Vienna Waltz (The Imperial Season Book 1) by Mary Lancaster Page A

and approval, while Aunt Lucy watched proudly from among a gaggle of other matrons. Her uncle, she finally discovered in conversation with several other serious looking men, masks dangling from their hands rather than on their faces. And James…where was James?
    “Mysterious Mademoiselle Noire,” a masculine voice said at her shoulder. “May I have the honor of dancing with you?”
    “Oh no,” Lizzie said fervently. This was another unforeseen event. She spared a glance at her suitor, a young man in a dark blue domino cloak hanging over one shoulder to reveal a military uniform with much gold braid, his fair hair short and tidy beneath the mask strings. Her instant, unqualified rejection made him blink, so she added hastily, “Perhaps later. I’m searching for my aunt.”
    “Let me help you find her.”
    “Then you’ll miss the dance,” Lizzie said, and with quick smile, slipped into the throngs away from him.
    *
    Vanya, meanwhile, was amusing himself by flirting outrageously with beautiful women, most of whom he didn’t even recognize. One he knew to be the Duchess of Sagan, not least because Metternich was giving him the evil eye from across the room. Vanya contented himself with kissing her fingers and then, daringly, the inside of her wrist, which made her laugh and shoo him away as he’d known it would.
    He’d postponed judgement on how to handle the necklace affair at least until after he set eyes on the aunt, which he managed by the simple expedient of asking people where she was. Perhaps they imagined he had his eye on the cousin, for a German diplomat pointed out a much younger woman waltzing in the arms of none other than Boris.
    Casually, Vanya circled the dance floor, and eventually found the person he was most eager to discover: a female almost entirely enveloped in black, quite unconscious of the stir she was causing by being just about the only woman not revealing the elegance of her gown and figure. At least the cloak hood was down to reveal dark brown chestnut hair, fetchingly piled on her head and tied with a gold ribbon. He wondered who’d done that for her and decided it was most likely to be Henrietta, the acknowledged family beauty. Her mask was rigidly in place and her intense gaze was divided between her cousin and frequent sweeps of the room. Her gaze flickered over him once without interest. His lips twitched.
    The waltz ended and Boris, always the perfect gentleman, conducted Miss Minerva to her protector who was, of course, a middle-aged lady wearing a very fine gold and diamond necklace on her plump bosom. Vanya smiled and derived further entertainment by strolling directly in front of the black dominoed lady, who was peering anxiously through the doorway.
    “ Excusez moi, mademoiselle ,” he murmured politely.
    Her gaze flickered over his uniform braid without even rising to his face. “ De rien, monsieur ,” she returned and passed on.
    Vanya’s shoulders began to shake as he hurried on, managing to reach Boris before he had left the Daniels women. Behind his mask, Boris’ eyes lit up before he remembered to be suspicious.
    “Allow me to present my friend,” he said, scowling a warning at Vanya. “Colonel—”
    “Vanya,” he interrupted smoothly. “Since we’re masquerading!”
    “Colonel Vanya,” the aunt said graciously. “My daughter.”
    “Enchanted,” Vanya said smoothly, just as an Englishman butted in to claim his promised dance with Minerva. Boris could barely contain his grin. Vanya ignored him. “Perhaps I might solicit your daughter for a later dance,” he suggested. “In the meantime, perhaps you, Madame, would do me the honor?”
    The aunt blinked rapidly. “Me? My dear sir, I haven’t danced in years!”
    “But this is Vienna,” Vanya said, taking her hand. “Everyone dances.”
    Since it was not the waltz but a staider country dance, Mrs. Daniels finally accepted with grace. After a few moments, as she turned in the figure, he let his gaze