By the time of the masquerade that evening, Camellia was desperate to escape into the night for a few blissful hours in the company of Lord X. She could do well with a restorative dose of anonymity in the arms of a gentleman who had never once let her down. Her spirits lightened.

Lord X would be the last person to allow her to be belittled or permit her to be uncomfortable in any way. From the moment they had met, he’d rescued her from unwanted attention and compounded his chivalrousness by giving her full control over the direction and pace of their relationship.

Her heart tripped. Relationship. She could scarcely deny they shared one, no matter how difficult it might be to define. He was why she was here, decked head to toe in shimmering silver, save for a white-feathered mask and gray satin dancing slippers.

More than that, he was the reason she awoke with a smile in the mornings and tumbled into her dreams with a wistful sigh every night. Lord X was open. Honest. Dangerously perfect.

And after tonight, there would only be one masquerade left before she was betrothed to a stranger.

She shoved the disheartening thought away as the doorkeeper pushed open the entrance to the main hall and called out her name. “Please welcome Lady X!”

“Lady X!” the boisterous crowd roared back, glasses of champagne raised high.

A wide grin curved her lips at being back in the mad, exhilarating world of the masquerade. She touched her fingers to one of her earrings as she scanned the upper promenade for the only merrymaker who mattered.

“Lady X,” came a familiar husky voice into her ear. “My heart thumps every time your name is announced, but it only leaps when I see that it’s you.”

Her skin flushed with pleasure as he lifted her gloved hand to his lips.

“Lord X,” she murmured. “I wondered if you would be here yet.”

“You needn’t wonder.” He lifted her palm to his cheek before releasing her hand. “I have been wretched with wanting to see you again for an entire week. You have made me a desperate man. It is quite unbecoming.”

“You could never be unbecoming,” she said, and meant it.

With a crooked smile, he pointed at his mask . “How do you know? I could be alarmingly monstrous beneath the black feathers.”

“It would be a very becoming sort of monstrous,” she assured him. “The sort that might turn you into a prince, if the right woman were to kiss you.”

“Then a prince I must be,” he replied softly. “For you have already kissed me.”

Camellia’s mask hid her blush. She hoped. “I might be tempted to do so again, if you would be so kind as to take me for a stroll through the rear garden. Ever since I glimpsed the stone folly from the balcony, I have been eager to find the path that leads to it.”

He brushed the side of her cheek with his knuckles, then proffered his arm. “As you wish.”

“Thank you.” A sense of contentment washed over her. She looped her arm through his.

“You’re very welcome.” He touched her hand. “Pleasing you pleases me, my lady.”

As before, the sea of revelers parted as if by magic as Lord X led her toward the rear doors on the far side of the chamber. In minutes, they were out of the hot, riotous crowd and stepping into the cool stillness of the night.

Although there were many other couples on the lawn, on the balcony overhead, or on one of the many stone paths below, their low conversations—if indeed there were any—were indistinguishable to the ear. By gazing at Lord X instead of their surroundings, Camellia could almost imagine them alone in the garden with only the stars as chaperones.

“Tell me more about how ‘wretched’ you were to see me,” she teased as they strolled down a winding, circuitous path.

“Wretched is too kind a word for the pitiful creature I have been.” He pressed her fingers to his lips in a kiss. “Last night, instead of sleeping, I spent the hours imagining this night instead. How you would look. What I would say. Whether you might press yourself against me in the stairwell again and abuse my poor tender heart with glimpses of passion.”

“You’re certain it wasn’t you who pressed against me?” she asked.

“It’s hazy,” he admitted. “Sometimes I get mixed up between what really happened, and the alternative versions that transpire in my dreams.”

Amused, she cast him a speculative gaze. “Did you really lie awake practicing what you would say to me tonight?”

“Absolutely. Then forgot every word of it the moment I saw you,” he answered cheerfully. “I’m afraid you get the real me, rather than the practiced me. What about you? Have you never rehearsed what you planned to say?”

“No,” she replied honestly. When one did not leave one’s quarters except to sing memorized songs at the occasional musicales, there were no conversations that needed to be rehearsed.

He glanced at her in surprise. “Not even for tonight?”

“Especially not tonight.” She gave him a shy smile and hoped he could see her sincerity. “I want every moment with you to be as deliciously surprising as the last.”

“Hmm.” He swung her into his arms and raced up a hidden trio of steps that opened into the rear of the stone folly. “Were you expecting that?”

“No,” she admitted breathlessly as he set her back on her feet.

“Good.” He cradled the back of her head in his hand and lowered his mouth to hers.

Pleasure rushed through her. Not only from his kiss, but from everything about him. The romance of his words. His strength. His passion.

