Free His Forbidden Debutante by Anabelle Bryant Page B

seemingly cavernous, yet pulsing with arresting heat. At last she released a steadying exhale having waited patiently for the chance to breathe again, no longer able to contain it, the moment too frangible. He inhaled sharply, wanting, if nothing else, a whisper of her all to himself.
    The music wound to an end and they separated, motionless at the centre of the group, and in an act of sentiment more than sense, he reached to the edge of his mask to peel away his disguise and reveal himself only to realise the cost of such an action. He stopped, the flitter of surprise, and then disappointment, fleeting in her eyes. A raw silence roared in his ears.
    The group dissolved. He forced a bow and took his leave. How foolish. He could not continue this masquerade. He would leave for Clipthorne on the morrow, visit Claire, and exorcise this intolerable unrest.

Chapter Seven
    How do you occupy your time when you aren’t writing letters, my dearest? Do you enjoy embroidery or watercolours? The pianoforte? I am fond of fencing and dare to confess I’ve honed my skill to a high level through instruction and punishing practice. A competitive assault between two proficient opponents is the ideal antidote to boredom while it increases strength and rapier-sharp reflexes. One never knows when heroics may be necessary.
    Livie rushed past Esme without explanation and aimed for the retiring room, the emotion too much for her. What was happening? She was no wilting flower, yet the last two encounters with men, with that man, had left her shaken, dizzy, and at the same time euphoric. When their eyes met and held, it was a bolt of lightning to her brain, a clap of thunder in her heart. Nothing made sense. After their chance meeting at Monsieur Bournon’s hall, she had pushed the incident from her mind, not allowing the memory of his firm hold and peculiar behaviour to influence her thoughts. How foolish it would be to pin her romantic hopes on a stranger. Someone who happened into her life and then right out again. Hadn’t she committed the same grave error with Randolph? Letter after letter they’d exchanged, line after line of conversation, threaded through with the unspoken intent they would someday plan a meeting and pursue the attraction that laced every compliment and flirted with each conversation.
    No, she would be stronger this time, and smarter. Her debut was less than two weeks away and never had she anticipated the future more. So many days had wasted while she waited in bed, of little use to anyone, unable to care for herself, the despicable reality of helplessness all she’d known. She tightened her lips in a wry smile. She would never feel helpless again. Never. She would control her future, put one foot in front of the other until she found herself running into the arms of the man she chose to share her life with.
    She took in the retiring room now, busy and overcrowded, having rushed in giving little thought to how others noted her arrival. Whimsy continually reminded her to be cognizant of others’ perception, for society comprised a fickle, critical opinion and a debutante could not afford the tarnish of unjustifiable gossip or the cut direct.
    Drawing a deep breath to reorder her conflicted thoughts, she turned towards the mirror and pretended to adjust her headdress, grateful for the mask that concealed her identity and utter loss of calm capability. Still her heart pounded in her chest as she recalled the lock of his eyes, the unvoiced emotion found there. There was no disguising the silent acknowledgement of their shared communication, the moment significant, their thoughts intertwined.
    The Clipthorne estate comprised a vast plot of landed property with several outreaching cottages and flower gardens spanning beyond the most impressive building, the elaborate main house. The fortified manor, composed of pale brick and multiple rectangular windows, stacked one atop the other as if they climbed stairs to the sky, their