But at that moment, her mother’s manipulations came to fruition. Victoria felt the presence of Phillip behind her before he even spoke…perhaps it was the smell of the lemon-rosemary pomade he favored, or perhaps it was merely that prickle of awareness, of attraction, that hummed between them. At any rate, she turned slowly—so as not to appear too eager, yet delighted to see him—and immediately found his gaze behind the black mask.

His dark eyes were hooded by heavy lids that always gave him an appearance of deep contemplation, and yet underlying humor and sensuality. “That is quite a magnificent coiffure, your majesty,” he said, removing his soft, feathered hat as he bowed. “It’s a wonder that your slender neck can carry the weight, especially with all of those jewels and other ornaments therein.”

“Indeed, Sir Robin of the Hood,” she replied. “I hope that you haven’t any designs on relieving me of any of said jewels, under the guise of lightening the load for my poor little head.”

“Jewels? Nay, my fair queen,” Phillip said, his eyes glinting wickedly from behind the mask. “It is not jewels that I seek from you.”

Victoria could feel her mother’s barely suppressed delight at this exchange, even as her own cheeks warmed beneath the mask and her stomach gave a delicious flutter.

Phillip, savvy as he was, took that moment to break off their little sally and turn to bow at Circe and Aphrodite, both of whom had eyes shining with delight and fingers twittering silently with expectation. “Good evening, my ladies,” he said, again flourishing his cap. “How lovely you both look this eventide. I do hope you might forgive this outlaw if he claims the queen for a waltz—as she refuses to part with her jewels.”

“Oh, but of course,” replied Lady Melly, fairly shoving Victoria at Rockley.