In the alcove off the ballroom where the drinks were set forth, he’d come upon George, a decidedly glum Harlequin. At sight of him, he’d uttered a hoot of laughter, for which George repaid him with a scowl.

“I know it looks damn stupid, but what could I do?”

“Call off the engagement?”

George threw him a withering look, then added: “Not that I’m not sure it constitutes sufficient cause.”

Jack thumped him on the shoulder. “Never mind your troubles-mine are worse.”

George studied the grim set of his lips. “They recognized you?”

Reaching for a brandy, Jack nodded. “Virtually immediately. God only knows what gave me away.”

George opened his mouth to tell him but never got the chance.

“Christ Almighty!” Jack choked on his brandy. Abruptly, he swung away from the ballroom. “What the bloody hell’s Kit doing here?”

Frowning, George looked over the guests. “Where?”

“Dancing, would you believe! With a shepherdess in pale pink-third set from the door.”

George located the slender youth dipping through the last moves of the cotillion. “You sure that’s Kit?”

Jack swallowed his “Of course I’m damned sure, I’d know her legs anywhere” and substituted a curt, “Positive.”

George studied the figure across the room. “A wig?”

“And his Sunday best,” said Jack, risking a quick glance at the ballroom. The last thing he wanted was for Kit to see him. If the Lord Lieutenant could recognize him immediately, it was certain Kit would. But she knew him as Captain Jack.

“Maybe Spencer brought him?”

“Like hell! More likely the young devil decided to come and see how the other half lives.”

George grinned. “Well, it’s safe enough. He’ll just have to leave before the unmasking and no one will be any the wiser.”

“But he’ll be a whole lot wiser if he sets eyes on either you or me.”

George’s indulgent smile faded. “Oh.”

“Indeed. So how do we remove Kit from this charming little gathering without creating a scene?”

They both sipped their brandies and considered the problem. Jack kept his back to the room; George, far less recognizable in his Harlequin suit, maintained a watchful eye on Kit.

“He’s left his partner and is moving down the room.”

“Is your fiancée here?” Jack asked. “Can you get her to take a note to Kit?”

George nodded. Jack pulled out a small tablet and pencil. After a moment’s hesitation, he scribbled a few words, then carefully folded and refolded the note. “That should do it.” He handed the square to George. “If I’m not back by the time for unmasking, make my excuses.”

Jack put his empty glass back on the table and turned to leave.

Appalled, George barred the way. “What the hell should I say? This ball was all but organized for you.”

Jack smiled grimly. “Tell them I was called away to deal with a case of mistaken identity.”

Disentangling herself from the shepherdess’s clinging adoration, Kit beat a hasty retreat, heading for the corner where she’d last seen Amy. When she got there, Amy was nowhere in sight. Drifting back along the room, Kit kept a wary eye out for the shepherdess and Lady Marchmont.

In the end, it was Amy who found her.

“Excuse me.”

Kit swung about-Amy’s Columbine mask met her eyes. Beneath her own far more concealing mask, Kit smiled in delight and bowed elegantly.

She straightened and saw a look of confusion in Amy’s clear eyes.

“I’ve been asked to deliver this note to you-Kit!”

Kit grabbed Amy’s arm and squeezed it warningly. “Keep your voice down, you goose! What gave me away?”

“Your eyes, mostly. But there was something else-something about your height and size and the way you hold your hands, I think.” Amy’s gaze wandered over Kit’s sartorial perfection, then dropped to the slim legs perfectly revealed by the clinging knee breeches and clocked stockings. “Oh, Kit!”

Kit felt a twinge of guilt at Amy’s shocked whisper.

“Yes, well, that’s why no one must know who I am. And for goodness sake, don’t color up so, or people will think I’m making improper suggestions!”

Amy giggled.

“And you can’t take my arm, either, or come too close. Please think, Amy,” Kit pleaded, “or you’ll land me in the suds.”

Amy dutifully tried to remember that Kit was a youth. “It’s very hard when I’ve known you all my life and know you’re not a boy.”

“Where’s this note?” Kit lifted the small white square from Amy’s palm and unfolded it. She read the short message three times before she could believe her eyes.

Kit, Meet me on the terrace as soon as possible, Jack

“Who gave you this?” Kit looked at Amy.

Amy looked back. George had impressed on her she was not to tell the slim youth who had given her the note-but did George know the slim youth was Kit? She frowned. “Don’t you know who it’s from?”

