Free Masquerade (Scandalous Ballroom Encounters Book 1) by Victoria Vale

a clatter. “If you’ve something to say, I bloody well wish you’d get on with it!”
    Her calm in the face of his outburst did not surprise him. Neither did the stern look she gave him from across the breakfast table.
    “My, aren’t we in a mood this morning.”
    “I am not in a mood,” he protested.
    “Like hell you’re not,” she countered. She dismissed his protest with a wave of her hand. “You’ve been in a dudgeon all week.”
    She was right, but he would be damned before he admitted it aloud.
    “As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me,” she continued, signaling a footman for more tea. “The season is almost ended, and if you’re going to choose a suitable bride, now would be the time. You know, before they’ve all been snapped up.”
    He couldn’t fight it this time. A groan of frustration tore from his throat, and he lowered his head into his hands. Running his fingers through his disheveled hair, he fixed his undoubtedly bloodshot eyes on Albina.
    “If and when I decide to make an offer, I will be sure to inform you,” he said with as much civility as he could muster. His foul mood made it damned near impossible. “In the meantime, might I suggest you not get your hopes up? There does not exist a single chit in all of London possessing any of the qualities I’d wish for in a wife.”
    Albina rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Yet, your requirements for a bedmate remain shockingly low.”
    His jaw tightened, but he managed to bite back a stinging retort. Clearing his throat, he stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I have quite lost my appetite.”
    Actually, he hadn’t come to the table with an appetite to begin with.
    “Very well,” she said. “I shall see you this evening, then?”
    He paused in the doorway and turned, frowning. “I have plans.”
    “Of course you do—with me. The Marquess and Marchioness of Whenhold’s dinner party is this evening, remember? You promised to escort me, and I’ve already accepted on both our behalves.”
    The last thing he wished to do was attend a dinner party. She’d probably talked him into going in an attempt at matchmaking, and he felt certain he’d only accepted to shut her up.
    “I’d quite forgotten about that,” he grumbled. “Nevertheless, I shall fulfill the commitment. Until tonight, Aunt.”
    He made a hasty retreat for his study. He’d kept himself locked away there for most of the week, answering correspondence from the managers of his various country estates, going over accounts and ledgers with his man of business, and generally avoiding contact with anyone and everyone unless absolutely necessary.
    Taking a seat behind his desk, he picked up the key to the top drawer and opened it. His teeth clenched as he reached for the slip of paper he’d found beside his pillow the morning after the Vauxhall masquerade.
    Uncertain of why he continued to torture himself, he opened it and read the words written in a neat, feminine hand for what had to be at least the tenth time.
     
    Dearest Camden,
    I know you are probably wondering why I left without saying good-bye. I feared that if I woke you, you’d ask me to stay and such an offer, I would not have been able to resist. I must return home before my parents arrive. I am certain you understand.
    I cannot thank you enough for an extraordinary evening. The time I spent with you can never be forgotten. You can be sure I will carry the memory with me always.
    All my love,
    Maggie
     
    That was it. No address, no promise to come visit him again, not even a last name.
    Nothing.
    With a heavy sigh, he crumbled the note and dropped it onto his desk. What the devil was wrong with him? He was Lord Camden Rycroft, His Grace the Duke of Avonleah. He could have any woman he wanted from here to Scotland; yet, his mind had become clouded by sable curls, an ivy leaf-shaped mouth, and eyes like pools of melted chocolate.
    Meanwhile, he wondered if she had thought about him even once since