Masked Love (A Christmas Regency Novella) by Nicole Zoltack Page B

away from her, leaving her homeless two nights before Christmas …
    Acting as though she hadn’t touched him, he continued on and adjusted his mask. For a brief moment, she saw his Roman nose. It perfectly matched his angular jawline.
    “So you don’t want to know who I am yet do not like conversing with me when you do not know who I am. A conundrum.” He stroked his chin. The stubble there—would it prickle her palm, or tickle? What a thought! “Then there is only one solution.”
    Her head shook from side to side, and she even backed up a step. She glanced to either side for a possible escape and found no easy path. They were far too close to the dancers and a servant was approaching her other side. She was good and trapped.
    “A dance. May I?”
    Her hand went to her throat, and her heartbeat fluttered faster than a hummingbird’s wings flickering on a summer day. A dance could prove who she was—a hired servant, and beneath the likes of everyone else here.
    Thankfully, the good Lord was smiling down upon her as the familiar strains of the only dance she knew, the cotillion, began. What harm could result from one dance? He knew not who she was, and she would never have to reveal her true identity. After tonight, they would never meet again.
    And so she accepted his outstretched hand and they danced. Isabelle’s feet were rather rusty at first, as if she needed to warm up some. The first two times, she stumbled through the chorus, but once the music washed over her and melted away some of her apprehension, she eased up, and her body responded in kind. Their movements mirrored each other as though they had danced together for years, and Isabelle enjoyed herself far more than she had in a long, long time.
    After the last note died away, Isabelle was rendered breathless. She excused herself with a gesture and glided over to a servant to fetch a glass of negus.
    Instead an arm covered with a dark shirt snaked out and snatched two. Her dancing partner handed her one, and she accepted it gracefully with a smile, her gaze averted. By now, she had started to breathe normally again, but her heart was still beating faster than normal.
    She sipped her drink. The nougat was particularly strong, the sugar and honey mixing well with the roasted nut taste. “I like your rose,” she said in a rush, wishing to be the first to speak this time.
    He rewarded her words with another huge smile that revealed his straight teeth as his fingers touched the rose on his mask. “Thank you. You are a most unusual dancer.”
    Oh no, had she done something wrong? She covered her mouth to hide its openness.
    “I know some ladies wish to hide behind their masks all night, but you won’t even look upon me. I do not even know what color your eyes are.”
    “Nor I yours.” Isabelle forced herself to gaze upon his face. Light green eyes stared at her. Flecks of gold lined them, and she could not look away. More beautiful eyes she had never seen.
    “I’ve never seen more beautiful eyes,” he whispered.
    Hearing her thought vocalized caused her to step back. He touched her arm, and someone walked behind her; he had prevented her from colliding with that person. His hand was still on her, and in order to free herself of his grasp without offending him, she brushed her long brown curls back. She hadn’t the time to fix her own hair into a fashionable style.
    Unwilling to see his haunting eyes again, she glanced around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. Indeed she was; earlier, she had been too focused on hiding that she had been staring at the floor for most of the evening. Now she saw the huge white staircase with enormously wide steps next to an ornate brass railing. The red curtains were pulled aside to reveal the tall windows. Exquisite paintings even more stunning than those in the Haywoods’ manor lined the azure walls. The nearest one depicted a sunny day at a park.
    Her right shoulder felt cold; the sleeve of her dress had