Free His Forbidden Debutante by Anabelle Bryant

not me.’ Esme’s insistent whisper brooked no argument. ‘Look at his build. Such a tall, handsome beast given his mask isn’t hiding a long, hideous scar or horrid disfigurement. These masquerades can be tricky.’
    ‘I’ll never understand how your brain works, but now I know for certain you’ve read too many gothic novels. And please stop staring or the handsome beast will believe you’re inviting his attention.’
    ‘Too late.’ Esme dared the words in a singsong tone that announced she’d succeeded in her predetermined goal. ‘He cuts a dashing figure in his costume, does he not? King of the jungle, king of the ballroom.’
    Livie dared a glance, unable to withhold her curiosity. The lion waited near the hearth, his shoulder against the woodwork, his gloved hands interlaced. If Livie ventured a descriptor,
undecided
leapt to mind. Lud, Esme had not exaggerated in her assessment of his physique. He looked regal, powerful, and as she snuck another glimpse through her mask, her pulse gave a jolting leap.
    He
was
tall. His broad shoulders near met even with the mantel, the grand fireplace a master of the room, a king on a throne, built to be noticed and command attention, just as this gentleman. His clothes were elegant and aristocratic, yet while expensive they lacked the pretentious frippery so many dandies flaunted. His body appeared all hard muscle and splendid form. She wondered at his preoccupation, for his shoulders filled his coat without help from creative tailoring, no pads or seams to manufacture an outstanding shape. His chest tapered to a lean waist, where the waistband of tight fitted buckskin breeches encased muscular thighs. High boots completed the picture, so shiny they reflected the candlelight on their tips, and she dared a fond smile at the similarity to her shoe clips. Yet he was no dandy. Like the animal he’d chosen, this man represented natural masculinity, uncommonly handsome yet refined and polished like a treasured gemstone coveted by the crown.
    Her heart stuttered. Imagine if he truly
did
admire her? She stole another glance beneath her lashes, behind her spectacles, safely hidden by her mask. Lud, he was more impressive than her most scandalous daydream.
    The orchestra began a lively tune and she was startled, not having given due attention to the evening’s entertainment beyond the brick lintol, when Lord Chellins arrived to claim her for the quadrille. He ushered her onto the tiles where, in a desperate attempt to determine where the lion remained, she tossed a glance over her shoulder, but the crowd swelled with the oncoming arrangement and she could not see past a rotund ladybug who took her place in formation to the right.
    The guests divided into smaller sets of six and at last the dance began, each lady positioned to face her partner as the first note struck. In less than a heartbeat, the flurry of masked creatures with long capes and elaborate costumes whirled the ballroom into a kaleidoscope of colour. Livie smiled, matching the fancy footwork of Lord Chellins who returned her grin beneath his moss-green grasshopper mask, engrossed in the jig and joviality of the moment. Relieved to be enmeshed in distraction, she launched into the first promenade, her arm linked with Chellins as they circled once before separating and trading partners. The procession would continue until she’d twirled a turn with each of the males in the group.
    Somewhere through the logical progression of the dance, a pairing in their assemblage stepped away and a new set of dancers filled the line. A prickle of the tiny hairs on Livie’s nape alerted to the change before her eyes took in the advantage. It was he, the lion by the hearth, and he could dance an impressive reel, no matter his muscular physique defied the graceful fluidity of the movements. His arm swept the air as sharp as a sword blade, and when she found herself traded by Chellins and wrapped in a tight elbow link with the lion, Livie