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V IVIENNE CLUTCHED C HARLOTTE ’ S HAND AS they entered the Upper Assembly Rooms from the corridor, having handed her invitation to the footman at the vestibule.

She supposed that if anyone dressed in masque, they could join the ball uninvited if it weren’t for the footman guarding the entrance.

He bowed and motioned them inside. She held her shoulders back, confident that the lovely creation Muriel had sent would stand up to any ton costume.

Lord Delamere bowed over her hand in the octagon antechamber. “Such a lovely butterfly. Might I beg to know her name?”

Vivienne smiled from behind her black netting mask. “Vivienne—”

Charlotte elbowed her, as if already knowing that Vivienne was about to say her real name.

“Vivienne Larkby, my lord, and this is my companion, Charlotte Vale.”

“Ah, the famous authoress. Welcome to our ball, Lady Larkby. I hope you and your companion enjoy your evening. My wife was thrilled that she managed to let the place for our daughter’s birthday for her debut season.

Please enjoy refreshments in the tearoom.

There will be musicians in the gallery as well as, of course, in the ballroom to your left.

” He smiled and beckoned them inside, urging them to enjoy the party.

“That was close,” Vivienne whispered as they strode into the tearoom first, her blue crepe dress with its black-lace overlay and white-trimmed cape fluttering behind her and giving the illusion of a butterfly.

Charlotte leaned to her. “Such splendor.”

“In all the fun, I nearly forgot that this is your first ball.” She threaded Charlotte’s arm through hers, keeping her close in the crush of guests. “And what a marvelous one to begin with.”

The Delamere family had decorated the Assembly Rooms with clusters of greenery in the corners and pale-blue linens with gold runners over the refreshment tables.

They paused by the punch table, and Vivienne was grateful she could take a drink without removing her mask like Charlotte, with her cumbersome horse’s head that acted as both costume and mask, had to.

Charlotte declined the drink from the servant and nodded to a group of gentlemen studying them. “The mystery already begins.”

“Are you certain they aren’t looking at you, dear Charlotte?”

“I’m wearing a horse’s head as a mask. No, I do not think they are looking at me.

Her grace did apologize that she didn’t have anything else for me to wear.

Tess wore this one time and refused to wear it a second.

” Charlotte adjusted it to see Vivienne better through the horse’s netted snout, mumbling, “I can see why.”

“You are always lovely, horse’s head or not.”

Charlotte smirked. “Thank you for that obvious yet kind falsehood regarding my hideous costume, but I am here for you and no other, so it is neither here nor there if I mind wearing it.” She squeezed Vivienne’s arm as a man approached.

“Good evening.” He bowed. “As you are masked, I cannot say if we have been properly introduced or not. If we have not, forgive my forwardness, but I would be honored to claim your first dance, my lady.”

Under normal circumstances, Vivienne would never dance with a stranger … Well, she’d hardly had the occasion to dance with a stranger in Chilham, as she’d known all the men since their boyhoods. But a masque did lend certain liberties to the strict rules of the ton. She looked to her companion.

Charlotte inclined her head. With the horse’s head, it was quite the dramatic gesture.

“Thank you, miss. Should I have my friend fetch you a carrot as thanks?” He snickered, offering his arm.

Vivienne gasped and clutched Charlotte’s arm. “I believe I was mistaken. We have not been introduced. Please excuse us.” She guided Charlotte away from the cad.

“He only meant it in jest,” Charlotte whispered, excusing the man’s behavior.

“It was a poor jest.”

“But since you refused him, you won’t be able to dance all night.” Charlotte sighed. “And it is such a pity, as I know you dearly love a dance.”

“No one insults my friend like that. Can you unpin my train?”

Charlotte bent and swiftly released the pin holding Vivienne’s skirts up, allowing the small train to flow behind her. “You three ladies were always so kind to me even when I was only a maid. The duchess told me that you would look after me, and here you’ve gone and sacrificed your dancing for me.”

“It is nothing. I would much rather chat with you at my side than make conversation with an uncouth stranger.”

“What do we do if you are not to dance?”

“We circulate.” It had been too long since she’d circulated, especially without Tess and Muriel at her side.

But a fierce sense of protection filled her at the thought of Charlotte’s discomfort.

She felt that Lady Larkby would be confident.

If she were in attendance, she would take a turn about the room, feeling no sense of discomfort without a male escort.

Vivienne held her head high and, taking Charlotte’s arm, surged through the crowd.

Behind his golden half masque, Bash studied the tearoom swirling with costumed guests, bright colors filling his vision.

As Yeoman of the Guard, he often attended balls, but never as a guest and always in his crimson-and-white uniform, keeping watch just behind the Prince Regent.

More than once tonight he had moved to adjust his white wig to ensure the golden curl was in place at his forehead, as he was required to wear it when in uniform, but all that met his fingertips under the wig were fine, short bristles.

He shoved aside the twinge of regret at having shorn his hair.

He reached for a refreshment at one of the tables, nodding to the footman extending the punch to him. “Have you seen Lady Larkby?” he called over the string instruments.

