Lady Em's Indiscretion by Elena Greene

and blood after all.
    And—she could not help noticing—certainly
the finest figure of a man present.
    Distracted, she allowed herself to be led
back to the floor by a colorfully garbed Grand Turk. Too late she
smelled the hateful odor of brandy on his breath; too late she
realized that he’d mistaken her for an entirely different class of
female. Stilling a sense of panic, she endured his broad hints and
the sweaty squeeze of his hands, but when the music ended, she
slipped away from his groping arms and darted through a gap in the
crowd. Clearly it was time to leave. She’d enjoyed her few dances;
there was nothing else worth staying for.
    Vaguely disappointed, she stopped beside a
pillar to check if the Turk had followed her.
    “I see you, my Queen! You shan’t escape me
so easily!”
    Seeing him not far behind, she hurried off
again, dodging between knots of curious revelers and amorous
couples, making her way toward the entrance and the protection of
her footman. She broke into a run, and suddenly cannoned into what
seemed like a wall of darkness. The unseen wall swirled, revealing
a ghastly skeleton, and she lost her balance.
    Black-gloved hands held her in a strong
grip. A shriek escaped her throat.
    “Please do not be frightened, ma’am. I am
perfectly harmless.”
    His voice, a mellow baritone, warm and dark,
struck a chord deep within her. As she regained her balance, he
loosened his hold.
    There was no need to panic.
    “I—I am sorry I screamed,” she said,
straightening up. “It was just that—your costume was
so—startling.”
    Let him think it was just the costume.
    “You are in a hurry; is someone troubling
you?” he asked in that same rich and reassuringly sober voice.
    Dark eyes gleamed down at her through the
eyeholes of Death’s mask; below, another opening revealed full,
beautifully shaped lips.
    Nervously, she glanced back. About twenty
feet away the Turk still meandered among the crowd, perhaps seeking
new prey.
    “The man in the turban?” the stranger
asked.
    She turned to him and nodded.
    “Do you think he would leave you be if we
danced together?”
    Her breath caught, and she stared up at him.
No one would tangle with a tall gentleman in the guise of Death,
she decided. If they did, they would soon discover that the painted
bones concealed entirely solid and powerful muscles.
    But could she trust him?
    “Y-yes, I am sure he will,” she replied.
    “Then I would be honored to lead you out
into this set,” he said. He released her shoulders and offered her
his arm, eyes gleaming, as if he enjoyed coming to her rescue.
    He was sober. He was polite. And thoroughly
intriguing. She could not resist.
    “Thank you, sir.” She laid her hand on his
arm.
    “I should thank you. You will have to be
patient with me. It has been many years since I last danced.”
    His tone was light, but she wondered . . .
had he been in mourning, too?
    “It is no great matter.” She smiled up at
him. “No one will notice a misstep, I’m sure.”
    They took their places in the set. A moment
later, another familiar country-dance began to play, lively, too
vigorous for conversation. Livvy once again threw herself into the
dance, relieved to see that after a few stumbles, Death fell into
the rhythm as well, his cape swirling around him theatrically.
Though as large and powerfully built as Walter had been, the
stranger was light on his feet. From the grin that peeked through
the opening in his mask, she guessed he enjoyed it, too.
    Then she realized her bodice had shifted
again. When they came to the top of the set, she surreptitiously
twitched it back into place.
    “I must thank you again for coming to my
rescue, sir,” she said as they stood awaiting their turn to rejoin
the line.
    “It was my pleasure. In truth, I had seen
you from above and was hoping to ask you for a dance.” He cleared
his throat. “I hope that Grand Turk did not frighten you too
much.”
    “No, he was merely making a nuisance