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S he had to be here , Titus thought as he scanned the room for the goddess who’d been consuming his thoughts since the masquerade.

Never in his life had he been this attracted to someone.

He was a rake through and through, never succumbing to a woman’s wiles, and yet here he was, after one kiss, a besotted, lovesick boy.

Perhaps she didn’t exist, and she was a figment of his deprived imagination.

No, she existed. His imagination was not that creative.

And what do you intend to do once you discover her identity?

Therein lay the problem. He couldn’t very well seduce an innocent and make her his mistress, but he’d also vowed to never marry. Perhaps he should give up his search and?—

No. You need to discover who she is .

Damn . How could one woman have such an effect on him after such a brief encounter?

“Who are we looking for?” his cousin questioned as she strolled up next to him and proceeded to scan the room.

“ We are not looking for anyone. I am looking for?—”

“A particular lady?” The hope in Flora’s question matched the look of elation on her face.

“How did you know?” He was certain his eyes were wide with shock. Was nothing sacred? He looked around and noticed several ladies standing suspiciously close. Close enough to overhear their conversation. He pulled Flora farther from prying ears. “How did you know?” he repeated in barely a whisper.

“What else could it be? You have been… different these past couple of days, and Aunt Adeline suspects it must be because of a woman. Are we correct?”

He rolled his eyes. Damn it all, but the ladies in his life were incorrigible.

“So…” Flora dragged the single word out before continuing, “Who is she?” A couple of seconds passed and when he didn’t answer, she added, “I’ll keep trying to weasel it out of you until you finally tell me.”

Titus let out a long sigh. He knew Flora would not let it go and pester him no end until he obliged. Perhaps she knew who his mystery female was?

“Alright,” he acquiesced on a sigh, then added his conditions. “But not here. Later, when we’re alone at the house.”

She eyed him as if she didn’t quite believe him.

He held up his hand. “I promise.”

“Very well.” She pointed a delicate gloved finger at him. “I will remind you later of this discussion.”

“I’m certain you will,” he teased. At least he was safe from her inquiring mind for the time being.

Now, all he had to do was discover her identity, then he could contemplate his next course of action. He was certain he would know her the moment she walked into a room.

H ours later, Titus, not wanting to retire to his own dark and lonely townhouse—where past memories played upon his mind—had returned to his aunt’s home, deflated and dejected.

His mystery lady had not made an appearance, and worse still, he’d been cornered by Lady Deborah and Miss Baldwin, and Portia had not been in attendance.

He wanted to know why she didn’t want anything to do with him, dammit.

Why had she been avoiding him since the Season began?

Her presence in Town still made no sense to him. Why had she returned now?

After his unsuccessful attempt at discovering the identity of the masked woman, he was too anxious to do anything but stare into the fireplace, watching the embers fade.

“You’re still awake?” Flora said as she sauntered into the library.

“Of course, we have a discussion to resume.” This was one way to pass the time, he supposed. “What is it that you would like to know?”

“The name of the woman you were searching for this evening,” she said as she took the seat across from him, then tucked her stockinged feet beneath the folds of her gown.

Frustration simmered within as he said the words. “I don’t know.”

A single blonde brow raised in question. “You don’t know, or won’t tell?”

He let out a long sigh. “I don’t know! All I can think about is her, and I don’t even know her name.”

His cousin tsked several times before speaking. “Well, you don’t have to raise your voice. Perhaps I may help. I do know quite a few ladies and…” Her words died for a moment before she turned a scolding eye on him, and continued, “She is a proper lady and not some paramour or opera singer?”

“Yes, she is a proper lady.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “And how do you know about such things?”

Flora crossed her arms and then, in a most childlike manner, said, “I’m eighteen. There are lots of things I know.”

Heaven help him. “Do I even want to know?” he murmured under his breath. He was too old for this.

“Do you want my help discovering who your mystery lady is or not?” She ended with a huff. His cousin might understand some of the ways of the world, but in many regards, she was still a child, and he intended on keeping her as innocent as possible for as long as he could.

“Yes, I want your help,” he retorted, not hiding the irritability coursing through his veins. “I danced with her at the masquerade and?—”

“And you saw a beautiful lady in the distance and crossed the room, whisking her into a waltz, and then declared your love,” Flora said in a breathy voice.

