They moved down the well-lit paths, nodding at others in fancy dress. Some were quite recognizable, wearing outfits meant to look like those from ancient Greece or exotic China, but mainly constructed to show off the feminine figure. Most of the men made do with a simple loo mask that they could raise or lower as they willed, and the few who were in fancy dress contented themselves with an enveloping domino.

The gardens were in full regalia, with lights everywhere except the paths meant for flirtations and the lovers' maze behind them. The artificial canal was afloat with small boats meant to resemble Venetian gondolas, there were strolling minstrels in the Italian style, acrobats and jugglers and all manner of entertainment. Charlotte just wished they'd all go away.

Dinner was relatively vile, for all that the meals were famous. The best she could manage was a little bread and the blancmange, and even that didn't seem to be sitting too well. Meggie's predictions of disaster had affected her, she decided. In truth, Lina was right. It was a beautiful night, and after such a rainy spring it would be foolish not to enjoy it.

Charlotte sat alone at a table in the grass, toying with her glass of lemonade. The though! of wine made her ill as well, but then, she'd never been overly fond of it. Lina had gone off with Sir Percy for a stately minuet, as befitted Sir Percy's age and Lina's attire, and Charlotte glanced around her.

It should have been an interesting sensation, being invisible among all these people, but then, she didn't need a mast, domino and powdered hair for that experience. In truth, she'd always been invisible to most of them.

A lively country dance had started up, and Charlotte began tapping her foot beneath her heavy skirts. Her ankle was almost as good as new, and if she were alone somewhere, out in the countryside, she would have danced.

Sir Percy returned to the table, his florid face flushed with delight. "Lady Whitmore's dancing with young Marchmont, and she sent me to collect you and to take no excuses.”

“Oh, I don't dance," she said firmly.

''She told me you'd say that, and not to pay any attention.”

She tried her best smile. "Truly, I can't. I hurt my ankle a few weeks back."

"She told me you'd say that as well. You haven't been favoring it. Be a good girl, now. I'm an old man and most young women won't dance with me. I tend to forget some of the figures, and people get impatient. And I do so love to dance."

He was doing his best to look pitiful, and there was nothing Charlotte could do. She could give any importunate young man a thorough set-down, but Sir Percy was the sweetest man in the world, and had always been a good friend to her.

She rose reluctantly, taking his proffered arm. "Wouldn't you rather go for a walk?" she asked somewhat desperately.

"Miss Spenser!" he said in shocked tones. "Are you suggesting we set up a flirtation? I'm deeply flattered, but I'm afraid I'm past such things."

She was about to explain herself, when she stopped. He was looking so pleased with himself at the thought of a flirtation that she didn't have the heart to disillusion him. “I'll dance."

She followed him into the pavilion. No one would ever recognize her, she reminded herself. Her distinctive red hair was now a lavender-white, the half mask covered enough of her face and the domino look care of the rest. She could trip anyone, send them sprawling, and no one would ever be able to attribute it to her.

Indeed, she could use it as an excuse to kick several people she'd long considered deserving of a swift kick.

The melody was an old favorite, "Tom Scarlett," and Sir Percy drew her into it before she could hesitate, and for a moment she froze as the other dancers made their prescribed moves around her.

And then the music caught her again. One foot started tapping, then she moved the other foot forward, and suddenly the dance took over, and she was moving, dancing, her body alive with delight, her feet sure as she followed the intricate figures.

She would have left the floor once it was done, but the next was a slower, statelier dance, and she couldn't resist, twirling around Sir Percy, around her contrary, around her neighbor, never missing a step. The music sped up, growing livelier, and she moved faster, throwing back her head and laughing with the joy of it. As they performed a figure of eight she passed by Lina, and she didn't need to see her face behind the full mask to know she was mouthing "I told you so" as they went.

She was breathless, laughing when the song finished, and clearly Sir Percy, who was sadly stout, had grown winded, but young Marchmont, a stripling no more than seventeen, all arms and legs and wild enthusiasm, grabbed her, and she was dancing again, a more complicated set, and one she followed with amazing aplomb. It was the first time she'd been able to smile in three weeks—her body felt strong, glorious, as she swirled through the wonderful music.

