Page 41 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

A nne’s eyes were closed as the Phantom whispered in her ear in that sultry voice.

A voice of silk wrapping around and caressing her.

Throughout this interaction with the Phantom, she had of course tried to figure out who he was.

If she had to choose an identity, she would guess he was either Mr. Ashby or Victor.

They were both as tall as the Phantom, with similar enough builds that this baggy costume made it possible to be either of the men.

One would think the eyes would have given it away, but she couldn’t tell if the Phantom wore spectacles like Mr. Ashby, or if his eyes were green like Victor.

And would spectacles even fit beneath the mask?

Perhaps he could go without spectacles for a short time.

A conundrum to be sure. Unfortunately, his tricorn hat shadowed his eyes enough that she couldn’t see enough detail outside of the fact that he had both eyes in place.

Another point: Victor would never act this way toward her, so bold and fiery. Nor could she imagine him willingly dress up as a musketeer. But she wasn’t convinced it was Mr. Ashby, either. Earlier, she had tried to identify Mr. Ashby at the masquerade but had only been able to find his mother.

Then again, the first time she’d seen the Phantom, she had been dancing with Mr. Ashby.

That should easily have ruled him out. However, the family knew about the Phantom and had openly talked about him before.

It was entirely possible Mr. Ashby had been told about it or overheard someone speak of it —maybe even Freddy had told the man about it.

And Mr. Ashby could have used that to his advantage and taken over the secret identity, knowing it intrigued her.

But also, why would he go through all that trouble?

Well, to take advantage of her, of course. Surely, Mr. Ashby would jump on the opportunity to take her. Most men would have. Would Victor? That, she couldn’t say with confidence. Another point of interest, the Phantom hadn’t said he wouldn’t take her. It was that he couldn’t .

She thought back to her rules. Never chase a gentleman.

Well, the Phantom was quite clearly the one doing the chasing.

She’d had no opportunity to interact with him before.

Never flirt first. Another rule that applied nicely.

With his mask nearly against hers, she would have been able to tell if he had bad breath, which he didn’t.

He had good hygiene, so that was another rule that passed.

Every single one of their interactions up until now had taken less than ten minutes, another rule.

There were a few more rules she had to ensure applied to him before she allowed herself to completely succumb to him.

As she thought about them, the masked Phantom, who remained standing close, lifted a gloved finger and ran the back of it over her cheek.

Slowly, his finger brushed down over her jaw, down her neck, pausing at her collarbone, then slid lightly back up.

Anne dared a glance up to his masked face.

His hat shadowed his eyes. If only she could see them…

Her breath caught from his touch. “Phantom, I have three questions to ask you.”

He didn’t respond, which she took to mean he was waiting.

“Do you enjoy discussion about politics?”

His finger stilled. “No.”

She let out a breath. “Do you enjoy laughter?”

He restarted his caress. “I am not one known for my humor, but I suppose I enjoy it on rare occasion.”

She couldn’t help but smile up to him up. She was forgetting something. What were the other questions? Oh, yes. “Then my last question. How old are you?”

He stilled again. She sensed she may have touched a nerve. “Why?” he whispered.

“I—” She debated if she should tell him about her rules and decided there was no harm in doing so. “When I first arrived at Brighton this year, I decided I wished for a seaside romance. As you know, I am a widow. I did not have a good marriage but did learn much from it.”

“What did you learn?”

She turned her face toward his mask, the blasted mask she was going to convince him to remove. “Between my marriage, and the years of being alone that followed, I learned what rules I would put in place to protect myself.”

He slowly nodded. “Very well,” he whispered. “You wish to know my age. Why?”

“Any gentleman of my choosing must be within ten years of my own age.”

“What is your age, then?”

“I am forty.”

“Then I am within your desired ten-year age range,” he whispered in the obvious attempt to conceal his voice. And unfortunately, it worked. She still wasn’t exactly sure who this was.