“Yes. But I wondered who gave it to you-did you recognize him?”

Amy blinked. “It was passed on. I don’t have any idea who wrote it.” That, at least, was the truth.

Too caught up in the startling discovery that Jack was somewhere near, probably among the guests, Kit missed the less than direct nature of Amy’s answer. Forgetting her own instructions, she put a hand on Amy’s arm. “Amy, you must promise you’ll tell no one of my disguise.”

Amy promptly reassured her on that score.

“And I won’t, of course, be here for the unmasking. Can you tell Lady Marchmont-and Spencer, too-that I was here, but that I felt unwell and returned home? Tell Spencer I didn’t want to spoil his evening.” Kit grinned wryly; if she stayed for the unmasking, she’d definitely ruin Spencer’s night.

“But what about the note?” asked Amy.

“Oh, that.” Kit stuffed the white paper into her pocket. “It’s nothing. Just a joke-from someone else who recognized me.”

“Oh.” Amy eyed Kit and wondered. The male disguise was almost perfect-if she’d had such difficulty recognizing Kit, who else would?

“And now, Amy dearest, we must part or people will start to wonder.”

“You won’t do anything scandalous, will you?”

Kit repressed the urge to give Amy a hug. “Of course, I won’t. Why, I’m doing everything possible to avoid such an outcome.” With a twinkle in her eye, Kit bowed.

With a look that stated she found the act of attending a ball in male attire inconsistent with avoiding scandal, Amy curtsied and reluctantly moved away.

Kit took refuge behind a large palm by the side of the ballroom. Caution dictated she avoid Jack whenever possible, but was it possible? Or wise? If she didn’t appear on the terrace, he was perfectly capable of appearing in the ballroom, by her side, in a decidedly devilish mood. No-it was the lesser of two evils, but the terrace it would have to be. After all, what could he possibly do to her on the Lord Lieutenant’s terrace?

She scanned the crowd, studying men of Jack’s height. There were a few who fit that criterion, but none was Jack. She wondered what mad start had brought him to the ball. Unobtrusively, she made her way to where long windows opened onto the terrace that ran the length of the house.

The night air was crisp, refreshing after the stuffiness of the close-packed humanity within. Kit drew a deep breath, then looked about her. On the terrace, he’d said, but where on such a long terrace?

There were a few couples taking the air. None spared a glance for the slim youth in the midnight blue coat. Kit strolled the flags, looking at the sky, ostensibly taking a breather from the bustle inside. Then she saw Jack, a dim shadow sitting on the balustrade at the far end.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed as she drew near. He was sitting with his back propped against the wall, one booted foot swinging.

Jack, who had watched her approach, was taken aback. “What am I doing here? What the devil are you doing here, you dim-witted whelp?”

Kit noted the dangerous glitter in the eyes watching her through the slits in his simple black mask. She put up her chin. “That’s none of your affair. And I asked first.”

Under his breath, Jack swore. He hadn’t given his excuse for being at the ball a single thought, so fixated had he been on the necessity of removing Kit from this place of revelations. “I’m here for the same reason you are.”

Kit bit back a laugh. The idea of Jack, in disguise, looking over a potential bride from among the local gentry was distinctly humorous. “How did you recognize me?”

Jack’s lips twisted in a mocking smile. “Let’s just say I’m particularly well acquainted with your manly physique.”

Kit’s chin rose along with her blush. “What did you want to see me about?”

Jack blinked. What the hell did she imagine he wanted to see her about? “I wanted to make sure that, having now seen how the other half comports itself, you’ll realize the wisdom of making yourself scarce, before someone stumbles on your identity.”

Behind her mask, Kit’s frown was black. The man was insufferable. Who did he think he was, to hand her thinly veiled orders? “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you.”

Her clipped tone convinced Jack she was not about to take his suggestion to heart. With an exasperated sigh, he got to his feet. “What sort of chaos do you think you’d cause if that wig slipped loose during one of the dances?” Jack took a step toward her but stopped when she backed away. A quick glance along the terrace revealed a single couple, physically entwined, at the opposite end.

Kit considered insisting Jack sit down again but doubted he’d oblige. He was very good at giving orders and highly resistant to taking any. And in the moonlight on the terrace, his height and bulk were intimidating. Particularly when she didn’t want to do what he clearly wanted her to do. She took another step back.