escorted Rhianna to a masquerade ball at Tewksbury Hall the next week.
Dallon dressed as Robin Hood, complete with bow and feathered cap. It seemed only natural that Rhianna should go as Maid Marian.
They arrived at eight, had supper at nine. It was after ten when Dallon led her into the ballroom. A huge crystal chandelier cast soft candlelight over the dancers. The orchestra was partially hidden behind a wall of lacy ferns.
She danced with Dallon, and with Tewksbury, and then with Dallon again. He flirted with her shamelessly, declaring her to be the most beautiful woman in the room. His hand caressed her bare shoulders, his lips brushed her cheeks, her eyelids.
Light-headed from too much wine, feeling lonely because Rayven had rejected her, she allowed Dallon to kiss her. She even kissed him back, telling herself it didn't matter. Rayven didn't want her. He had even told her to marry someone else. Why not marry Montroy? He was young and handsome and rich, and he adored her. He would never send her away.
At the end of the waltz, Montroy left her for a moment to fetch her a glass of champagne.
Feeling suddenly warm, Rhianna left the crush inside the ballroom and went out on the balcony that overlooked a rather exotic topiary. A breeze ruffled her skirts and cooled her flushed cheeks.
Away off in the distance, she could see the tall spires of Castle Rayven. In spite of her resolution to put him from her mind, she wondered what Rayven was doing, if he ever spared a thought for her.
A sudden chill caressed her nape, and with it the sense that she was no longer alone.
She whirled around, gasping when she saw a tall man standing in the doorway. He was dressed all in black save for the stark white death's-head mask that covered his face. A wide-brimmed black hat adorned with a curling black feather was pulled low over his brow. A cloak of fine black velvet billowed around him.
He held out his hand. "May I have this dance, my lady?"
His voice caressed her, calling up images of roses and moonlit nights. She never thought to refuse him, but willingly placed her hand in his.
He held her close, his body brushing intimately against hers at every turn. Trapped in the web of his gaze, she let him waltz her around the balcony. The music faded into the distance. The crush of people inside the ballroom ceased to exist. There were only the two of them, dancing beneath a sky sprinkled with stars, and the awareness that crackled between them, as sharp as a sliver of glass.
She gazed into his eyes, fathomless black eyes that stared back at her, eyes that burned with hell's own fires.
Suddenly breathless, she murmured his name.
His arm tightened around her waist, drawing her closer. Her body burned at his nearness; her heart was pounding furiously.
Was it he?
It had to be.
Slowly, he lowered his head toward hers, until the dark eyes blazing from behind the mask burned everything else from her sight, until she saw nothing, was aware of nothing, but the man who held her.
She lifted her face for his kiss, felt the touch of his cool lips scorch a bright path to the very heart and soul of her.
When he drew his mouth from hers, she stared up at him, a curious lethargy stealing through her limbs. If not for the strength of the arms around her, she thought she might have melted at his feet, like butter left too long in the sun.
She wasn't aware that the music had ended until she saw Montroy standing in the doorway.
Her partner bowed over her hand and then, his cloak swirling about him like smoke, he walked away from her to disappear in the darkness at the far end of the balcony.
"Who was that?" Rhianna asked, though she was certain, within her heart, it had been Rayven.
Montroy glanced after the man in the black hat and cloak. "I don't know."
"I thought..."
"Thought what?"
"I thought it was Rayven."
"Rayven? Here?" Montroy chuckled softly as he handed her a glass of champagne. "He loathes masquerades. Loathes parties of any kind. I've never known him to attend one."
"Have you seen him at Cotyer's recently?"
Dallon nodded. "Blast the man. He's impossible to beat, you know. Sometimes I think he knows what cards I've been dealt before I do."
"Indeed?" She stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the heads of the crowd.
"Come," Montroy said. He placed her glass on the balcony railing, then