Lina's new partner was an elderly military gentleman, and they'd joined a different set. Charlotte glanced toward her as she stepped into a poussette, changing partners as she moved toward the outward wall. Lina's face was still covered, but she was gesturing strangely, her hands moving in a panicked figure that had nothing to do with the dance. Charlotte mouthed "what" back at her, but the dance made another turn, and she switched partners to dance with a spotty young man in his twenties, who was almost as clumsy as she once had been.

Her heart melted for the poor boy, who seemed so earnest, and she whispered instructions in his ear every time they did a pass, and eventually he gave her a broad smile as he caught on to the complicated figure.

And then another poussette, and she took the hand of her new partner as she twirled around him. It was God's mercy that the touch called for in the dance was only momentary, because she'd crossed to the other side, curtsying, before she realized she was facing Adrian Rohan.

She almost stumbled in shock, but something kept her moving. She saw Lina in the background, having taken off her mask, and her beautiful face was creased in dismay. Clearly she'd been trying to warn her.

Bloody hell, Charlotte thought a little wildly. He couldn't recognize her, and she was having a wonderful time. She wasn't going to let his unexpected appearance stop her. There were only three more figures with her current partner, and then they'd move on to the next one, and the moment the dance was ended, Lina was waiting to whisk her away. But oh, merciful heavens, it was a Mad Robin, which called for the current partners to maintain eye contact while they slid in front and behind their neighbors.

Her glasses had never reappeared, and in the best of worlds it would leave her unable to see him very well. But in truth, she had only needed them to read, and she could see into his gorgeous blue eyes quite clearly. They were watching her, no discernible expression in them, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She was just a stranger on a dance floor, someone to pass by as the figures called for it. Even if she was taller than most women she was hardly singular. He wouldn't notice. He had no particular interest in her, and he most certainly didn't recognize her.

She moved back into place, dropping her eyes. One more step, and it was the Gypsy. The two of them would meet in the center, circling each other, it put her uncomfortably in mind of predator and prey.

He didn’t know her, she reminded herself, moving carefully as he seemed to stalk her. He danced beautifully, she remembered now, which was probably the reason she'd made such a botch of it the one other time she'd danced with him. She'd already been enamored of him and feeling undignified and silly about it, and his grace on the dance floor had paralyzed her.

This time she was prepared. She knew he was irresistible, moving with catlike grace on the dance floor and off. She glanced at his mouth, unable to stop herself, remembering the feel of it against hers, remembering the feel of his entire body pressed up against hers, skin to skin, warm and moist, muscles taut and straining, hearts pounding...

Her face was flushed, her breath coming fast, and she knew it wasn't because of the dance. She held out her hands, crossed, for the final hand-off, and even through two pairs of gloves she could feel his skin, his strength—feel him—and suddenly she wanted to cry.

And then he was gone, and she was going through the same movements with a plump, middle-aged gentleman, and she-d survived. She hadn’t tripped, hadn't betrayed herself in any way, and Adrian Rohan hadn't even looked back.

She was almost back with Marchmont, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Once she regained her original partner the dance would be over, and she could escape. She wanted to laugh out loud in triumph, she wanted to burst into tears. Her emotions were way too close to the surface, not like her at all. There was one more right to left, as they circled the dance floor, exchanging hands. It would bring her back to Rohan one more time, but he was looking bored, and his partner, a sweet young beauty, was going to lose him once the dance was over, and she told herself she shouldn't be glad of it.

She slid, turned and began the right to left, acutely aware of his approach. His gloved hand touched hers for a brief moment, strong hands, warm hands, and then he moved on, never even looking at her, and Marchmont was back, smiling.

Before he could draw her into another dance, Lina bad caught up with her. She'd put her mask back on, but her distress was more than clear. "I'm so sorry, dearest," she said in a muffled voice. "Of all the miserable chances! I couldn't believe it when I saw him here. And to end up in your set! Do you think he recognized you?"

"Absolutely not," she said in a calm, sure voice. "But just in case, don't you think we should leave now?”

"I do indeed. We'll have to find out where Sir Percy went. He's probably in one of the card rooms. He loves to dance, but there's only so long he can keep it up."

Charlotte pulled her hand free. She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, but there was no sign of the viscount. His erstwhile partner was now flirting with someone new, surviving his abandonment better than she herself had, Charlotte thought. "Lina, I think it best if I go ahead. It's a short walk to the edge of the park, and there are plenty of chairs and hackneys to convey me back to Grosvenor Square. You find Sir Percy and I'll meet you at home."