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up in the moment as he, yet offered tender forgiveness.
    Her smile was part country maid and pure temptress.
    â€œOf course, a woman could just as easily take advantage of a man, couldn’t she?”
    Her voice came low and warmly textured to his ears. Was she trying to take back some semblance of control? Encourage more blatant behavior? He grinned, ready to cede the night to the beguiling enchantress and find his way to the nearest bed with her.
    His pulse throbbed. Flirtation spiraled in the space of one dance, turning the ground beneath his feet into hot and perilous quicksand. And he liked it. Each step invited another curious touch, another flirtatious move. He wasn’t sure who had the advantage, but he wasn’t about to back away from his intrepid exploration.
    Short of kissing her now, how far could he go?
    Emboldened, Cyrus traced one finger over the architecture of her collarbone. Her body twitched with a delicate shiver; a faint flush painted the upper curves of her breasts. Within the silken mask, her dark-fringed eyes turned a deeper hue.
    They raised their joined hands for a new arc, all part of the dance, but they pushed the limits of contact that polite Society allowed. Intimacy shrouded them. He dipped his head close to hers, his breath fanning flaxen wisps of hair.
    â€œIf I had to trust a woman…let her have the advantage,” he murmured, “I’d choose you.”
    Miss Tottenham gasped. Her lashes shuttered her eyes and she turned her face from him.
    Is she in pain?
    â€œMr. Ryland,” she whispered. “Please…”
    His head jolted at the sudden change. Gone was the coy, confident woman. She slipped away in spirit as did her unfinished plea. In those few seconds, hot flirtation cooled. Rapidly. The rest of his body, however, hadn’t gotten the message, his bollocks clenching with painful want.
    Miss Tottenham looked beyond the doors into the black night, withdrawing from him though their bodies engaged in the dance.
    The sensual hunt was over.
    What happened?
    They made another rotation, this time in silence. Miss Tottenham twirled, coming back to him with a smile pasted on her face. An unseen wall erected itself between them.
    Why couldn’t he make the pieces to this puzzling woman fit?
    Courtesan or not, he was certain the potent attraction was mutual. Equally diverting was his ease with her, an instant comfort. He wanted more.
    Had he played his hand too much? Come on too strong? Or did something else vex her? Women were complex creatures, requiring a deft hand. Was her change because he’d been too forward in so public a place? Or because he said words of a more personal nature?
    His limbs moved stiffly, compensating for the ache inside his breeches, but he’d take his time, alter his strategy. And that took him back to his original plan: learn more about his elusive guest.
    â€œBy looks and speech, you’re a woman who can hold her own. But other than your name, hair color, and eyes, I know next to nothing of you.” They stepped together again, and he grinned at her. “Even a hunter gets a scent of the prey.”
    â€œWant to sniff me, do you? I suppose that makes me the fox to your hound.”
    She’d snapped out of her brief fracture of distance, but his fair-haired guest was decidedly cooler, despite the flush touching the exposed parts of her cheeks. Her life vein throbbed low on her neck. His stare fixed on the inviting spot, a spot in need of much kissing. He’d find a way to warm Miss Tottenham up again. Tonight. The first moment they were alone.
    Their bodies brushed together. He breathed her in, or tried to. All of him knotted with want and frustration, causing his legs to move with sluggish determination through the allemande’s steps. Patience, he needed patience.
    â€œYou’ve got to give me something before the unmasking. It’s only fair.”
    â€œFair?” she asked, her eyes flaring.