Camellia did not hurry from the hired hack toward Lambley’s ducal residence, but rather took each slow, measured step with a renewed sense of awareness and freedom.

Before, she had slipped away with Lord X for stolen moments, knowing full well she could let things progress no further than heated kisses, because she would soon be betrothed to another man.

Tonight was different. She was different. When Mr. Bost returned to finalize his paperwork with her father, Camellia would force both men to understand that future was not a path she would be pursuing.

If it meant remaining a spinster for the rest of her days, so be it. At least she would be free. Free of expectations, free of guilt. Free to explore her relationship with Lord X wherever it might lead. Free to fall in love. Free to walk away.

It wasn’t until she stepped inside the duke’s antechamber and removed her emerald feather mask that she realized she’d forgotten to acquire a new codeword to use in lieu of a proper invitation. Nor could she use Lord X as a reference, because she didn’t even know his name. Her cheeks flamed.

She stuttered in embarrassment. “I’m afraid I haven’t a proper invitation, but I’m… friends with…”

“Everyone, of course.” The doorkeeper’s smile was genuine as he motioned for her to retie her mask. “The duke has a permanent place for you on his list of regular attendees. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Wonder filled her. A permanent place on the list of regulars! A grin curved her lips as she straightened her shoulders.

For the first time, she felt like the night truly did belong to her.

The doorkeeper swept open the door from the vestibule to the hall of merrymakers. “Lady X, my friends!”

“Lady X!” the crowd shouted back in delight.

Before she could take so much as a step, strong hands swung her into a familiar embrace.

“I have been standing by this doorway since a quarter till ten,” Lord X scolded in his warm, husky voice.

She arched a brow. “The doors don’t even open until ten.”

“I was first.” He stole a quick kiss before letting her out of his embrace.

She missed his warmth immediately and looped her arm through his. “First? Just you alone in an empty ballroom?”

“I would have arrived straight after breakfast, had Lambley not instructed his man not to let me in until a reasonable approximation of the proper hour.” Lord X’s tone was teasing, but his expression was hidden behind the inky feathers of his ebony mask.

“Why so early?” she asked. “You had to know no one else would be here yet.”

“I don’t care about anyone else. I care about you.” He leaned close. “I missed you terribly, no matter how hard I tried not to. It was horrid. Quite shameful of you to tie up a man’s heartstrings so callously.”

Pleasure filled her rather than remorse. “I didn’t do it on purpose, you know.”

“I do know. That’s why it worked. If you had meant to ensnare me, I would have slipped the noose. As it stands, I didn’t even notice the gradual loss of air until you had stolen the breath from my lungs completely.”

“What a dreadful analogy,” she laughed as she playfully straightened his cravat. “I should hope our interactions are nothing like a trip to the gallows.”

“Only in the sense that I’m falling,” he replied, his tone cryptic. “Where are we off to tonight? The promenade? The garden?”

“Tonight, I wish to dance.” She wished to do everything she’d been too frightened to try before. She wanted to be free.

He glanced upstairs. “To the roof?”

She shook her head. Last time, she had barely been brave enough to dance in private. This time, she was bold enough to let the entire world see. She wasn’t a wallflower anymore, or any other limiting label.

“Right here.” She was Lady X. And she wanted to dance.

Perhaps she’d even steal a kiss in the middle of the ballroom.

He led her into the chamber with the orchestra and onto the parquet floor. “May I have this waltz, Lady X?”

“I’m yours for the rest of the night.” She smiled up at him. Hadn’t stopped smiling, in fact, since the moment the doorkeeper welcomed her to the masquerade. She was utterly, deliriously happy. Tonight was going to be perfect.

Lord X lifted her right hand in his and curved his other arm about her waist as he expertly led her about the dance floor in time to the music.

Her pulse raced with every dip and twirl as she swirled through the crowd of masked revelers in the safety and excitement of his arms.

“You look ravishing tonight,” he murmured into her ear. “Every time I see you, you’re even more beautiful than the last, but in that emerald gown… Every woman here tonight wishes she were you, and every gentleman wishes he were me. I might be the most fortunate man alive.”

Her cheeks heated behind her feather mask. Had anyone ever envied her before? Tonight, they should. She had Lord X and she had no intention of letting him go.

“Thank you,” she said softly over the thumping of her heart.

She felt beautiful tonight. The shimmering emerald silk of her dress, the sparkling teardrops of her earrings, the faux diamonds adorning the cat-eye cutouts of her scarlet-plumed mask. Even her satin slippers were new, cradling her feet in luxurious softness.

In Lord X’s arms, she soared and dipped in tandem with the music of the orchestra, as if the flutes and violins played not for the masquerade but solely for the two of them.

Though his expression was hidden behind the black feathers of his mask, the focus and intensity of Lord X’s gaze had never once wavered from Camellia. It was as if, as it was for her, everyone else had ceased to exist.

The champagne-drunk merrymakers, the thousands of shimmering candles in the chandeliers overhead, the night itself was naught but a buoyant blur, serving only as an excuse to remain locked in each other’s arms.

Not that any excuse was required. The opposite! She could not imagine willfully leaving his embrace. Every moment in his arms only made her long for another, and another. A waltz was merely a prelude to a kiss, each kiss merely a promise of something more.

And, oh, did she want more. She yearned to feel the warmth of his hands not only on the curve of her spine but on all of her curves. Every inch of her trembled with wanting to feel his touch, his tongue, his kiss.

When he pulled her close to brush his lips against the lobe of her ear, the base of her neck, ’twas all she could do not to melt into his arms and beg him to steal her away to a private nook. Somewhere their tantalizing kisses need not be teasing hints of forbidden pleasure but rather only the beginning of a passion too incendiary to deny.

When at last the waltz ended, the orchestra set aside their instruments for a brief intermission. The other merrymakers deserted the now silent ballroom.

Lord X stole a long slow kiss, then tucked her hand against his arm. “Shall we watch the stars from the roof? Escape to the garden to walk amongst the flowers? Or should we find our magic elsewhere?”

“Elsewhere,” she said without hesitation. Before she could change her mind, she twined her arms about his neck and pressed her body to his with a kiss so passionate it threatened to consume her entire soul. For this one perfect night, she would be his. “Let’s make our own magic.”