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surrounding our first meeting—so masterful
his courtship.
    Father, of course, will be easy to convince
and pleased, no doubt. But I do worry as to Marquis L’Aigle.
Ambroise is such a rough brute compared to Sebastian, despite
father and son being near mirrors of one another in physique and
coloring. But then, Sebastian is the stone lovingly polished by his
blessed mother (may she rest in peace). A world of polishing would
still find Ambroise jagged and tearing at the hands of the
lapidarian. And yet, such men may be easily manipulated by a
woman’s soft manners. At least, somber bore that he is, I will not
have to worry about Ambroise remarrying and producing a rival
heir!
    April 15, 1787
    It is the morning after the masquerade and my
body is sore. Not from dancing or perching at the edge of some
ancient dame’s seat while I pretended to be enthralled with some
cruel story of her maid having burnt a stocking and the beating
that followed. No, not from anything so mundane am I sore, but from
an evening of thorough lovemaking! Yes, I confess as much, here, in
secret.
    I arrived at the masquerade in the company of
Veronique and her parents. Quickly, Veronique made her way to the
masked Sebastian to identify him to me as such. He looked my way
once, across the room, while they talked, but then he disappeared!
I felt as if I would die there on the floor. But then Veronique,
after many more minutes of talking with some of the assembled
lords, made her way back to me, detailing where and when I should
find Sebastian waiting for me. The soul of discretion, he feared
harm to my reputation should anyone realize we had arranged a
private conversation.
    How long the evening dragged—how many lesser
men bruised my feet as I danced with them. With each new partner, I
longed to see before me one dressed in the dark blue velvet and
feathered half-mask Sebastian wore, to have a supple blue leather
glove take my hand. Ah, did he have another dance in mind so early,
or did the evening’s forced separation make him long for my touch
as it made me long for his?
    It was after ten when I made my way to the
appointed private drawing room. Some unused suite. No fire blazed
despite the room’s chill. Not even a candle was lit. Instead, he
stood by the window’s open curtains waiting for me. With a soft
whisper, he bid me lock the door and sit on the couch. I trembled
as I obeyed.
    When I was seated, he moved across the room
and sat down on the far end of the couch. My heart cried foul! I
wanted him closer. I raised my hands to my mask, but he halted
me.
    “None know what face lies behind that mask
tonight, do they, dearest Gabrielle?” he asked.
    He still whispered and I squirmed in my seat,
desperate for the sound of his light tenor. “No, all night
Veronique and I refused to reveal ourselves—so too her parents,” I
assured him. My low tones matched his, but I wondered at the
necessity. Surely we were far enough from the party that we could
abandon our hushed tones.
    “Then keep the mask on, as will I, should
some unannounced guest intrude on our…conversation.”
    For an instant, I was glad of the half-mask
for it kept him from seeing what disappointment might show in the
faint light. He must not think me petulant, or domineering, or
anything less than perfect. And so I nodded my agreement although I
ached to see his fine features.
    “And will we talk like children in a game of
hide and seek the whole time?” I asked, keeping my words as sweet
as I could despite my mounting impatience.
    He moved closer and, even in the faint
moonlight, I could see the trace of a smile along his lips, or so I
believed.
    “It is best, don’t you think, for what we
have to discuss?”
    Apprehension gripped me—I feared I would make
a fool of myself with assumptions. Would we discuss it so soon—were
we even thinking of the same thing?
    I took on an evasive air. “And what,” I
asked, “will we be discussing?”
    Sebastian moved closer still. I