Cynthia Pratt

Cynthia Pratt blends together intrigue, romance and strong characters to bring us THE BLACK MASK...The book is fast-paced with plenty of action.

A Romance Review.com

Rose had danced with half a dozen men before she'd had a moment to herself.  She'd sent off her latest partner to fetch her something to drink.  Now she sat alone in a quiet nook, enjoying with deep breaths the scents of jasmine and lily that surrounded her.  She was a trifle too hot after her exercise and idly waved her fan, eyes closed.

Some sixth sense told her she wasn't alone.  "Thank you for..." she began.  The she opened her eyes and recoiled slightly.  "Oh, it's you."

Sir Niles bowed.  "At your service again."  He offered her one of the champagne flutes he held. 

"Thank you, Sir Niles.  But Mr. Dickson has offered to bring me refreshment."

"When his dowager grandmother called him to her side, he delegated the delightful task to me."
      
She couldn't leave him standing there like a servant proffering a glass.  She took it, strangely glad that she wore gloves so their fingers did not actually touch.  Rose remembered the strange sensation she'd had when he'd taken her hand in Mr. Crenshaw's office.
      
Politeness bade her ask him to sit down.  "A charming notion of Lady Fitzmonroe's," she said, doing her duty. 
      
"All this," he asked, pushing aside a stray sprig of jasmine that seemed to want to tickle his face.  "It seems a lot of effort for something that will fade by tomorrow afternoon."
      
"But surely any effort is worthwhile if it creates such beauty.  It reminds me of the late queen of France's Petite Trianon.  Not that I ever saw it. But my father did, a few years before the Revolution.
      
"So did mine.  A pretty piece of make-believe.  Lady Fitzmonroe has done very well, considering she hasn't the entire resources of France at her disposal.  We might be deep in the country, no one around for miles."
      
"Except for the orchestra," Rose reminded him.  She had never seen Sir Niles in a sportive mood.  She wondered if anyone ever had. She also wondered if that was his first glass of champagne.  Surely so famed a gamester couldn't be fuddled by any amount of champagne.
      
"Played by talented sheep perhaps?  Bows held in their little black hooves?"

"And harps plucked by their curly little horns," Rose said, entranced by the image.

"With a dog for conductor."
      
"Using a shepherd's crook to beat the time!"

 Rose smiled into Sir Niles's eyes.  But his expression did not match the lightness of his tone.  On the contrary, his gaze seemed to burn with an intensity of purpose, in strange contrast to his usual languid manner.  Deliberately, he took the cold champagne flute from her hand and put it, together with his, on the floor.

Rose felt a peculiar jumpy sensation in her breast, as though all the champagne bubbles had gathered in one spot and were lifting her heart.

"Miss Spenser...Rose.  I wonder if you have ever felt...."
      
Rose opened her eyes wide.  "Ever felt...what?" she prompted.