Michael wrapped his arms about Lady X and wished life could always be as simple and straightforward as it seemed in that moment. He pressed his lips to her hair.

“This may not completely match your perfect day,” he confessed, “but to me it is a close second.”

“We said perfect nights don’t count,” she teased. But something in her voice made him think the only reason she teased was because what they had—whatever it was that they had—was not something they could keep. They were destined to share stolen hours together, not a lifetime.

Nonetheless, within the parameters of their hidden identities, he was determined to respond to her as honestly as he could. He had never been able to be as open with someone as he was with Lady X, and he didn’t want to spoil the magic by allowing their connection to become as superficial as all his others.

“Today was the best day I’ve had all week,” he admitted. “And not solely because I finally got to see you, although that would have been more than sufficient.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head in question.

“The past several days have been plagued with social encounters that went horribly awry, culminating in the theft from my home of a piece of my mother’s jewelry. It is one of the few mementos of her that remain, and to say I was heartbroken at its loss…” Michael grimaced. “Suffice it to say, that was the lowest point of the week.”

“What happened today to make it the best?”

“Today, the missing jewelry found its way home.” Renewed relief suffused him at his good fortune. “Once I realized the piece was missing, I distributed a drawing of its likeness to every pawnbroker in London. This morning, a messenger invited me to a small shop in Whitechapel, where I was able to buy back my mother’s jewelry for far less than it is worth to me.” He contorted his face. “There isn’t enough money in the world to pay what it’s worth.”

“That’s wonderful,” Lady X said, her voice warm. “That it returned home, that is. It’s absolutely dreadful that you were robbed. Especially of something with such emotional value.”

He couldn’t agree more. If he ever caught the contemptible blackguard who had robbed him…

“Perhaps I’m foolish.” He forced anger from his mind and turned the topic back to her. “Have you any trinkets that mean more to you than their monetary worth?”

Lady X shook her head. “I suppose I am the oddity of my family in that way. One of my siblings is a musician, and would die without her instrument. Another has a pet project she values more than her life. The only thing I would hate to lose is something inside of me.”

“Your heart?” he guessed. The question came out sounding far more serious than he had intended. Yet he didn’t look away. “Here I’d hoped I had a chance of stealing it.”

“I am permitting you to borrow it on masquerade nights,” she responded primly, then laughed.

Michael did not. The idea that he might possess a piece of her heart, even for only a few hours, had left him light-headed.

“A talent,” she said hesitantly. “I have a talent I wish I could use. Were it not unseemly for a lady, I would happily earn a living working every day of the week, if it meant being able to do what I love.”

He leaned forward with interest. “What is it you love to do?”

She opened her mouth, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. If I tell you, you might guess who I am.”

Might he? Michael straightened with interest. The fact that she considered a successful guess to be possible hinted at some level of notoriety. Intrigued, he ran through a mental list of the most infamous ladies of the ton. Of them, he tried to limit the names to only the ladies with talents capable of earning them a livable wage.

No one came to mind.

He gave up the exercise, frustrated more with himself than over any lack on the part of the ladies.

Every one of them down to a button might boast more talent than he could ever imagine. But since an earl’s society conversations were limited to “My, that’s an interesting bonnet” and “I believe this is my waltz?” Michael was singularly incapable of knowing whether he and Lady X had ever before met.

Dissatisfaction simmered beneath his contentment. He simultaneously felt that she knew him better than anyone—and that he knew her not at all. Or at least not well enough to satisfy.

He wanted more than stolen moments at a masquerade. He wanted the real Lady X.

His eyes widened in surprise at the depth of his emotion. Perhaps he, too, had been loaning her his heart without even realizing it.

If he knew her identity, they could spend far more time together. Any day of the week, not just when Lambley decided to host a masquerade. They could chat at a dinner party, dance at a soirée, promenade in the park, drop by Gunter’s for ices… perhaps even visit the stretch of river she loved so much.

A sliver of hope lifted his spirits. He would happily dispense with masquerades altogether if it meant more time with Lady X. Indeed, ceasing their double lives would be better for both of them. By attending the masquerades, they both risked the loss of their reputations if their identities were uncovered.

He was surprised to realize the idea worried him far more for Lady X’s future than for the outcome of his wager. He still intended to win. He would win. He had been a positive saint for almost three weeks, aside from a dust-up here and there with an occasional Grenville.

And, of course, the masquerades.

Everyone who presented themselves at the door was taking a risk. That was a key component of the allure. Yet the true reason Michael had always attended wasn’t in order to put a mask on, but rather to take his off. The earl mask, the rake mask, the caricatures of himself. At the masquerades, he was finally just Michael. Even if no one ever knew it.

Until Lady X. She wasn’t sitting on a stone folly with a rake or an earl. She was sitting here with him. The real him. And risking her reputation every time she returned for one of their assignations.

Because he’d asked her to risk it, he realized. His shoulders tensed. He’d met her within moments of arriving at her first masquerade. She hadn’t intended to come back. He’d begged her. Begged Lambley. Arranged with Fairfax to let her in the door without an invitation.

At the time, he’d thought he was simply arranging to spend more time with an intriguing woman. But that wasn’t all he’d asked, was it? His chest tightened. By convincing her to meet like this, he had essentially required her to repeatedly put her reputation at risk. He clenched his jaw. Oh, why hadn’t he thought it through?

Perhaps because for him it was different. Yes, his name was often mentioned in scandal columns and his countenance frequently sketched in painfully embarrassing caricatures, but such treatment had little to no impact on his societal standing.

No matter what the rumor, no matter what the drawing, he was still titled. Still rich. Still accepted everywhere.

A woman, on the other hand, was not afforded such luxury. Lady Caroline Lamb had been ruined over scandalous behavior, and she was well-moneyed, well-connected, and wed to an earl. Michael would not be able to protect Lady X if her identity became known.

Granted, a respectable woman attending a masquerade was not as severe a crime as Lady Caroline having an affair with Lord Byron and writing a thinly veiled telltale novel brimming with sordid details. Nonetheless, for Lady X the consequence of discovery would be exactly the same.

Complete social ruin.

Hundreds of otherwise respectable young ladies had lost their reputations over merely being unchaperoned in a room with a man. Much less having repeated rendezvous in private masquerades known for openly encouraging scandalous behavior.

More importantly, he liked Lady X. The thought of her suffering any harm, societal or otherwise, was dreadful. Michael wrapped his arms tighter about her.

He didn’t want their time together to end. He wanted to get to know the real her. Wanted her to know the real him.

Wished he knew if she felt the same.

While she wasn’t looking, he sent her another long, half-infatuated glance. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her. Didn’t even wish to. Every moment he spent in her company only made him want more. The idea of doing something about it was surprisingly appealing.

Michael had never courted anyone before. Never even considered such a thing. But with her… he would at least like to pay her a proper call. Bring her flowers. See what happened next.

If only he knew her name.

But what could he do? Besides furtive, mooning glances. Whether she answered him or not, the mere act of asking her name broke the duke’s strict privacy policies. Michael would be banned for life from all future masquerades.

Gone would be the nights of just being Michael. There would be no respite from the earl mask, the rake mask, the caricatures. Would it be worth the loss?

If Lady X did grant him her name, and permission to see her again, that was no guarantee of a happy ending. She could reject him out of hand once he made his identity known. He swallowed uncomfortably.

Even if that didn’t happen, if the relationship turned sour later, he would still never be welcome again at a masquerade. Never able to return to this moment, to this life, to this freedom.

Yet the risk had never been more tempting.