Toward the bottom of the staircase she suddenly thought she spied Sissy’s plumes. Sissy had taken to wearing an elaborate set of three or four dyed ostrich feathers pinned to the back of her hair that made her a little easier to spot in a crowd. Charlotte privately thought the hairstyle was dreadful, like the nodding plumes on one of the queen’s guard horses.

She was on tiptoe just three or four steps from the bottom, straining to see where those gaudy plumes had gone, when her right foot slipped out from under her, striking the person at the bottom of the stairs squarely in the lower back.

“Ooof!” he said, and thump! went Charlotte’s bottom against the marble step. Tears came to her eyes as her back hit the marble stair riser.

The person she had struck turned around and squatted before her. Charlotte raised her eyes. She began to say, “I’m so sorry,” but the words failed in her mouth.

He was larger than she remembered, and handsomer. His thighs strained through his thin pantaloons; she didn’t remember his having such wide shoulders. But his eyes were precisely as velvety dark as she had remembered, and his hair was the same black-silver curls, falling over his forehead in the French manner. Monsieur Pamplemousse would approve, Charlotte thought idiotically.

Suddenly Charlotte realized she was staring. Her eyes flew to his and she turned faintly rosy. The man was staring back at her, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. Charlotte tried to think of something to say. Finally she blurted, “What are you doing here?” Instantly she felt acutely stupid. Of course he wasn’t a footman! He was wearing formal dress, and besides, how could she have ever thought such a thing? He had an undeniable air of command and gentlemanly breeding.

His winged eyebrows flew up. “Where else should I be?” the man asked, still balancing on his heels.

Charlotte blushed again. “Oh, you know, at a masked ball,” she said vaguely. “This time I knocked you over,” she added.

Alex frowned again. What on earth was this beautiful girl talking about? Just his luck: He’d met the first interesting woman of the whole evening, and she was around the bend. His glance drifted down. From here, he could see straight into her gown. She had the most beautiful, creamy breasts he’d ever seen. They were lavishly round, and soft, and perfectly shaped. His hand actually twitched. My God! He’d almost touched her right here. Suddenly he became aware of piping little voices around them, enquiring about injuries and calling for help.

He reached out a hand and brought her to her feet.