Page 32 of The Mysterious Miss Lydia
Her mother leaned in to whisper. “Can’t you just imagine our Imogene as a countess?”
Lydia didn’t respond, and her mother didn’t wait for a reply. She was already off to find Imogene, which left Lydia on her own.
In a crowd.
She looked around for some glimpse of Miss Farthington or her other friends, but her view was blocked by clusters of her parents’ acquaintances. Strangers, for the most part.
She found herself darting through the crowd, her head down and her gaze on the ground as she sought out the nearest potted fern. That brief feeling she’d had only moments before?
It was gone in a heartbeat.
“Oh yes, look at you, Lydia,” she muttered to herself as she scampered past a group of men who did not see her. “Ever the heroine, aren’t you?”
9
It was wonderfully easy to get lost in the crowd at a masquerade.
Unless, Luke noted, one was a redhead.
It was easy enough to keep track of his prey, even if she was remarkably adept at slipping through the crowd unnoticed.
He watched her from afar for far too long, but she seemed none the wiser.
He, however, found it difficult to look away. The more he watched, the more confused he became. What game was she playing? What plan was she enacting?
And why did no one else seem to notice the stunning beauty in their midst?
Finally, after watching her for an age, he concluded that his mystery woman would be making no move toward her goal any time soon—indeed, she seemed content to stand still as a statue, so close to a potted fern she was practically hidden behind its leaves.
He approached from the side, and though his voice was low and even, she jumped as if he’d spooked her.
“May I—” he started.
He stopped when she whipped around with a squeak. He held his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “I mean you no harm, Miss.”
His heart flipped dangerously at the look of relief in her eyes when she realized who he was.
He was just grateful that she trusted him, that was all.
It couldn’t be more than that.
But even as he thought it, he reached a hand out to her and every part of his body warmed straight through when she hesitated only briefly before taking it.
“Allow me this next dance,” he said.
It wasn’t a question and she gave no answer. She kept silent but she followed him readily enough. A waltz began just as they reached the other dancers, and that was when she stumbled. Her hesitation brought them both to a stop.
“Do you dance?” he asked.
She nodded. “It is just...” Her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink. “I don’t know your name and you don’t know mine, and...” She blinked up at him. “This is improper, is it not?”
His lips twitched with amusement. Was she attempting to tease? Was an actress and a mistress truly worried about propriety while flitting about in a party where she did not belong?
But yes, she seemed to be in earnest and so he turned to face her fully. “My name is Captain Luke Hogan.” He felt a flicker of unease as the words came out so easily.
But no, that wasn’t his name any longer. It rolled off his tongue as a matter of habit, but he also realized the moment it came out that a captain was likely less daunting to a woman like her than a viscount. And so he did not clarify, much as guilt niggled in his belly.
She looked uneasy as well, fidgeting with her mask. He could all but feel her pulling away now that it was her turn to give her name.
