The Duchess Mazarin had come as a shepherdess, and her boy Mustapha was her little black sheep. Apparently shepherdesses wore no stays of any sort, because Hortense’s ample bosom moved against the thin fabric of her peasant blouse every time she laughed—which was often.
Rose was trying her best not to stare.
Other ladies were skimpily garbed as well. A tavern wench’s décolletage peeked from her low, frilled bodice. A tipsy doxy flitted about in dishabille. A Greek goddess’s robes couldn’t seem to stay fastened—
“Enjoying yourself?” someone asked, and Rose turned to see Nell Gwyn. Since she was the smallest woman in the chamber, her identity wasn’t in doubt. Her half mask of black matched her lovely black gown. But it was, after all, just an ordinary black gown, much like the one she’d made fun of Louise de Kéroualle wearing yesterday.
Rose cocked her head. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m in mourning,” Nell said gaily, “for poor Louise’s lost hopes.”
Rose laughed and looked for Louise. There she was, as a haughty Cleopatra. But Caesar, surrounded as usual by spaniels and drooling over the buxom shepherdess, seemed distinctly uninterested.
Lost hopes, indeed.
“What a clever costume,” Nell said. “I don’t believe anyone has ever before come as a flower arrangement.” She leaned closer to Rose. “You smell delicious.”
Pleased, Rose smiled beneath her mask. “You know who I am?”
“I know who everyone is,” Nell boasted. “Except him.” She gestured toward a gentleman standing before one of the massive gold- and silver-embroidered tapestries that covered the walls. “Handsome as sin, isn’t he?”
Following Nell’s gaze, Rose spotted a pirate. His breeches were tighter than the current fashion—skintight, as a matter of fact—hinting at long, muscular legs. His full white shirt was unlaced at the throat, revealing a little triangle of skin sprinkled with crisp black hair.
“Handsome, indeed.” Rose wondered if he was a good kisser. “When do the masks come off?”
“Midnight,” Nell said with a tinkling laugh, apparently divining Rose’s thoughts. “But I’ve arranged a surprise first. It should be jolly fun. In the meantime”—she lifted her black skirts—“I’m going to meet that pirate.”
As Rose watched her dance off, a medieval knight arrived bearing a goblet full of warm, spiced wine. He bowed elaborately, his chain mail clanking. “My lady.”
He’d taken no pains to disguise his voice, so she knew it was Gabriel. “My thanks, Sir Knight,” she said, taking the cup and sipping gratefully.
Or gulping might be a better description.
Instead of a mask, he wore a polished helmet complete with a visor that concealed his face. How very appropriate, she thought, for him to dress as a knight in shining armor after yesterday’s duel.
And he wasted no time in reminding her. “I would slay dragons for you, my dear Lady Rose.”
She sighed. “You recognize me?”
“But of course. I would know you anywhere.” The visor creaked when he flipped it up, his blue eyes blazing with earnestness. “You’re the damsel of my dreams…I hope you’ve reconsidered and decided to marry me.”
He was so perfect. So gallant.
Was it terrible of her to be glad the helmet prevented any kissing?
She sipped more wine. “I’m thinking about it, your grace.”
“I would have your answer soon. I would waste no time making you my wife.”
Why couldn’t she just say yes? She’d resolved to do so last night, hadn’t she?
But she didn’t know him. She only knew he was a duke. “Do you like to travel?” she asked.
“I visit my mother in Northumberland every year.”
Oh, wouldn’t that be exciting? “I meant overseas.”
“I get seasick in the bath.” He looked a little green at the mere thought. But then he mustered a bold face. “If you wish to travel, my dear Rose, I will manage.”
She couldn’t expect more. “What’s your favorite book?” she asked, wracking her brain for some of Kit’s questions.
“I don’t read,” he said, looking bewildered.
“You cannot read?”
“Of course I can read. I simply find other pursuits more interesting.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t too bad, then, was it? She wasn’t much of a reader herself, save for news sheets and foreign books. Everyone had different tastes. “Tastes,” she murmured. “Do you prefer sweet or savory?”
His good humor seemed stretched to the breaking point. “What is it with these questions?”
“Nothing. Never mind. Thank you for the wine.”
She wandered away, leaving him staring after her. So he wasn’t much for conversation. Not every fellow liked to talk, she told herself sternly. It wasn’t a crime to keep one’s thoughts to oneself.
She just wondered whether he had any.
Musing, she bumped into someone, crushing more than a few of her flowers. “Pardon me,” the gentleman said in an unnaturally deep voice. A disguised voice, she decided, looking up.
It was the pirate. Her heart skipped a beat. “It was my fault,” she assured him with a flutter of her carefully darkened lashes. She hoped he could see them through the eyeholes of her mask. “I was daydreaming.”
His own masked face was expressionless. “I hope they were sweet dreams.”
Who was he? What courtier had come just today? She hadn’t heard of any new arrivals, but she’d been busy catching up on her sleep and preparing her costume.
Her fingers itched to touch the triangle of skin that showed where his shirt was open at the top. She sipped again instead, feeling the wine go straight to her head. “Will you kiss me?” she asked boldly.
Again, that expressionless reply. “I don’t kiss strangers, my lady. And I’d advise you to follow the same rule.”
Well! She wanted to rip that mask off his handsome face.
Then again, she had no idea whether he was actually handsome under that mask. Maybe he wasn’t. In fact, maybe he was hideous. And if he didn’t want to kiss her, perhaps that was because he knew he had dismal technique.
Feeling better, she flounced away.
But as she flirted with Henry VIII, she felt the pirate watching her. And when a jester led her to the dance floor, she saw him glare. Wherever she went, his gaze seemed to follow.
The only person keeping a closer
