“You remind me of someone I used to know,” he interrupted. “A woman I cared for deeply.”

“Oh.” Try as she might, Amelia could not hide her disappointment. He had thought she was someone else. His interest was not in her, but in a woman who looked like her.

Turning away, she sank onto the small bench, absently arranging her skirts for comfort. Her hands occupied themselves with twirling her mask between gloved fingertips.

“It is my turn to apologize to you.” Her head tilted back so that their gazes met. “I have put you in an awkward position, and goaded you to stay when you wanted to go.”

The contemplative cant to his head made her wish she could see the features beneath the pearlescent mask. Despite the lack of a complete visual picture, she found him remarkably attractive-the purring rumble of his voice…the luscious shape of his lips…the unshakable confidence of his bearing…

But then he was not truly unshakable. She was affecting him in ways a stranger should not be able to. And he was affecting her equally.

“That was not what you wished to hear,” he noted, stepping closer.

Her gaze strayed to his boots, watching as his cape fluttered around them. Dressed as he was, he was imposing, but she was unafraid.

Amelia waved one hand in a careless affectation of dismissal, unsure of what to say. He was correct; she was too bold. But she was not brazen enough to admit outright that she found the thought of his interest gratifying. “I hope you find the woman you are looking for,” she said instead.

“I am afraid that isn’t possible.”

“Oh?”

“She was lost to me many years ago.”

Recognizing the yearning in his words, she sympathized. “I am sorry for your loss. I, too, have lost someone dear to me and know how it feels.”