Free Vienna Waltz (The Imperial Season Book 1) by Mary Lancaster

hurry, we’ll catch him before he reaches the Queen—”
    With a squeak of protest, she tugged him back toward the exit from the riding school. “Don’t dare!”
    “As you wish,” he said gravely.
    She eyed him with mingled amusement and disapproval. “Mr. Vanya,” she began.
    His black eyebrows lifted and her breath caught, carrying her on a quite different thread that led her back to reality.
    She said abruptly. “He called me Mademoiselle Noire. So did you. Have I been noticed?”
    “Oh yes.”
    “But why? People rarely notice me anywhere and this time I’ve gone out of my way to appear insignificant!”
    “I doubt the first is remotely true and in this place, where everyone is trying to be noticed by everyone who matters, trying to be insignificant is significant in itself.”
    “Wrong strategy,” she said ruefully, as they entered the covered walkway between the buildings. The cool air and the sweet scent of the orange trees were soothing. As, curiously, was the dark sky beyond.
    And then, coming towards them, she saw the unmistakable figures of Aunt Lucy and Minerva, escorted now by Uncle Jeremy. Lizzie gave a quick, instinctive tug to free herself and hide, but Vanya’s hand closed over hers in warning, or perhaps comfort. He was right. Rushing away would only draw more of the kind of attention she wished— needed —to avoid. She only hoped Vanya hadn’t picked up who she wished to flee from.
    Carefully, she kept her gaze on the end of the walk, on the ballroom ahead, as if searching for someone there, as her family advanced toward her. Her heart beat hard in her breast.
    As they passed, Aunt Lucy said pleasantly, “Colonel Vanya.”
    Oh no, he knows them!
    “Madame. Mademoiselle,” Vanya murmured with a polite inclination of his head and then they were passed. From the corner of her eye, she realized none of them had actually looked at her. Relief was intense and lasted the rest of the way into the ballroom. “There,” Vanya said. “People generally only see what they expect to.”
    She glanced at him with more than a hint of self-mockery. “Was I so obviously hiding?”
    “Only to me. Brazening it out is usually best. Although here in the main ballroom, there are other options, such as pillars. And alcoves,” he added, drawing back the curtain on one. It was empty and before she’d properly registered the fact, she found herself inside it. “Gather your breath,” Vanya advised.
    “Thank you,” she said. “You’re being very kind to me.”
    “No, I’m not. I have an ulterior motive.”
    “For what?” she asked.
    “Helping you gather your breath.”
    Lizzie said, “You know she’s my aunt, don’t you?”
    “I won’t tell anyone.”
    “Why not?”
    “Do you know the story of Cinderella?” he inquired.
    Baffled by the change of subject, she blinked. “Pardon?”
    A smile flickered across his lips. “Everyone loves Cinderella. I’m just making conversation until you recover your breath.”
    “How poor a specimen do you take me for? I’m quite recovered from so minor a disaster.”
    “Of course you are,” he said, placing one finger under her chin and turning up her face, presumably to check for signs of the vapors.
    She began to laugh, to reassure him that she never, ever had hysterics, only for some reason the words stuck in her throat, and it seemed she had no breath after all. Vanya’s masked face dipped lower and his dark eyes, the texture of his lips seemed to enthral her. Certainly, she couldn’t seem to speak or draw back.
    At the last moment, she threw up one hand to ward him off, but it was too late. His lips closed on hers and, in shock, her defensive fingers curled instead on the braid of his uniform.
    It wasn’t a long or aggressive embrace. Perhaps it was his gentleness that confused her, because when he raised his head, she neither slapped him nor ran. Incurably honest, she admitted to herself that it had been a nice kiss and that she rather wanted