The warmth of his embrace might weaken her knees, but his fearless honesty and eagerness to see her captured her heart. His face might be masked, but he willingly bared his soul to her. She had never felt closer to another person. Never imagined it could be like this. Never wanted it to stop. She was helpless to resist.

She wrapped her arms about his neck and opened herself to him. The stars, the night, the moment was theirs. She kissed him with six-and-twenty years of loneliness. She kissed him with all the pent up yearning she suffered between each of their far too brief masked encounters. But most of all, she kissed him with the same honesty he’d given to her.

Her pulse quickened as their kisses became deeper. She wanted him to know how interminable each hour was outside of his arms. The highlight of each week was being here, with him. She had missed him far more than was wise, but she was no longer wholly in charge of her heart.

An important piece of it now belonged to him.

When at last they broke their kiss, he led her to a small stone bench between two fluted pillars. They sat in the center, their bodies touching, his warm arm wrapped snug about her to cradle her close.

Only then did she recall that the folly was visible from the balcony. Anyone at all could have seen him swing her into his arms. A dozen revelers might have witnessed their kiss.

Her breath caught. Not with embarrassment, but with excitement. The idea pleased her far more than it should. Despite the royal gown and the extravagant mask, Camellia was a proper young lady. An unremarkable wallflower.

Yet, knowing that no one would ever know it was she who allowed herself to be carried in a stranger’s arms, she who returned his passionate kisses on the roof, in the stairwell, inside a folly—the anonymity gave her a power she had never before experienced.

Even Lord X did not know the identity of the woman he was wooing. It was a different sort of attachment. A romance that was only real during the night. As ethereal as a dream.

This was her dream made true. An impossible adventure. Limitless freedom, if only for the night. If others wished to watch, then let them watch. She was not here for them. She was here for herself.

And for Lord X.

She laid her head against his chest and listened to the comforting rhythm of his heart.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“For you, what would constitute a perfect day?” she countered, rather than admit the truth.

“This,” he responded without hesitation.

“This is a perfect night,” she corrected, despite the rush of pleasure at his answer. “What do you do when you can do anything you want?”

He was silent a long time before responding.

“I’m not sure I ever have days where I do solely what I want,” he admitted at last. “To some people, it may look as though that’s all I do, but the truth is that even when I am not devoting my time to my responsibilities, every action I take, every word I say is often picked apart or misinterpreted or exaggerated beyond its intended meaning. So even when I am doing what I want, I am not able to do it how I want, which makes it not what I want after all.” His self-deprecating chuckle rumbled against her ear. “If that makes any sense.”

“I think so.” She nodded slowly. “I am rarely misinterpreted, but I live in fear of just such an occurrence. That fear has prevented me from doing almost everything I have ever wished to do.”

“Almost everything?” he prompted.

“I’m here,” she said simply. “That’s more than I would have believed myself capable of even a month or two ago.”

“And yet, you must have had a perfect day like you asked me about. Or at least an idea of what yours would be.”

“I am lucky enough to have had a perfect moment many, many times,” she admitted. Her hideaway restored her equilibrium and gave her peace. “For me, it is a large round rock on the shoulder of my favorite river. No one knows about the spot but me. It is simultaneously open to the universe and completely private. It is the one place I can be free inside my head and out.”

“It sounds magnificent.” His tone was wistful. “I wish I could see it. I love nature more than anything. Not that I would interrupt your private sanctuary, of course.”

“I wish you could,” she said softly. “That’s what would make it a perfect day.”

He wrapped his arms about her and snuggled her closer. “What would we do if we were there?”

“Exactly this.” She nestled against him. “Instead of a stone bench, we’d be seated atop the rock, nestled in each other’s arms. Instead of a folly, we’d have trees and flowers and a river.” She pointed beneath the cupola to the masked couples in the shadows of the balcony. “And instead of merrymakers… we’d have complete privacy.”

His lips brushed her hairline. “To do what?”

“This.” She cupped his cheek with her gloved hand and brought his head down to meet her lips.

He pulled her close, sinking a hand in her hair as though to keep her locked in his embrace. Foolish man. There was nowhere else she would choose to be. No one else she would rather be kissing. The days that separated them between each masquerade made the nights their mouths joined all the sweeter. Her breasts felt full, her body suddenly demanding.

When she was not in his arms, she yearned for his embrace. Longed for his smile, his scent, his strength, his taste. Here beneath the stars, she belonged only to him.

She parted her lips and allowed him to take possession of her mouth. The rest of her body wished for the same attention. She longed to feel his hands on her bare skin, his mouth anywhere he pleased.

Thank heavens they were in the midst of a lavishly attended masquerade. Had they truly been alone tonight…

She would not have been content with merely a kiss.