After adjusting her sapphire cape behind her and then her blue glacé mask, Maddy relaxed on the dais bench, settling in to enjoy her view of the tall man. He stood well above most everyone in the room—six and a half feet in height, at least—and he had broad, muscular shoulders filling out his jacket.

The black domino he wore had a fluttering drop in the front, and though she could see his brow and lips and strong chin, the rest of his face was covered. He had thick, straight jet hair, and, she'd bet, dark, intense eyes.

He was clearly searching for someone, striding with aggression, his head turning this way and that, fighting the crush of what looked like thousands of people. When a gaggle of bare-breasted tarts blocked his path, angling for his attention, his brows drew together—with consternation or irritation, Maddy didn't know.

What she wouldn't give to bed a strapping man like that for her first time. After all, she was an aficionada of male beauty. Her friend Claudia would chuckle each time Maddy tilted her head and peered at a passing man on the street. Maddy grinned into her glass. Making men blush as she so obviously sized them up was one of the things she lived for.

But if today was any indication of her luck, her husband and first lover was to be the Comte Le Daex, an obscenely wealthy roué who was three times her age. He was so antiquated he still wore a wig, forgodsakes. She tried to look on the bright side—he wanted to wed her—and to ignore the fact that he'd handily survived all three of his previous young wives.

In a last bid to avoid marrying that man, Maddy had journeyed to London, calling on her childhood friendship with Claudia, specifically to snare her brother, Quinton Weyland. Unfortunately, Quin—with his curling hair, laughing green eyes, and robust finances—refused to marry.