. Then, she saw an opening. “I—well, I have a male friend who possesses all of those traits. He’s loyal and intuitive and—well, he’s everything I mentioned.” She couldn’t resist adding, “And he’s other things, as well. Good things.”
“You and your male acquaintance…I cannot resist asking, is he more than merely a friend? Does he, perhaps, hold more significance in your life?”
A rush to clarify made her shake her head so hard a curly tendril got caught in the feathers above her left cheek. “No! He is not—that is, he is only a friend. Nothing more, just a dear friend.”
With a finger that was steadier than her own, the man reached out and untangled her curl from the feather. When he smoothed the lock back in place, the touch of his fingertip against her hair sent shivers along her spine.
“Only a friend?”
“Yes. Just a friend,” Sophie whispered. Speaking was difficult. Suddenly her throat felt tight, as if her heart had leapt up and lodged there.
A deep sigh brought the masked man’s shoulders high yet again. Then, he let them fall. His tone filled with regret, he said, “I’m sorry to hear that. It would be nice to know, as we prepare to part ways, that you have someone exceptional in your life. It would seem to be a most enviable position, that of being your special someone.”
Words failed her. She stared at him, wondering what she could possibly say in response.
He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he startled her again. “It is New Year’s—for a few minutes longer, at any rate. One generally makes resolutions on this day. May I ask? Have you resolved anything? Made any promises?”
“I-I have. But I intend to keep the nature of the, uh, resolution to myself.” It seemed only fair to ask him the same question. “And you? Have you resolved to do anything in particular in the coming year?”
A quick, decisive nod. “I have. But I, too, will keep my own counsel on the matter.”
The first strains of the last dance began. Around them couples groaned their dismay at having the evening draw to a close. A wave of movement swept past them as dancers took position on the floor.
Neither Sophie nor her masked companion moved.
Had she not been standing against the wall, she might have teetered when he began to speak. The conversation took such a swift turn it was difficult to keep her head from spinning.
“The Atwells are planning a Valentine’s Day dance. It is to be another masked affair.”
How had they gone from New Year’s resolutions to Valentine’s Day in a heartbeat? Sophie swallowed, and then nodded. “I heard as much.”
“Will you be here?”
“I plan to be, but no one can ever really say where they will be in six weeks’ time, can they? It’s my intention to attend, but I cannot say for certain nothing will keep me away.”
It was true. Look at what had happened with Colin this very day—he had been so looking forward to this party, but the weather or his chill had obviously kept him at home. She could not guarantee a similar ill fate might not befall her on Valentine’s Day.
“Fair enough.” The music and dancing had just begun, but he made no move to offer a hand. For what felt like forever but was no more than a second or two, he studied the wall behind her head. Then, his gaze met hers. “New Year’s is a time for resolutions and promises. I’ve always believed Valentine’s Day a time for wishes. Tell me the truth, please. If you could wish three things for the upcoming dance, what would they be? Don’t hold back. Pretend I’m one of your good lady friends, and be perfectly candid with me. So…three wishes?”
Sophie’s eyes widened. She could think of nothing to say. Nervously she swept a hand down the front of her gown. Then, she brought her hand to her chest and unconsciously tugged at the neckline.
He nodded to her hand.
“A new gown for the dance, perhaps? Why, every woman wishes for that, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, she does,” Sophie said. Now that she had found her voice, she added, “It is, I believe, a perfectly ordinary wish, to have a pretty gown to wear to a party.”
“Of course it is. Now that’s one wish. We still have two to go. What would be your heart’s desire, after the gown of course?”