Read Online Love Letters by Lori Brighton - Free Book Online

stinging skin. Her aunt’s long fingers always found the most sensitive of her flesh. How she despised the woman!
    “Two dances. Don’t look directly at him. He’ll never know who you really are.” The woman’s claw grasped Cynthia’s wrist as she jerked her toward a corner where a potted plant half-hid her from view. The ton adored a masked ball for it was the only time when priorities and morals were pushed to their limits. The large room practically vibrated with excitement.
    Yet Cynthia found the entire situation ridiculous, and the night would no doubt end in her utter humiliation. Of course she’d brought this to her aunt’s attention.
    “Why don’t we merely tell him the truth? That Helen is ill and couldn’t attend?”
    She’d been soundly slapped for being cheeky.
    Still, now that she was here she felt she must try, at least one more time. “Surely, Aunt, he’ll know I’m not my cousin.”
    “He’s met with Helen only thrice, each time rather briefly.” Her aunt took her arm and pulled her across the parquet floor to the next potted palm, the heels of her slippers sliding on the polished wood. The ballroom was a wonder of exotic decorations, with silky curtains of brilliant colors that shimmered in the low candlelight. The guests were just as brilliant, dressed in gowns of gaudy colors that would have normally been shunned.
    “Lady Hogar! Lady Hogar!” Mrs. Gold waddled toward them, her excitement almost palpable. The woman’s round form was swathed in a brilliant pink that should have been considered outlandish. Her features were covered with an equally garish pink mask that barely covered her moon-sized face.
    She leaned closer to Cynthia’s aunt in a conspiratorial way. “I recognized you because of Helen’s beautiful burnished hair.”
    Cynthia realized the woman was talking about her and managed a tight smile. Yes, she and Helen had similar colored hair, although Helen’s seemed far from cursed. And yes, they both had blue eyes. But she was slightly taller, slightly rounder than her cousin. But Lady Gold, a woman who was Helen’s constant admirer, didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps he wouldn’t either.
    “Come; do tell me what you think of the décor…quite scandalous! Don’t you agree?”
    “Indeed!” Auntie said, slipping into the petty gossip easily and giving Cynthia respite, for at least a moment.
    Alone, Cynthia pressed her gloved hand to her bodice, worried her breasts would break free of the tight material. Ridiculous indeed. Hugging herself, she peeked around a large marble column. The ballroom was immense, the place crowded with masked guests. How would she ever find him? Helen had told Lord Kennwick she’d be wearing red and so she was. A gown too tight and too low around the neckline for Cynthia. She felt exposed; almost indecent.
    Releasing a frustrated sigh, she started to turn back toward her aunt when she spotted a tall, dark-haired figure. Cynthia sucked in a breath and froze. It was him! The entire ball room seemed to fade, the music pausing. Although a plain, black mask covered half his face and his evening wear blended with the other black suits, she still knew him. She’d memorized every inch of his muscled form, the way he stood so confident and sure, the way his dark hair curled slightly at his collar. He commanded attention and always admired, he stood with a group of men and women, hanging on his every word.
    She watched his mouth move, focusing on that top lip where a light scar gave him a dangerous air. Cynthia could barely breathe. Her legs grew wooden. She leaned her shoulder against the cool, marble column for support. Merely by looking at him her heart slammed in her chest, and an odd, dull ache of need seeped low in her belly. He was lovely, stunning. His jacket hugged his broad shoulders and when he smiled…Lord.
    As if he sensed her attention, he glanced her way. Cynthia spun around, hiding behind the column. He would know. He must know who she