Page 209 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

Selene tapped her blue lace fan against her hand. “I hope he isn’t terribly ill. Perhaps he chose to stay away for Lady Peony’s sake. That would be gallant of him.”

“Marriage has made you see the good in everyone, however improbable,” Eliana said. “At any rate, do ask the duke.”

“Of course. And I’ll have him dance with you as well. Make your suitors take notice. I’m surprised you’re not surrounded by your usual coterie of admirers.”

“Perhaps they don’t recognize me.”

Or perhaps she had already dissuaded several of her would-be paramours, telling them she felt unwell and preferred to sit quietly with Lady Peony for a time. It was easier than pretending to a cheer she did not feel.

“Now you’re being silly.” Selene poked her in the arm with her fan. “Go off and chat with your admirers, and don’t fret too much about Lady Peony. She needs to stop feeling sorry for herself, and you hovering over her doesn’t help.”

“As you say, oh Muse.” Eliana ducked away from another poke.

Her sister’s quiet laughter followed Eliana as she wove back through the crowd. And although she was smiling, Eliana felt a twinge of discontent.

She didn’t actually want to return to Peony, nor did she want to circulate and be witty and bright and charming. The thought, which used to fill her with energy, now only made her tired. Whatever was the matter with her?

Drawing up her red hood to cover her hair, Eliana let the flow of the crowd push her to the edges of the room. She fetched up beside a decorative column and caught her breath. She just needed a moment to herself, and then she would be the usual merry, animated girl everyone expected her to be.

Surely she would.

Before she achieved that state, however, her quiet was intruded upon by a black-haired gentleman wearing a wolf mask. His eyes were very blue behind the white fur covering his mask, and the nose protruded out so far that she could barely see his mouth or the line of his jaw.

“Good evening,” he said in an accented voice. “I beg your pardon, but when I saw a beautiful maiden in a red cloak, I knew we must meet. I am Count Nikolai of Kiev.”

Her pulse accelerated as she looked at him standing before her, tall and a bit forbidding. Despite the confidence in his voice, there was a wary set to his shoulders, as though he were inclined to flee back into the dark forest from which he’d emerged.

“Perhaps it is better if we do not become acquainted,” she said. “After all, the tale does not end well for the maiden.”

He brought his hand to his heart. “You wound me. In some versions of the story, it is the wolf who is the unfortunate one, after all.”

“Then either way, we oughtn’t to meet.”

Despite her words, a strange shiver went through her. Perhaps a Russian count with melancholy eyes was just the antidote she was looking for.

His teeth flashed white in the shadows beneath his mask. “On the contrary. One might say it is fated. Would you tell me your name?”

Eliana hesitated. It was not the done thing, of course, for a man and woman to meet without an introduction. Yet the rules of a masked ball were different, and besides, it was clear that Count Nikolai was a foreigner, unaccustomed to the customs of England.

“You may call me Mademoiselle Red,” she finally said.

If he turned out to be a pleasant fellow then she might gift him with her name, but she was not entirely certain. The wolf mask gave him a dangerous air.

“It is my pleasure, Mademoiselle Red.” He made her an elegant bow. “But why do you lurk here behind the colonnade? A beautiful young lady such as yourself should be out dancing and laughing and breaking all the young men’s hearts.”

“Even the most sociable of ladies needs a moment to herself,” she said.

“And I have intruded.” He dipped his head. “You must forgive me. But will you also promise me a dance later if I go away now and leave you alone?”

He made her smile with his boldness, and for some reason her entire mood lightened. This was a masked ball, after all, and what could be more amusing than Red Riding Hood dancing with the wolf?

“In truth,” she said, “I suspect you’re a better companion than my own lonely thoughts. I will dance with you now.”

He held out his arm, his blue eyes serious, and led her to the dance floor. The small orchestra on the balcony struck up a waltz, and Eliana let out a half sigh, half laugh. Of course, it would be nothing so simple as a quadrille or country dance. No, she must step right into the wolf’s embrace.

“You see?” he said in his Russian accent. “Fate conspires with us.”

“Or against us.”

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