Page 7 of What a Widow Wants

“Six months to convince her to marry you? Giving yourself a bit of a leeway, aren’t you? You thought she’d agree to marry you tonight.” Kinellan lined up a row of ratafia cakes across his plate. “Sounds like you have doubts she’ll take you.”

“Where Fanny is concerned, I wouldn’t wager on anything.” An unfortunate truth he hated to admit. But he had hopes. Her response to his kisses tonight had been sweeter than he’d imagined. Than he’d remembered. He’d woo her back into his life—and into his bed—before the summer was done. “But I’ve planned an assault in the event she didn’t succumb to my roguish charm.”

“Assault is it? Are we to launch a Widow’s Campaign?” Mischief showed in his friend’s dark blue eyes.

“Indeed, we are. First sally staunchly rebuffed. Second one to be more carefully planned.” Matthew glanced at the lean-faced man across from him. “You’d planned to accompany me to Brighton, hadn’t you?”

“Nothing much else to do until the shooting begins in August. Brighton could be a lark. Do you plan to take up sea bathing?” Kinellan leaned back in his chair, cake in hand.

“I do.” Matthew smirked. “I understand it can be very stimulating.”

“Gods, with the weather as cold as it is, I should say so. Even in June.”

“You have no idea.” Matthew laid his fork on his plate. “Now, I need a new disguise.”

* * *

Taking hands again with a short, stout Cupid, Fanny tried in vain to keep her mind on the dance as they cast off then performed a two-hand turn. Matthew had no right to appear out of thin air and force his way back into her life. Neither was it fair of him to propose before she’d even taken it in that he’d returned.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, my dear.” Cupid had trod squarely on her foot.

The pain registered, but only as a bare nuisance. “Not at all, sir. It was likely my mistake in the step. Do we circle right, now?” She should never have agreed to dance again tonight. Not while her mind was so disengaged. Grasping her partner’s hands, Fanny managed to follow around the circle until they returned to place, which thankfully left them out for several measures.

“Are you enjoying yourself tonight, Aphrodite?” Her Cupid seemed to feel conversation necessary. Pity.

“As much as a goddess can when surrounded by mere mortals. Don’t you find that tedious as well? Wouldn’t you rather confer only with your fellow gods and goddesses?” She’d been keeping a keen eye out for Matthew. Had this not been her first ball in over a year, she’d have left as soon as she fled the library. But she’d be dashed if she’d let his lordship ruin her first night of freedom.

“I would indeed, if they were all as ravishing and regal as you.” The little man’s eyes gleamed behind his rough, white half-mask.

Lord, not another one. Well, this was the freedom she had sought. “You are kind, Cupid. But we are back in the set.”

Thank goodness. They cast up and went down the set and Fanny took care to concentrate on the steps, as much to not miss them as to discourage more conversation. The set should almost be done. Another set-to with her partner, another circle right. When they reached their places, the music changed for a bow and Fanny allowed Cupid to lead her from the floor.

“My thanks, Cupid, for your nimble feet when mine seemed so clumsy.” Surreptitiously, Fanny glanced about for an acquaintance. “Allow me to visit Athena there, to borrow wisdom before I commit further folly on the dance floor.”

“Of course, my goddess.” He bowed, a good sport who knew her interest lay elsewhere.

She dipped a curtsy and hurried toward a woman dressed in classic robes, a warlike helmet, and an owl perched on her shoulder. The woman had enough height she might be Lady Sophia Mallory, a friend of her come-out Season, now Lady Fauquier. Fanny hurried toward her.

“Aphrodite. A goddess I have long adored.”

Stopping so swiftly her slippers slid on the polished floor, Fanny wavered precariously before a strong hand grabbed her arm. She spun around, lips pursed to show her displeasure if that grasp belonged to Pollux.

A breathy little squeak escaped instead when she beheld a tall man in a red domino, his face covered in a black oval mask that hid his features completely.

“Unhand me, sir. I will not be accosted by an enigma.” The featureless robe hid any distinguishing characteristics, save his height. Taller than Matthew, to be sure. She relaxed a trifle. Perhaps this mysterious gentleman would take her mind off Lord Lathbury’s proposal.

“Then allow me to partner you in the next set. By the end, I’m certain I’ll be no more a mystery to you than your own true love.”

Fanny started at his words, but the voice wasn’t Matthew’s. Deeper, more gravelly. More dangerous. The very adventure she’d been longing for. “You will need to be transparent indeed, Monsieur Domino, to accomplish that in the course of a single set.”

“I am yours to command.” He offered his arm, still clothed in the folds of the robe, and she lay her hand upon it, a thrill of excitement shooting through her. Sweeping her back onto the floor, he steered her toward the top of the line where a Longways set was forming.

“We are to be the top couple?” Fanny raised her brows, then realized he couldn’t see her arch movement. Masks did have their drawbacks. Settling for dropping her hand from his arm, she straightened her shoulders and glared at him, with what she hoped was a piercing stare.

He chuckled. “You should be placed at the head of everything you do, my goddess. Do you not agree?”

How was one supposed to answer that? The gentleman was too clever by half. “Then I should be ranked above you as well?”