Page 56 of A Troublesome Circumstance

“I am no spy.”

“That is precisely what a spy would say,” he replied, using her own words against her.

And despite herself, Josephine smiled.

The man extended his gloved hand towards her. “I do believe,” he said with a warm smile, “that I have earned myself a dance with you.”

“I agree,” she replied, placing her hand into his, “but only because you like dogs.”

“Ah.” His fingers closed gently around hers. “I take it you are a dog person.”

She tipped her head in a modest shrug. “I adore dogs, but I’m allergic to most breeds.”

“That is most unfortunate.”

“My brother would agree wholeheartedly,” she said as they walked together towards the dance floor. “When we were younger, he wanted a pet so desperately that he attempted to domesticate a fox.”

“Did it work?”

Josephine gave an exaggerated huff. “No. No, it did not. Have you ever tried to corral a fox in a drawing room?”

“I cannot say that I have had the privilege,” he replied, sounding very much amused. “Though I am imagining it now.”

“Oh, do not imagine it,” she warned lightly. “The curtains were never the same.”

He chuckled again. There was something familiar in that laugh, something that tugged at her memory, but the thought vanished as they reached the edge of the dance floor.

The musicians struck up the opening notes of the quadrille.

Josephine moved to her place in the line of ladies and he took his place across from her. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. It’s just a dance, she reminded herself.

But as the couples began to move and the pattern of the quadrille unfolded around them—steps she had done hundreds of times before—Josephine felt something shift within her. Her earlier nerves faded. The oppressive heat of the ballroom eased. Even the ridiculous plume of feathers hanging off her mask seemed less irritating.

Instead, she found herself… enjoying this.

Enjoying him. A stranger.

Each time they passed one another in the set, each moment their hands brushed or their gazes met across the floor, Josephine felt herself relax more.

For the first time all evening, Josephine forgot about her stitches.

Forgot about the gossip.

Forgot about Mr. Broderick.

She was only thinking about the dance and the mysterious, dark-haired man whose presence made her feel strangely, wonderfully alive.

10

Jude had found her.

He honestly hadn’t expected to—not in this crush of bodies and glittering masks—but then he saw a young woman wearing the most obnoxiously large mask in the room… and he knew. The feathers bobbed every time she turned her head. It had to be a deliberate choice to hide the stitches on her forehead. A small, protective fury stirred in him at the reminder of Mr. Broderick.

Now that he’d found her, he would not let her out of his sight.

He had intended—foolishly, perhaps—only to watch her from afar, to assure himself she was unharmed. But when she turned, when her eyes met his, when she smiled… everything inside him unraveled. He had made peace with the idea of observing her discreetly. Then she spoke, and every burden he’d carried—his father, his future, the dukedom—disappeared.

It was just him and Josephine on the dance floor.