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“Now that you’ve spoken it, it’s hardly a secret.” She flipped her scarlet fan open and began fluttering it before her face.

“It is our secret, between the two of us. But I see I’ve offended you, Mademoiselle Red. My apologies. Despite my costume this evening, I am not a wolfish gentleman.”

Still fanning herself, Eliana glanced at him. She was not sure she believed him—there was something dangerously masculine in the way he looked at her. Though perhaps it was the Russian way. At any rate, her heart was beating far too quickly for comfort.

CHAPTER FOUR

Their gazes locked,and Eliana felt herself falling into the blue of his eyes. What was happening to her? This reserved wolf was not at all the type of gentleman she’d envisioned meeting this evening. Or, perhaps, ever.

A commotion at the doorway of the refreshment room made her blink and look away, both relieved and disappointed by the distraction. A maskless fellow had rushed in, cheeks flushed and hair damp.

“It’s snowing!” he announced. “Nice, big flakes, too. Perfect for wishing upon. Come out, everyone.”

“Lord Whitcomb,” Eliana said. “Always looking for the fun in everything. No doubt he and his cronies have started a pile of snowballs to pelt the unwary.”

Count Nikolai’s lips twitched up in a smile. “If it just started snowing, then I doubt he’s been able to gather sufficient ammunition. Now is the perfect time to venture outside and watch the snow fall. Shall we?”

He set his mostly untouched wine aside, rose, and offered his arm.

Should she accept? Slowly, Eliana put down her own glass of wine. The count must have sensed her hesitation, for he leaned closer and lowered his voice.

“Mademoiselle Red, despite my appearance, I assure you I do not bite. Nor will I attack you with a snowball or attempt to stuff snow down the back of your cloak. But I would like to see the snowfall. It will remind me of home.”

The wistfulness in his tone, more than anything, prompted her to rise and slip her arm through his.

“How long has it been since you’ve been in Kiev?” she asked.

“A very long time.” His voice held a wry note.

She wondered what had sent him from his home, but she was too much of a lady to pry. They barely knew one another, after all.

“I take it you’ve been traveling about Europe?” she asked instead.

“I’ve been living abroad for some years, yes. Would you care to fetch your pelisse before stepping outside?”

She glanced at the drawing room where the butler had taken charge of everyone’s outer garments, and shook her head at the line already forming.

“We won’t be out long. Unless you’re worried about your fur?”

“I believe wolves are used to the snow. But what of your cloak? Will the snow not mar the velvet?”

She paused at the side door leading into the garden and untucked her hand from the crook of his elbow.

“Simple.” She untied the cloak and whirled it about, a flutter of bright red, then resettled it inside-out upon her shoulders.

The lining was more durable than the silk velvet, which brushed softly against her bare arms. The cloak began to slip, and he caught the edge, his fingers grazing her shoulder. The contact made heat flare under her skin. Seemingly oblivious to how his touch affected her, he pulled the cloak closed and helped her fasten it.

“You are a resourceful woman,” he said.

The compliment warmed her, and distracted her from her giddy reaction to his nearness. No one ever said she was resourceful or clever—they reserved those words for her sister. No, Eliana was beautiful and charming and witty, and she was growing rather tired of it.

The count held the door open, and a gust of cool air blew in. One or two snowflakes drifted past the threshold, melting immediately in the overly warm, perfumed air of the town house. Eliana could hardly wait to step outside.

The babble of voices and strains of music from the dance floor quieted as Count Nikolai closed the door behind them. As Eliana had suspected, they were not the only guests to slip out to enjoy the sight of the snow. She need not fear for her virtue—not when nearby was a gaggle of young ladies dressed like flowers, and a shepherdess and shepherd a little beyond them.

She and the count walked a few paces into the garden. The bushes wore a dusting of snow like powdered sugar on a cake, and the peculiar silence of snowfall descended about them. Even the giggling young ladies’ voices were muffled, though Eliana could still see them lifting their hands to the sky and sticking out their tongues, trying to catch the huge, fluffy flakes drifting down.

It felt as though they’d stepped into a different world, far removed from the whirl and expectations of London. A world where she could listen to her own thoughts, her own heartbeat, and make her own choices.