And then…the knight—whom Ember was beginning to suspect might be the second Prince brother: the charmer—spun Vanessa to a stop very near Ember’s hiding spot. It was clear, from the way he placed his hand against Vanessa’s lower back and steered her toward the shadow of the potted tree, that he was looking for some privacy.
As Ember slipped around to the other side of the pillar, she overheard the knight say to her stepsister, “Please, lass. I must ken yer name!”
Vanessa giggled flirtatiously and brushed her gloved fingertips against the edge of her pink mask. “Does that no’ defeat the purpose, milord?”
“The purpose?” he murmured, leaning closer.
Ember’s stepsister didn’t seem to mind. “The purpose of a masquerade, milord. I could be anyone under this mask, could I no’? A princess, or a serving maid.”
“Whoever ye are, sweet lady, ye are beautiful.” The knight lifted Vanessa’s hand, but instead of placing a kiss on it, cupped her palm to his cheek, which made her sigh with pleasure. “I would ken yer name, so I might find ye again.”
It seemed to Ember it took her sister a few times to get her mouth working, and she understood why. If this was indeed Roland Prince, he was certainly the charmer everyone had claimed.
“I—I am an Oliphant, milord.” Vanessa’s voice was breathless, as she leaned toward him. “Ye can find me at the inn.”
“The Oliphant Inn. Excellent,” he murmured. And then he stepped forward, forcing Vanessa to step back or risk plastering herself against him, and soon enough, both of them were now behind the potted tree.
An excellent position for hanky-panky, if that’s what they were up to, but not ideal for Ember. In desperation, she slipped around the other side of the pillar, trying not to be caught back there with her sister and her new beau.
How awkward. And crowded.
So she stepped out from the shadows, lifted her chin, and met the eyes of the cowboy.
That sounds quite exciting, does it no’?
But they weren’t in the wilds of America; they were in a ballroom in the heart of civilization. And although he was dressed as a cowboy, Mr. DeVille was a wealthy manager, come to set the factory to rights.
And the man who could help her by agreeing to produce the shoes which would give her back her freedom.
So when he took a step toward her, she didn’t turn and run; not that she could, in these fancy shoes. Instead, she lifted her chin, took a deep breath, and tried to remember how to be charming.
“Would you care to dance?” the cowboy asked her in a deep drawl. His expression, under the plain mask he wore, was serious, but he held his hand out to her as if he never expected a denial.
So she placed her hand in his and allowed him to sweep her into a waltz.
He held her stiffly—either he was completely proper or was as unaccustomed to dancing as she was—and kept his attention on the music. Still, dancing with the guest of honor made Ember feel almost giddy, and also, quite warm. Her hand and back tingled where he touched her, but that was likely because of the excitement of the moment.
“They’re all looking at me,” she said suddenly, then pressed her lips together in embarrassment.
Behind his mask, his dark eyes seemed to soften at the edges as he glanced down at her for the first time. “And why wouldn’t they? You’re the prettiest lady in the room.” The way he stated it, so assuredly, made her warm. “I couldn’t believe you didn’t have a partner already; that’s why I had to scoop you up.”
“How positively American of ye,” she murmured.
He chuckled, a warm deep sound, which made him seem more human and less like a refined businessman.
“I like you,” he drawled, as they swept into another turn. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me your name?”
Remembering the way Vanessa had demurred and knowing the repercussions which would come if her stepmother ever learned she’d been at the ball against the woman’s wishes, Ember lowered her chin. “That would defeat the purpose of the mask, would it no’?”
The cowboy hummed. “And since it’s such a nice mask, I wouldn’t want to do anything to offend it. Your gown, and that mask…I’ve never seen anything like it. Are those gears?”
“Aye, sir.” One corner of her lips tugged upward, and she realized, despite the high stakes, she was thoroughly enjoying herself. “I have somewhat of a mechanical bent.”
“Really? Me too.”
“Aye, I ken it, Mr. DeVille.”
“You know my name, but I don’t get to know yours?”
“Ye’re the guest of honor,” she pointed out. “Everyone on Oliphant Lands kens who ye are.” And although she knew many of them, they only knew her as her stepmother’s drudge, not as a lady in an intriguing white gown. “And I have been hoping to meet ye.”
“Really? Because of my charm?”
She had to chuckle at that. “Because of yer position. I have a business idea—a proposition—now that ye hold such an important role.”
“Oh.”
He seemed disappointed, and she opened her mouth to reassure him, although how, she didn’t know. But at that moment, the waltz ended, leaving them both a little surprised. She lowered her arm a few moments too late to join in the applause, and saw him shake himself, as if he’d been in a stupor.
Movement off to the side of the ballroom caught her eye. There, near the potted tree she’d hid behind, stood Machara, and Ember recognized her body language well enough to know the older woman was livid about something.
It didn’t take long to understand, as Machara’s hand shot out and closed around Vanessa’s arm, pulling her out from behind the pillar. Ember’s stepsister was looking a little rumpled, but the knight, who stepped out of the shadows after her, was grinning.
Oh dear. What had
