The Wedding Challenge. Candace Camp
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came to halt and saw that Irene was looking over Callie’s shoulder. Just as Callie started to turn around to see what had caused the sudden interest on Irene’s face, a masculine voice sounded behind her.
“Pardon me, Your Highness, but I come seeking the favor of this fair maiden’s hand for the next dance.”
Callie swung around, and her eyes widened as she found herself staring up into the masked visage of the Cavalier.
CHAPTER TWO
THE MAN WAS, Callie realized, even more intriguing up close than he had been at a distance. The black half mask concealed the upper portion of his face, but it also emphasized the strong, chiseled jaw and well-cut, sensual mouth that lay below it. The eyes that looked out through the mask were fixed on her with a gaze that was decidedly warmer than was polite. He was tall, with wide shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, and he exuded a powerful masculinity that owed only part of its aura to the dashing costume he wore.
She should have given him a setdown, Callie knew, for she was certain that she did not know the man, which made it quite forward of him to ask her to dance. However, she found she had no desire to snub him. Indeed, what she desired was to put her hand in his and let him lead her out onto the floor.
However, Callie was certain that she would not be able to dance with him, for Lady Odelia would doubtless blister his ears for his impudence. Callie waited, with an inner sigh of regret, for that lady’s words.
“Of course,” Lady Odelia said—nay, almost purred, Callie thought, as she glanced at the old lady in surprise.
Irene’s face registered a similar sense of shock as she, too, turned toward Lady Odelia. But Lady Odelia was smiling with what could only be called pleasure at the Cavalier, and when Callie did not move, she waved her hand in a shooing motion toward her.
“There, girl, do not stand rooted on the spot. Get to the floor before the orchestra starts again.”
Callie did not need to be told twice to do what she wanted. If Lady Odelia had given her blessing to dancing with this man, it would satisfy the requirements of propriety—and prevent any upbraiding from her grandmother. But there was nevertheless a whiff of something illicit about dancing with a perfect stranger that she found enticing.
She quickly placed her hand on the arm the stranger held out to her, and they went down the step of the dais and onto the dance floor. Callie was very aware of the man’s arm beneath her hand, the muscle hard under the soft material.
“I should not dance with you, you know,” she told him, a little surprised at the flirtatious tone that bubbled up in her words.
“Indeed? And why is that?” He looked down at her, his eyes twinkling.
“I do not know you, sir.”
“How can you be sure?” he countered. “We are masked, after all.”
“Still, I am certain that we are strangers.”
“But is that not the point of a masquerade? That you do not know who anyone is? And so, surely, it is only to be expected that one would dance with a stranger. The usual rules do not apply,” he told her, and his gaze slid down her face in a way that made Callie feel suddenly warm.
“None of them?” she asked lightly. “Indeed, sir, that sounds dangerous.”
“Ah, but that is what makes it exciting.”
“I see. And it is excitement you seek?”
His smile was slow. “’Tis pleasure I seek, my lady.”
“Indeed?” Callie arched one brow, thinking that she should probably nip this conversation in the bud. It was growing altogether too familiar—and yet she could not resist the tingle that ran through her at his words, his smile.
“Indeed, yes—the pleasure of dancing with you,” he went on, the light in his eyes telling her that he was aware of exactly where her mind had strayed.
The lilting strains of a waltz began, and he held out his hands to her. Callie moved into his arms, her heart beating a trifle faster. It was even more daring to waltz with a stranger than it would have been to take to the floor for a country dance. She had to stand so close to him during a waltz, her hand in his, his arm almost encircling her. It was a much more intimate dance. It was often not even allowed at the more conservative assemblies in the countryside, and even here in London society, she had rarely shared a waltz with a man with whom she had not at least danced before. Certainly she had never done so with a man whose name she did not even know.
But Callie could not deny that despite the strangeness of it, she liked the way she felt in his arms, and she knew that the flush moving up her throat was due only in part to the exertion of the dance.
At first they did not speak. Callie concentrated on matching her steps to his; she felt almost as she had when she had first made her debut—anxious that she might make a misstep or appear awkward. She quickly found, however, that her new partner was an excellent dancer, his hand on her waist steady and firm, his steps in perfect rhythm to the music. She relaxed and settled down to enjoy herself, glancing up at him for the first time.
Callie found the Cavalier looking down at her, and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were gray, the color of a stormy sky in this low light, and so steady upon her that she felt herself lost in his gaze. She was near enough to him that she could see the lashes that ringed his eyes, thick and black, shadowing his expression. Who could he be? He seemed completely unfamiliar; surely no costume could disguise someone she knew so well. Yet how could it be that she had not met him sometime in the past five years?
Was he an interloper, someone who had seized the opportunity a masked ball offered to intrude upon a party to which he had not been invited? But Lady Odelia had apparently recognized him, so surely that was not the case. She supposed he could be a recluse, someone who disliked Society and usually shunned it. However, in that case, why was he here at an enormous party? Certainly his manner was scarcely that of one who was shy or solitary.
Could it be that he had been abroad for the past few years? A soldier or naval officer, perhaps? Maybe a member of the foreign office. Or simply a dedicated traveler.
She smiled a little to herself at her fanciful thoughts. No doubt the explanation was something perfectly ordinary. After all, she did not know everyone in the ton.
“I like to see that,” her companion said.
“What?” Callie asked, puzzled.
“The smile upon your face. You have been frowning at me so steadily that I was afraid I must have fallen headlong into your bad graces without even knowing you.”
“I am sor—” Callie began, then realized the man’s admission. “Then you agree that we are strangers.”
“Yes. I admit it. I do not know you. I am certain that I would recognize a woman who looks as you do…even in a costume. You cannot hide your beauty.”
Callie felt her cheeks go warm and was surprised at herself. She was not a schoolgirl to be so easily cast into confusion by a gallant compliment. “And you, sir, cannot hide that you are a terrible flirt.”
“You wound me. I had thought I was rather skilled at it.”
Callie chuckled in spite of herself and shook her head.
“The fact that we are strangers is easily enough remedied,” he went on after a moment. “Simply tell me who you are, and I will tell you who I am.”
Callie shook her head again. Curious as she was about this man, she found it enjoyable to dance and flirt with him, knowing that he did not know who she was. She did not need to worry about his motives or his intentions. She did not have to weigh each statement for the truth of it or wonder if he was flirting with her—or with an heiress. Even those men who did not need her fortune or pursue her for the sake of it were still aware of it. Her lineage and her fortune were as much a part of her to them as her laughter or her smile.