But the way he watched her, his dark brown eyes locked upon her face, drifting down to linger upon her lips for the barest moment before he jerked his gaze to hers once more… Her mouth tingled as if he’d physically touched her.
“I apologize. I’m afraid you’re at the advantage, sir, for I haven’t a clue as to who you might be.” Her voice shook. She sounded breathless and swallowed hard, searching for even a shred of composure.
“Isn’t that the magic of a ma-masquerade?” He smiled, the sight of it so beautiful her entire body ached.
He sounded nervous, which she found positively endearing. “Are you implying you’re not going to properly introduce yourself?” She arched a brow, wondering if he could see it beneath the delicate mask she wore.
He didn’t say a word. He merely twirled her about the floor and she had no choice but to follow his lead. He tightened his hand about her waist, pulling her closer, the heat from his body so alluring she couldn’t help but allow it.
Revel in it.
“Revealing myself—now where would the fun be in that?” He smiled, though his eyes remained dark. Intense.
Oh, the devil. Every other man she’d spoken to or danced with this evening had been most eager to offer his name, title if he had one and a complete family ancestry. It was rather exhausting, pretending to be interested in such matters.
Not one of them interested her such as this man.
“Since I am your hostess, don’t you believe you should tell me who you are?” She fluttered her eyelashes, feeling foolish, but how else could she gather information from him?
“Let’s just say we knew each other long, long ago, though you never paid me much attention.”
“Well, then I was an absolute fool, wasn’t I?” Her mind raced. Who could he be? She’d known him? Was that the truth or an exaggeration? She’d met many young men during her debut season but her father had tied her up with Pomeroy rather quickly.
“P-perhaps I was the foolish one,” he said with a slight stutter, and she frowned.
Did he have an affliction? Or was it merely nerves? Whatever the case, she found it—him quite charming.
She breathed deep his spicy, masculine scent. The commanding manner in which he led her about the floor was most arousing. Now, if she could only discover who he might be…
The set ended too quickly for her taste. She reluctantly stepped away from his embrace, offering a polite curtsey. “Thank you so much for the delightful dance, my lord.” Instinct told her he was titled. A man who moved with such effortless yet commanding grace had to be.
“No, I should thank you, my lady.” He nodded in return then turned on his heel, instantly becoming swallowed by the crowd.
Her jaw dropped open in shock, she watched him retreat. He was a good head taller than many of those in attendance and pushed his way through the throng of revelers with ease, heading straight for the door. Without looking back, without offering even a single word to any of those he passed, he left the ballroom.
As quickly as he’d entered her life, he exited it. And still she didn’t know his name.
“What in the world were you doing, dancing with Black Hart?”
Daphne whirled around at the sound of her brother’s incredulous voice, staring up at him expectantly. “Who was he?”
Hugh rolled his eyes. “The Marquess of Hartwell. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him.”
“Of course I haven’t. I’ve been in the country for the past two years, Hugh. Please fill me in on all the lurid details.” Drat it all, she’d hoped he had potential. He was the first man to strike her interest all evening. In years.
“You’re wasting your time with that one. He’s cold as ice. They call him Black Hart, for the love of God. A play on his name and such, you know,” her brother explained and she wanted to bat him on the head.
Did he think her completely daft?
“He snubs everyone, even those who rank above him—not that there are many, his being a marquess and all. I’ve heard he’s rather cold with his mistresses too. Well, the few women who tolerate him, that is.” Hugh immediately made a face when Daphne glared at him. “What, you’ve been married. You know of mistresses and untoward treatment in the bedchamber. Don’t act the delicate flower, Daph.”
“Don’t speak of ladybirds and conquests, Hugh. I beg of you.” She turned away from him, quietly furious. How dare he spread such rumors about the man? Who knew if they were even true?
The man she danced with hadn’t been cold. Not at all. He’d been warm, very enticing. He hadn’t said much, intriguing her further, giving him a mysterious air that she’d found herself drawn to. So handsome and a skilled dancer, yet he’d wanted to remain anonymous.
She frowned, didn’t even acknowledge when Hugh left her side after being called away by a group of his friends. She stood on the edge of the ballroom dance floor, amongst a crowd of people who all wanted her attention, yet she wanted another.
A man known as Black Hart, who didn’t want to reveal his true identity to her… It was strange.