Free My Lady Rival by Ashley March

one of the most beautiful men she’d ever met.
    Beautiful?
    Yes, beautiful. Masculine beauty carved into his cheekbones, chiseled into his jaw. His nose was the slightest bit crooked, as though he’d broken it once or twice, and his forehead was high. His was a face of resolve, of ruthless purpose hidden behind that casual smile. . . . He wore his own masks of expression, his civility and charm a disguise for the strength of his desires and determination.
    One woman might have called him handsome, another rugged, and yet another as ordinary as a solid oak tree. But to Willa he was beautiful. She wanted to put her hands to his jaw, to run her palms across every plane and hollow, to smooth her thumbs over his eyebrows.
    Instead she lifted her hands to her head to untie her mask, too.
    But before she could begin, he frowned and made a little swirl with his finger in the air. “Your hair— Do you need—”
    “No, it’s only an illusion.” Reaching beneath the intricate coiffure, Willa found the ends of the mask’s ribbons and untied them. She drew them forward, already feeling the weight of the gold and diamond mask lift from her skin. “Here I am, at last,” she announced, the words and the curtsy she then gave a deliberate echo of his own unmasking.
    His brow lifted. “I expected you to look older. Is deception not supposed to age a person’s appearance?” Though he drawled the words, his gaze was piercing enough to poke tiny holes all along her skin.
    “I suppose I shall need more practice, although a kiss does not seem very deceptive to me. A kiss, for any length or manner, is only a kiss, isn’t it?” She raised her mask again, peered at him through the space carved for her eyes. He plucked the mask away. The ribbons dangled from his fingertips, as precarious as her careful facade of nonchalance.
    Willa let her gaze drift. She smiled, pretending to see someone beyond his shoulder she recognized. Looking up at him again, she shrugged. “It was business, Laurie. Nothing but business. You mustn’t take it personally.” He stared at her without responding, swinging her mask to and fro by its ribbons. Willa waited, her heart pounding. She could walk away now—he did not block her; she could easily escape from here, in the middle of this large and block her; she could easily escape from here, in the middle of this large and crowded ballroom. Even if he pulled her deep into the shadows of the massive pillars or against the wall—even if he dragged her out to the terrace—there would always be others to see them. Because of this she stayed, her breath fractured as she watched him watching her. She would never run from him.
    A fter another full minute of his silence she sighed loudly, darting a glance at him through her eyelashes. Yes, he still appeared as if he’d like to strangle her.
    The musicians were preparing for another set. “I’d like to thank you for the waltzes and for the pleasurable company, Mr. Laurie. Unfortunately, now that your identity is revealed, I must be away. There are other, more important matters I must attend to while I am in London.”
    When she walked toward the perimeter of the ballroom, he took her hand and placed it on his arm. They strolled together, her fingers captive beneath his hold.
    Only she realized too late that he was steadfastly guiding her toward the shadows which clung to the far corner of the ballroom, partially hidden by one of those massive pillars. Yes, others would be able to see them if they peered closely enough. But no one was looking. No one at all.
    He stood in front of her, his shoulders eclipsing her view of the room. “I am well aware of the matters you think you seek. I am also aware that you will not find them.”
    “You seem very certain of this. I would caution your habit toward overconfidence. It did not serve you well in Italy, either.” She would not be intimidated, though he leaned his body near hers. A nd he knew this; he knew she was not