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She wanted to meet him.

Thorn read the words again.

She was arriving in London soon, and she wanted to see him.

His heart jolted in his chest. He continued reading and chuckled aloud. Not only did she want to meet him, the mischievous vixen wanted to sneak into the Hades’ masquerade ball to do it!

That was not just adventurous—reckless! When he’d met her at Caldwell’s ball, he didn’t think she was either of those things.

He shook his head in disbelief. Every time he thought he had figured her out, she managed to surprise him again.

She wanted to meet him.

He wanted to meet her, too. His entire body tingled in anticipation. He hadn’t wanted anything quite so badly in years.

But doubt nagged at the back of his mind.

The masquerade wasn’t a safe place for a young, unmarried woman. But he’d be there, wouldn’t he? He would protect her and never leave her sight. He was dying to see her for weeks now. To see her, feel her… taste her.

Thorn shook his head. He couldn’t.

Could he?

She is my fiancée.

We’ll be wed soon.

Many contradicting thoughts warred inside him.

What if he misconstrued her interest in him? What if she didn’t feel the same way?

Well, he’d just have to go to the masquerade and find out.

Don’t be a coward, Thorn.

You ought to see her again sooner or later. And perhaps it was better to meet her behind the mask, under the veil of darkness…

He picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote the reply.

My dearest Penelope,

I am eager to see you again. It would be my pleasure to escort you to the Hades’ masquerade. Of course, I have some conditions. I need to be certain of your safety. But if we take all the necessary precautions, I shall be the most gracious of escorts.

I am eager to dance with you again, to hold your hand, and look into your eyes.

Yours always,

Thorn

* * *

Lydia read Art’s letter over and over, a sinking feeling gnawing at her. Was she doing the wrong thing?

The words on the page felt sincere, as though he was genuinely compelled by her… She recognized the longing in them—she had written similar sentiments to him once.

I am eager to dance with you again, to hold your hand, and to look into your eyes.

Those were not the words of a gentleman unattached, merely fulfilling an obligation. Those were the words of an infatuated man who couldn’t admit his feelings outright for fear of being too forward.