“And who shall you be once you don your grand disguise?” Calling it a disguise was to use the term in its weakest form. The small, silver lace mask, shaped like a butterfly and set with crystal beads, concealed only the area about her eyes.
“La luna,” she said with a smile.
“Then I shall be la notte to your moon.” Archer lifted the hard black mask he held and slipped it over his thinner silk one. Donning the full mask changed his identity from the man who smiled at her with ease to the unyielding face of Lord Archer. It was several moments before she realized she stared at him.
He took a step closer, his lovely mouth and sculpted jaw hidden away once more. “Which is really only lip service since everyone shall know I haven’t a costume.”
“Nonsense,” she replied a bit thickly, for he was very near. “It will be the first party in which no one gapes at you like a mindless fish. And I, for one, am glad of it.”
A smile came to his eyes. “You are very protective of my feelings, Lady Archer. It is sweet.”
Heat flared on her cheeks. “La,” she said, fumbling to put her mask on. “I simply find ignorance intolerable. Stare the first time, fine, but the second, or th—”
Archer lifted his hands to her face. And it was she who gaped like a fish as he gently took the mask and eased it into place. “How strange you look hidden beneath that mask.”
It occurred to her that he might have just then understood her frustration a bit better. But she didn’t press him.
“I missed you, Miranda Fair,” he said with sudden tenderness.
“Archer.” When he went still, she forced herself to say the words. But they were not the right words. “I apologize for the other night, for leaving you the way that I did, I mean.” She would not blush, not think of his mouth, his taste.
Gently, he pulled away. “The fault is mine. It… it is for the best, I think.”
A dull weight settled in her belly at his softly spoken words but she forced herself to nod. He wanted the distance, and so she would give it to him. “Pax, then?” she said.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Pax.”
His hand on her elbow stopped her walking on. “Whatever may come, Miri…” He stepped closer, his grip tightening, “Whatever mistakes I make, you are the most important person in the world to me.”
The words ought to have warmed her heart. Instead, she felt like crying.
There were so many black masks, dominos, and cloaked men that Archer fit right in for once. Still, she could not persuade the real Archer to dance.
“I do not dance, Miranda,” Archer said when she pleaded once more.
“I don’t believe you.” Irritation burned in her breast. Marie Antoinette and King Louis twirled past in a rousing polka. “You move better than that when fighting, blast it.”
Archer’s eyes cut to her. “Then perhaps I should have brought swords. Still fence, do you?”
Her foot stamped from frustration but she held herself still. “Beast,” she hissed.
She could feel his evil smile. Miranda bit back her own smile. Perhaps it was perverse, but sparring with Archer was better fun than a full-crush ball. She wondered suddenly if he felt the same.
He put one big hand upon her back as if to pacify her. “Let me get you some champagne, and then you can tell me what mask is your favorite.” Mirth sparked in his eyes. “Perhaps I can buy one for my own.”
Miranda refrained from rolling her eyes. Cheeky bastard.
She might have been comfortably abed. That they were here to socialize was laughable. Archer had obstinately put down his name on all the slots of her dance card, a socially unforgivable tactic but effective in keeping her by his side.
Archer stalked off to get the champagne and had barely left her sight when Lord Mckinnon glided up to claim the first waltz with a mischievous smile, knowing Miranda could do little more than accept.
“And what are you supposed to be?” she asked as they began to dance. “A wolf?” Mckinnon wore a half-mask shaped like that of a wolf, but his uncommon blue eyes and feral grin slanting beneath the pointed snout had given his identity away immediately.
A grin pulled in his dimple. “A werewolf.” He dipped his head near to hers. “A far more terrifying being, I should think. And you, Lady Archer?” he prompted when she did not reply.