“Yes, sir.” The footman pointed above them to a woman standing at the rail on the first-floor musician’s gallery with her back to him.

“She is the one dressed as a blue butterfly, speaking with Sir Anthony, Mr. Monroe, Sir Gordon, and Mr. Oswald. The guests are most enthusiastic over her arrival in Bath, and I must admit, so are some of the staff.”

“Thank you.” He downed his punch. She seemed familiar.

Her height was moderate, and he could tell even from her profile that she was fair of face by the graceful curve of her neck and high cheeks—that and the crowd of men eagerly surrounding her, plying her with questions.

His chest burned. How dare this woman make use of his good name and title to further her own agenda.

He reined in his ire, set aside his glass, strode up the stairs, and approached the group.

The lovely woman turned to him. A shimmering black netting served as her mask, and he jerked back at the familiar wide green eyes. He grasped her hand. “I cannot believe it’s you.”

Her cheeks flamed beneath the netting as she pulled her hand from his grasp. “Forgive me—you may know me, but I most certainly do not know you, and therefore, I doubt I gave you the liberty of taking my hand.”

The gentlemen surrounding her scowled at him, one going so far as to clutch his fists. All murmured over his breach of etiquette. The woman in the horse’s head beside her tilted her head back and narrowed her eyes at him through the snout, the only part of her face visible behind the costume.

He swallowed back his explanation. The ire from only moments before dissolved into pleasure at seeing Evie once more. What are the odds that the woman who has consumed my thoughts is standing before me now … parading about as my wife?

Of course she didn’t recognize him. He couldn’t rightly proclaim himself to be the highwayman, as the Prince Regent’s secret mission must be protected at all costs.

Besides, he doubted anyone in attendance was even aware of the Larkby family having a residence on the outskirts of Bath, given his grandmother’s decades-old inclination to avoid town at all costs.

Dressed as a butterfly, this Lady Larkby was resplendent, and he wished for nothing more than to shoo away the gentlemen flocking around her.

He bowed low. “I beg your pardon, Lady Larkby. I’ve read your works for so long, it seemed as if I knew you.

I offer a thousand apologies for such impertinence. ”

Her eyes sparked, her lips pursing.

That certainly had not been the thing to say, but how else could he explain his familiarity? “What I meant was, may I have this dance?”

Her companion slid her arm protectively through the curve of Evie’s elbow.

“I believe that cannot happen, as you have not been properly introduced, and as you can see, my train is not pinned up.” Evie lifted her chin, as if preparing to give him the cut direct.

“Allow me to rectify my mishap at once.” He bowed, clicking his heels together, and turned about, spotting Lord Delamere at the head of the receiving line.

Bash trotted down the stairs to the host’s side.

“My lord! I know we have only just met, but might I beg an introduction from one of your guests?”

Lord Delamere laughed, whispering his excuse to his wife. He slapped Bash on the shoulder. “Find yourself a lovely lady? Well, I’d say that our debt to you in the rescuing of my wife’s purse has been paid in full.”

“There was never any debt, but I am most appreciative, my lord, for your assistance.”

“And who is the lady of your soon-to-be affection?” He waggled his brows.

“Lady Larkby.”

The gentleman grinned. “Why, Sir Sebastian, what a lark to have me introduce you to your wife.”

“We met in a ball, so I like to keep up the tradition.” The lie slid easily from his tongue. After all, a fictitious wife required a fictitious romance.

“I expect nothing less from a knight who so gallantly returns a reticule to a perfect stranger in the Pump Room.” He inclined his head.

“Would more gentlemen woo their wives thus. I should take a page from your book. Mayhap it would earn me forgiveness for the gambling habit that Lady Delamere is forever scolding me about.”

“Perhaps. I think most gentlemen would find their wives more forgiving if they spent a little more time pursuing them even after marriage.” Evie certainly had forgiven him after her abduction, in her kiss. She may not have admitted it, but he sensed it.

Bash paused in front of Evie, unable to keep his smug grin from spreading as Lord Delamere bowed, the gentlemen in the tight circle stepping back to allow their host inside.

“My lady, may I have the honor of introducing you to a gentleman who is enchanted by you.”

She fanned herself, releasing a soft laugh. “Enchanted? My my, such praise.”

“May I present Sir Sebastian of Lark Manor.” He winked to Bash.

She curtsied, obviously not understanding the connection as she bestowed a smile upon him. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Sebastian.”

Bash bowed. “And an honor to meet you. While your skirts are not pinned, I cannot help but ask if I may have this dance?”

She whispered to her companion and inclined her head to Bash, extending her hand to his offered arm. He guided her down the stairs and through the crush to the ballroom.

“I must say, it was a surprise to see you here, my lady.”

“My lady?” She twisted to face him, her lips parting as she gasped. “My lady! Did you think I would not recognize that phrase?” She fairly growled and wrenched him behind a cluster of potted trees.

Bash nearly toppled from the force of her jerking and releasing him at once. “My lady!”

“You!” She ripped the mask from his face, along with his wig.