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She had lived the first sixteen years of her life under guard, her every movement watched with precision. the mingling scents of various perfumes and burnt wax from the massive chandeliers. the multitude of voices attempting to be heard over an industrious orchestra. The dazzling array of vibrant fabrics and frothy lace. It was far too easy to be overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells of a masquerade. In such a crush of people, another woman most likely would not have noted the avid interest. She strolled carefully around the perimeter of the Langston ballroom, her senses attuned to his movements, her head turning with feigned interest in her surroundings so that she might study him further.Įvery covert glance took her breath away. The man in the white mask was following her.Īmelia Benbridge was uncertain of how long he had been moving surreptitiously behind her, but he most definitely was. To Patrice Michelle, Janet Miller, and Mardi Ballou, for their commiseration. To the fabulous gals on my wicked chat loop, for their aid and friendship. To Nadine Dupont, for her assistance with the French words used in this book.
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I couldn’t have finished this book without her. When I needed help, she was there for me. To Kate Duffy, for her forbearance and guidance. They were invaluable and deeply appreciated. Thank you both for the friendship, support, and brainstorming you shared with me while I wrote this book.
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To my dear friends, Shelley Bradley and Annette McCleave. All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.