Neanderthal Seeks Duchess

The footman approached confidently with his tray of refreshment. “My ladies, would you care for some lemonade?” With a flourish, he presented our drinks and offered a brilliant smile. Blond hair and amused brown eyes met our undeniably surprised expressions. Servants were typically less flamboyant and obvious in their attentions. I noticed Lady Foxworth’s charming footman was dressed to reflect the extravagance of the ball as well. He seemed to be playing a role to accompany the theme of the evening and indulging us at the same time.

“Why, thank you. We would be delighted to accept,” Eliza finally managed while offering a shy smile. I thanked him in turn and off he went to further support his mistress in her outrageous affair. I was both grateful for the refreshment on this mild evening but also the respite from the seriousness of my interrupted conversation with Eliza. However, she seemed determined to pick up where we left off. But before she could open her mouth to question my intentions further, I looked over her shoulder beyond the closest palm frond and spotted something, nay, someone that caused me to suck in a large breath. Unfortunately, my mouth was full of lemonade at the time and I began choking quite fitfully.

Alarmed, Eliza took my glass and patted me gamely on the back. “Are you all right? You looked like something startled you.” She started to turn to examine the gardens for the source of my alarm, but I quickly grabbed her arm and recovered my wits.

Eyes watering, I cleared my throat and whispered furiously, “Do not turn. He is behind you.”

As one does, she completely ignored me and made to turn again while questioning, “Who is behind me?”

I made to stop her again and finally met her confused stare. “Him. The mysterious gentleman. Lord Dashing,” I hissed. I risked a peek over her shoulder and squeaked. “Bollocks, he’s coming over here. Just… Don’t… Ugh. Stop looking, Eliza!”

“What? I can’t help it. I’m sorry.”

She did not look sorry. At all.

Lord Dashing, or whatever his name was because I still did not know, bah, approached with a quick bow. But before he could address us or offer any kind of greeting, I blurted, “It’s you.” Wincing internally, I took in the man before me. Dressed all in black with a plain domino half mask, he was stunning. His eyes shone behind his mask. Icy blue eyes unseen in nature. I openly admired his face and belatedly noticed the silence after my graceless pronouncement had gone on quite some time.

Eliza slowly leaned over to stare between us. I perceived her face entering my field of vision with some effort. “Good evening, My Lord,” she began in an effort to draw our attention.

My mystery gentleman—I needed to stop thinking of him as mine—the mystery gentleman of my brief acquaintance (that’s better) inclined his head and offered a polite, “my lady” in Eliza’s general direction. His gaze returned to my person after the momentary departure. He absorbed me with his eyes, taking me in in pieces and parts. Lord Dashing’s perusal warmed my cheeks, but a very small feminine part of me cheered internally at his appreciative once-over. Eyes strayed to my shoulders, neckline, before finally sweeping down the length of my deep violet gown. He returned my admiring stare as his gaze found my mask-covered one.

“Yes, my lady. It’s me. Would you care to dance?”