She lifted her skirts, about to make a bee-line for the buffet, when a voice behind her said, “Excusez-moi de vous déranger. . .” Excuse me, sorry to bother you . . .

She whirled so suddenly she felt her corset nearly rip at her ribcage. Grabbing hold of it, she looked up into the most intense green eyes she’d ever seen, framed by a simple black mask, which only seemed to make them more striking. The man in front of her was tall, wearing a red waistcoat with an abundance of brass buttons on the hem, his hand tucked into it as if he were a distinguished gentleman posing for a portrait. He wasn’t wearing one of those ridiculous wigs. And there was a slight bit of gray peppering his temples, but other than that, he had a thick dark head of hair, a few curls of which tumbled rakishly into his tanned forehead.

She stared, speechless.

The man continued with, “Mais j'ai un problème.” I have a problem. “Pouvez-vous m'aider?” Can you help me?

She kept staring for a few moments too long—until a silence crept in. He tilted his head, apparently waiting for an answer, and she realized that this was when she was expected to respond. She let out a girlish giggle and winced. “Uh . . . oui,” she said, her entire body now matching the red of the rubies in her necklace. “But I don’t speak French very well. Je parle un peu français. Parlez lentement, s'il vous plait?” I speak but a little French. Speak slowly, please.

“Ah, you speak English. You are American?” he asked in perfect English with only a hint of an accent, just as Stéphane had had.

She nodded, hoping he wouldn’t hold it against her, “You said you had a problem, monsieur?”

He bared his teeth in a perfect toothpaste-commercial smile, one that was neither lecherous or insincere. “Yes, indeed I do, chéri. I have met a beautiful woman, an angel,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers, “And I am wondering how to go about asking such a lovely creature to come down from the heavens and dance with me?”

“Oh!” Diana blurted dreamily. For a moment, she wondered, Is he really speaking to me? But the look in his eyes left little doubt for that. She pushed a curl that had fallen forward behind her collarbone and said, “I haven’t even been in the palace yet.”

“Well, by all means, allow me to escort you,” he said, offering her his elbow. “It will be my sincerest pleasure.”

She hesitated. “I should warn you . . . I don’t know the steps of any of those country dances.”

He chuckled. “In the ballroom, we’ll be waltzing. You do waltz?”

“Oh, okay. A bit,” she said, only slightly relieved. When was the last time she’d danced a waltz? It had to have been at her wedding reception. Evan had never cared much for dancing, and hadn’t been very good at it. So the two of them never tripped the light fantastic.