But, whoever he was, he fit the rules she had created to find her seaside romance. All she had to do was ensure she didn’t fall in love, which should be easy enough. She couldn’t fall in love with a masked man.

At least, she hoped.

“Very well.” Anne hurried away from that, though. “Now, I am to convince you to remove your mask. And then perhaps you could kiss me, Phantom. And quite passionately.”

The Phantom straightened upon hearing this.

And though she half-expected him to scoff at the suggestion, instead, he looked around, his gaze falling upon the willow tree behind them.

He looked back down at her. With the wig and tricorn hat framed by moonlight, she really did think he could be a ghost for a quick moment.

He didn’t say a word, but his hand reached out to hers. His leather-gloved hand was hot against her own glove, but again, there was that layer between them. His mask, the gloves, blast it all!

The Phantom led her to the willow tree and pushed aside branches for her to walk through. He followed her in, and the branches fell closed.

Inside the canopy, it almost felt like being in a room—a very private room. Anne looked up and around at the long branches and leaves hanging and was amazed by the transformation of their surroundings.

Her eyes fixed upon the mysterious masked Phantom.

He was watching her study their surroundings, and upon having her attention once more, he began leading her deeper in.

They took a few steps, and he paused and turned to her, as if waiting for her to pull back.

But she didn’t, and soon, they were completely concealed by darkness.

Though she could just make out the silhouette of his large form, she could see nothing else.

Anne took a chance and stepped up to him to run one of her hands slowly up his chest. The simple touch caused him to take a sharp inhale, and she could feel his heartbeat quicken beneath the hardness of his body.

The effect she had on him stoked the low embers within.

In a strange way, it made her feel powerful, not helpless like Bernard had.

Here was this man, one so enamored by her that he, apparently for years, had admired her from the shadows.

He created beautiful drawings for her, concealed his identity to get closer to her.

He followed her, not the other way around.

And he was large and strong and could easily overtake her, yet she was the one in control.

If she wanted to stop, she felt comfortable enough doing so.

He never seemed to take a step ahead of her, instead somehow following one step behind.

Even though he was the one who’d approached her.

She was in full control of whatever happened between them. And the thought was freeing.

For some reason, though, his identity was an issue. But she wasn’t going to dwell on why that was. Not right now.

Feeling daring by her newfound power, Anne felt for the Phantom’s tricorn hat and wig and lifted them off, letting it drop to the ground with a thud.

He didn’t protest. As she lifted her hand again, she wondered what she should do.

She wouldn’t be able to see him if she removed his mask. But she would be able to feel his face.

When she reached up to his mask, however, his hand flew up and covered hers, preventing her from moving further.

Blast it all , she thought to herself, disappointment coursing through her.

But then he whispered in that raspy voice, “Allow me.”

Her heart galloped as she pulled her hand away. The low thump that followed meant he now stood before her unmasked, his identity revealed. If only there were light to show her!

On a swallow, she removed her gloves, lifted one hand with hesitation, then gently touched her fingertips to his face.

He wasn’t made of air. He wasn’t a ghost. Hot man, made of flesh and blood, met her fingers.

She felt his cheekbone and a beard and her heart picked up its pace upon this discovery.

Her fingers swept over the Phantom’s nose, his forehead, then she gently felt for spectacles.

Oh, she hoped Mr. Ashby would be one to wear them beneath a mask and make this easy.

What if it turned out this was Mr. Ashby? What would she do then?

The thought was distressing. She was drawn to this man, to her Phantom.

There was something about him that made her heart race, pulled her to him, made her want to feel him and touch him.

Not run away, like men usually made her want to do.

Somehow, she knew the Phantom meant her no harm.

But for whatever odd reason, he refused to reveal who he was.

Unfortunately for him, she was determined to find out.

And if it turned out he was Mr. Ashby, well, she would have some trouble coming to terms with that. Because she did not want Mr. Ashby in her life in such an intimate way.

Ready to get the answer to her question once and for all, Anne swept her fingertips over the Phantom’s temple and across his eyes.