She lifted her chin and demanded, “What other reason can there be in the shadow?”
“Oh,” he said softly, “you’d be surprised the sort of things that can happen in the shadow that are of no ill intent. Sometimes things in the bold light of candles and flame are far worse than that which happens in the shadow.”
She gazed at him for a long moment, taking in his words… For a single moment, her mask slipped and she looked as if she longed to ask him more but then she looked away, and queried, “How do I believe such a thing?”
“By experiencing it,” he offered softly.
She shook her head swiftly. “I am not willing to put my reputation at such risk, lingering in the shadows with you. Such a thing would make me foolish indeed to trust you at your word.”
He smiled slightly. “You are wise as well as perfect then.”
“I am not perfect,” she countered with surprising ferocity.
It was the first hint of bright passion that he had seen in her, this fierce declaration.
“Are you not?” he asked. “That is what I have heard of you and you certainly behave thus.”
“One can behave perfectly,” she said, her eyes darkening with emotion “and notbeperfect.”
She peered at him carefully. “I think you are already aware of such a thing for youlookperfect too.”
“Do I?” he inquired, stilling. Was that how she’d known so quickly he wasn’t a gentleman? Even with his clothes and practiced manners and accent? Did she recognize a fellow masker?
“Indeed,” she affirmed. “You have a certain herculean nature about you. And your presence is… well, it’s impressive. I imagine many find you perfect.”
“Herculean?” He couldn’t help but tease, though he knew he had little time. But for some inexplicable reason… he wished to draw his time out with her, despite the danger.
She tilted her head, calculated, as she stated simply. “I am sure many artists would happily paint you as a god.”
“Is that how you see me?” he queried, surprised that a lady of her sort would find him thus. Some of the ladies of the upper set enjoyed his background. Finding him more an educated blacksmith than god.
He found he rather liked Lady Elizabeth’s interpretation.
“You seem to hold every classical ideal in physique. Far more than most of the gentleman in the ballroom behind me,” she whispered. “It is a purely academic observation.”
“Indeed?” he asked, noting that her perfect cheeks had begun to show a hint of color despite her protestations of academe. “I am surprised you would admit it.”
“And why should I deny it?” she insisted. “It is simply the truth. I’m sure that if you were to walk into that ball many ladies would swoon and wish your company, but I am not one of them.” She cleared her throat and smoothed her hands down the front of her shimmering gown. “I do not wish to get myself into trouble speaking to someone who looks like a god but is clearly not a gentleman.”
“Youarevery wise then,” he said, “but are you wise enough to listen to me?”
“I cannot listen to you,” she whispered, glancing back down the hall as if she feared discovery. “Not here, not in this hall.”
And with that, she whipped around and began to quickly dart back towards the ball.
He let out a curse.
He should have told her immediately what he wanted to say, but surely such a thing would have scared her further. And so, he strode forward and carefully circled her wrist with his hand.
She stopped and whirled around, her hand raised, ready to strike him.
He admired her willingness to defend herself. It boded well.
“I cannot blame you for that,” he said tightly, her arm freezing in mid-air, “but it would be a mistake.”
She stared at him. “Would it?”
“Yes,” he said gravely. “For I have something that you need to know.”