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

murmured.
    She curtsied, trying to force a smile. His hungry gaze did not affect her half as much as a certain duke’s had. “You are too kind, Mr. Cranfield.”
    She had chosen her gown with care—white satin embroidered in a fine silver lace, spring-green bodice. After all, it was a rare thing to dine with a Marquess and Marchioness. She wore her finest shawl, and had chosen to don her pearl necklace and earrings for the first time—she’d been saving them for a special occasion.
    If she were going to marry Sheridan, however, she supposed she had to get used to evenings like this. He would be a viscount someday, and socialized in much higher circles than hers.
    “I would be honored if you allowed me to introduce you to the Marquess and Marchioness,” Sheridan said, stepping aside and sweeping his arm toward the couple chatting with guests on the other side of the large drawing room.
    “Of course, we’d be delighted,” the baroness said with a wide smile, accepting Sheridan’s proffered arm.
    Her father gave her an affectionate smile as he extended his arm to her, and Margaret accepted it. The two fell in step behind Sheridan and the baroness, following them to where the rest of the party had gathered.
    Miles Godfrey, Marquess of Whenton, was a man of few words, like her father. His wife, Frances Godfrey, proved far more talkative as she welcomed them to the townhouse and introduced them to her son, Arthur, the friend of Sheridan’s who had secured their invitation.
    Margaret smiled politely and endured the small talk that persisted as they waited for the last of their guests to arrive—a person of great importance the marchioness seemed excited to have in her home.
    While Margaret should have been excited to be hosted by people of such high rank, the thrill of it had faded quickly. She’d grown bored by the time the butler entered the drawing room and announced the arrival of their esteemed dinner companions.
    “His Grace, the Duke of Avonleah,” he announced in an even tone, “and Lady Kearsey, Dowager Viscountess of Laureldown.”
    Margaret’s spine stiffened at the mention of his name. The cold fingers of dread teased the back of her neck, and she fought for composure as she forced a lump of panic down her constricted throat. She had no choice to but to turn and acknowledge him if she did not want to appear rude to her hosts.
    Clenching her trembling hands before her, she turned, her heart taking residence in her throat as she waited for his gaze to find her. The marchioness swept forward with a bright smile, greeting first the duke, then a woman Margaret knew to be his great-aunt.
    He looked divine in austere black and white relieved only by a black and gold waistcoat and the black diamond resting in the snowy white linen of his cravat. His black hair gleamed in the light of the candles as he bowed to the marchioness and murmured a greeting.
    Margaret’s lower lip disappeared between her teeth, her lungs burning with the breath she held. As Avonleah stood, his cool blue stare surveyed the room. His jaw ticked with the subtlest movement as his gaze met hers and held. His stare left her a moment after finding her, perusing everyone else in the room as he was brought forward for introductions.
    Did that slight movement of his jaw indicate recognition? His stony expression was difficult to discern, while she felt as if everyone in the room would know the truth if they happened to look upon her just then. Surely, the evidence of her night with the duke had been written all over her face for everyone to see.
    Her heart galloped in her chest, its pace quickening as the marchioness brought the duke to her family, at last.
    “Allow me to introduce Lord Seymour, Baron Lisbroke, and his wife, Lady Seymour,” she said, gesturing toward Margaret’s parents.
    Camden’s face became a mask of polite interest as he bowed to her parents. “I am honored,” he murmured.
    As he rose, his gaze found hers again and