Free Lord Blackwood's Valentine Ball: An Authentic Regency Romance by Arabella Sheraton Page B

well-built man wearing a plain black mask. He smiled and there was something familiar about it. Had she met or seen him before?
    “I think there’s some mistake,” she murmured but the man ignored her protest and swept her into his embrace as the music began. His arms encased her body in a strong grip, one hand pulling her near while the other held her waist. He was too close for comfort. She tried to inch back but met hard muscle as resistance. She gave up fighting what became a very enjoyable experience once she relaxed. Her partner danced superbly, spinning her round with ease and skill. Couples whirled across the floor like brilliant birds-of-paradise, the candlelight sparkling on the women’s jewels and decorations. Myriad colours reflected in the long mirrors for which Lord Blackwood’s ballroom was famous.
    Her companion did not make conversation, and Patience was content to glide across the dance floor, clasped in his arms. She truly did feel as if she were floating, but something else was happening. The man’s nearness, the scent of his cologne, his voice when he had spoken all began to coalesce in her mind. She glanced up at his face, so close to hers. His chin! There was no mistaking the cleft.
    It could not be Lord Blackwood. It should not be Lord Blackwood. It must be someone who closely resembled him. But what if it were? This was a terrible mistake! How had he chosen her for the Valentine waltz instead of Lorna? Lorna twirled past in a cloud of pink, her head thrown back as she laughed at something her partner said. The man she was dancing with had fair hair! She had seen Lorna earlier with the same man. Everyone had blundered tonight. Perhaps the posies had been mixed up. Her heart began to thud. Soon the dance would end, and what was she to say to him? He probably expected to see someone else in her place.
    Somehow, without even seeming to guide her in this direction, her partner danced with her out onto a balcony. One last swirl and the music stopped as the clock began to strike the twelve notes to midnight. This was the signal for each man and woman to remove their partner’s mask. With trembling hands, Patience reached up to pull the ribbons holding the mystery man’s mask. She could feel his hands in her hair, gently untying the ribbons of her own.
    How on earth had she ended up like this? Outside, on a balcony, and somehow pressing her body against the unbelievably attractive man who had danced with her? She tried to take a small step backwards, but his arms tightened around her.
    “Don’t run away, Miss Cherwell.”
    Just the sound of his voice again revealed all. She took the mask from his face and stared into the hazel eyes of the man she loved, the man who smiled at her with such an intimate, warm, compelling smile.
    “You!” she gasped. “Lord Blackwood!”
    His smile widened, showing his excellent teeth. “Why, of course it’s me. Were you expecting someone else?”
    The sound of clapping came from the ballroom as all the dancers revealed their identities. Little squeals of pleasure from the ladies and masculine laughs floated toward her ears. It was not possible that Lord Blackwood had deliberately sought her out for this moment.
    His smile died away and he looked puzzled. “Are you disappointed?”
    Patience felt fire race through her body as he leaned towards her, his lips too close to hers as he murmured, “Because I am not. I am overjoyed.”
    Her knees went weak, and she would have fallen except that he caught her around the waist and held her against his chest. “It was me you were expecting, wasn’t it?” His question held doubt, anxiety, and required reassurance.
    Patience pressed away from his chest with both hands. “I…I thought you sent a posy to Miss Hartley.”
    “Miss Hartley?” His expression was now completely bewildered. “But why would I send a posy to Miss Hartley when you carried my posy, thereby indicating you approved of my suit.”
    “I didn’t