“Not quite but?—”

“I want to hear all the details,” she begged as she clasped her hands together with anticipation.

“No.”

The single word was meant to brook no argument, but his cousin did not take the meaning. “No? How am I to aid you if I don’t know?—”

“Fine. She was wearing a shimmering blue dress and a mask that covered most of her face, and?—”

“But then, how did you notice her? Lots of ladies were wearing masks,” she remarked, pointing out the obvious.

“I turned to escape Lady Baldwin when?—”

“Oh, she is a vile gossip.” Flora scrunched her nose as if she caught a whiff of something unpleasant.

How would he ever finish his story if his cousin constantly interrupted? “I agree, but do you want to hear or?—”

“I most definitely do. Please go on,” she encouraged with a smile, then a wave of her hand.

“Thank you for the permission,” he said with a nod of his head.

“As I was saying, I turned to escape Lady Baldwin when I saw her .” Images of his goddess flooded his mind as he described their all-too brief encounter.

“She wore a blue silk dress and an intricate mask that covered most of her face, but even from a short distance, her blue eyes shined through, pulling me in. And when I finally reached her, no words were spoken as I offered my hand and took her in a waltz. Not wanting the moment to end, I waltzed her through the open doors and onto the balcony.” Then their lips had touched, and the intoxicating mixture of lavender and lemon had enveloped them in a fragrant cocoon.

That scent still filled his senses as if it were only yesterday.

“And then what happened?” His cousin’s question broke through his remembrances.

He blinked several times, focusing on the present. “She left without giving me her name.” He simply had to discover who she was. It was driving him absolutely mad.

“You’re smitten after one dance and an interlude on the balcony?” Flora’s question filled him with a mixture of anxiety and hope.

“There was no interlude, and I am certainly not smitten.”

Liar. On both accounts.

P ortia hadn’t been feeling quite the same since her time with Titus.

Her head was still spinning, reeling with questions, mixed emotions, and uncertainty.

When she’d informed Judith that she was unwell, no sooner had the words left her mouth, than her half-sibling had stated with a wide smile that she believed it best Portia stay in for the evening and not attend Lady Tabard’s soirée.

It was the outcome Portia had hoped for, but her sister’s unhidden enthusiasm still stung.

And even worse was the dismissal by her other relatives, leaving her feeling as if she was regarded as less than members of staff.

By the next morning, she was feeling slightly better, having slept through the night. That was until she joined her relatives for breakfast in the parlor.

“Oh, so I see you finally decided to join us,” Judith sneered, then took a sip of tea.

Portia did not answer, but simply offered a smile as she took her seat at the table. As was expected, she sat in silence while Judith and Hilarie recounted their evening.

“It would seem that after three seasons, Miss Roseland has finally made a match,” Hilarie commented with a disparaging smile. Portia’s joy at her friend’s success was overshadowed by Hilarie’s sneer, identical to the one her mother had just offered. “I don’t see what is so appealing about her.”

“She is only engaged to Mr. Hale,” Judith flippantly remarked. “I would have never considered him for you. Portia, perhaps, but not you, my sweet. I think there are other, more worthy gentlemen to consider.”

“Who?” Hilarie leaned in, awaiting her mother’s response.

“Well, there’s Lord Campbell and Mr. Bolton?—”

“Mr. Bolton? Really, Mother, not him,” Hilarie said. “He’s quite fat and not at all handsome.”

“Well, that fat man has an income of fifteen thousand a year,” Judith said, practically drooling over the man’s worth.

“I suppose he’ll do,” Hilarie conceded. Clearly, the girl was impressed by money, but that was no guarantee for a happy life.

Although, Portia would hardly call life with the Oaks family happy.

“But only as an alternative choice. I much prefer someone like Lord Ravensworth,” Hilarie said with a big sigh.

“Yes, he would make a fine husband. And just think, you could be a countess,” Judith said. “Yes, he would do nicely.”

Pain constricted around Portia’s heart as she listened, curious to know just how her childhood friend had changed. Perhaps, then, she could reason with the past, with the masquerade, with all the feelings colliding within.

Hilarie practically swooned as she spoke. “He is, without a doubt, the most handsome gentleman in Town this Season.”