Chapter 9 #3
Josephine opened her mouth to unleash the retort building in her chest, but then the coach jolted to a stop outside a whitewashed townhouse, brightly lit and surrounded by costumed guests waiting to enter.
A footman opened the coach door and placed down the step. Josephine placed her gloved fingers lightly in his palm and descended. She barely had time to straighten her skirts before that infernal pink feather drooped again.
She blew at it. “Stupid mask,” she muttered.
Her mother and Alexander moved ahead towards the entrance, and Josephine followed. They slipped through the entry hall and entered a ballroom already thrumming with people.
“It is a crush,” her mother acknowledged.
Josephine wouldn’t know. She could hardly see anything except pink feathers. Grimacing, she plucked the offending feather out of the mask and let it fall.
“I am going to the card room,” Alexander announced, then vanished into the crowd.
Josephine sighed and started to step aside, but someone bumped her from behind.
“Move out of the way,” a voice snapped.
She stepped quickly aside, muttering, “How rude.”
“Would you care to dance with me?” a smooth male voice asked beside her.
Josephine turned, startled. A masked gentleman stood there, dark hair brushed neatly forward, dressed in superfine evening clothes. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was intent—almost too intent. Something in the tilt of his head tugged at her memory.
“It depends,” she replied.
“On what?” His lips twitched with amusement.
She turned fully towards him. “If you can answer my questions to my satisfaction.”
“I accept your terms,” he said, bowing slightly. “Ask away.”
She crossed her arms. “Are you a rogue?”
“No.”
“That is precisely what a rogue would say.”
He chuckled. “I can assure you that I am no rogue.”
“Very well. You passed the first test,” she replied. “Second question. Are you a fortune hunter?”
“No. I have my own fortune.”
She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Do you prefer dogs or cats?” she asked.
“Dogs.”
She clicked her tongue in mock disappointment. “I would have taken you for a cat person.”
“And why is that?” he asked, the smile returning to his lips.
“You are watching me intently, yet appear bored by everything else—as though nothing and no one can quite satisfy you.”
That earned a full, brilliant smile.
“Is it my turn?” he asked, leaning slightly closer.
“For what?”
“Questions,” he replied.
“I suppose that is only fair.”
He regarded her for a moment before asking, “Why are you wearing such an ostentatious mask?”
She lifted her chin. “I think it is quite lovely.”
He glanced towards the dance floor. “It makes me curious as to what you are hiding beneath the mask.”
“I am hiding nothing.”
“Says the young woman who has a mask covering half her face,” he teased. “Are you a spy?”
“I am no spy.”
“That is precisely what a spy would say,” he replied, using her own words against her.
And despite herself, Josephine smiled.
The man extended his gloved hand towards her. “I do believe,” he said with a warm smile, “that I have earned myself a dance with you.”
“I agree,” she replied, placing her hand into his, “but only because you like dogs.”
“Ah.” His fingers closed gently around hers. “I take it you are a dog person.”
She tipped her head in a modest shrug. “I adore dogs, but I’m allergic to most breeds.”
“That is most unfortunate.”
“My brother would agree wholeheartedly,” she said as they walked together towards the dance floor. “When we were younger, he wanted a pet so desperately that he attempted to domesticate a fox.”
“Did it work?”
Josephine gave an exaggerated huff. “No. No, it did not. Have you ever tried to corral a fox in a drawing room?”
“I cannot say that I have had the privilege,” he replied, sounding very much amused. “Though I am imagining it now.”
“Oh, do not imagine it,” she warned lightly. “The curtains were never the same.”
He chuckled again. There was something familiar in that laugh, something that tugged at her memory, but the thought vanished as they reached the edge of the dance floor.
The musicians struck up the opening notes of the quadrille.
Josephine moved to her place in the line of ladies and he took his place across from her. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. It’s just a dance, she reminded herself.
But as the couples began to move and the pattern of the quadrille unfolded around them—steps she had done hundreds of times before—Josephine felt something shift within her.
Her earlier nerves faded. The oppressive heat of the ballroom eased.
Even the ridiculous plume of feathers hanging off her mask seemed less irritating.
Instead, she found herself… enjoying this.
Enjoying him. A stranger.
Each time they passed one another in the set, each moment their hands brushed or their gazes met across the floor, Josephine felt herself relax more.
For the first time all evening, Josephine forgot about her stitches.
Forgot about the gossip.
Forgot about Mr. Broderick.
She was only thinking about the dance and the mysterious, dark-haired man whose presence made her feel strangely, wonderfully alive.