Page 28 of A Virgin for the Forbidden Duke

Agnes nodded gracefully. “Yes, Father. Yes, Mother.”

She had every plan to run away once they got to the ball. If they could not find her all evening, she was sure they wouldn’t think of her being frivolous at events like these.

“Do you know what we mean, Daughter?” Mary asked in a tight voice.

Agnes sighed. “Yes, Mother. Dance with suitors, laugh at their jokes and tales of adventures and lies, hoping one of them would find me a potential match.”

Mary stiffened, red in the face. “Y-you defiant child!”

“I shall behave myself, Mother,” Agnes reassured in a soft voice that she hoped would ease her mother’s worries.

She looked down at the silk blue dress that had taken the seamstress weeks to create, just for this occasion.

“You shall be the belle of the ball in this gown!” her mother had exclaimed, and, indeed, Agnes felt like a belle, even though they had not gotten to the ball.

She only hoped the person she wanted to impress would be there.

Her dainty fingers slowly ran over the sky-blue mask she held in her hand, adorned with so many diamonds that it was hard to notice the actual color of the mask.

It looked silver. It shimmered. It looked like a mask made of diamonds.

Goodness, her mother kept outdoing herself for every ball. It was as if she was using Agnes to make up for what her sister had cost the family.

It angered her, but, for tonight, she would use it to her advantage. She would look beautiful forhim.

* * *

Ah, yes. It seems I really am the belle of the ball tonight.

The grand ballroom fell into a collective, stunned silence as Agnes, resplendent in her attire, made her entrance. A whisper of admiration, shock, and even enmity swept through the crowd, but beside her, her mother whispered in her ear, “Stand taller, girl, the Printons are watching.”

Agnes sighed and did as her mother said. Her gaze swept across the room, and in truth, they stared.

The Printons, their rivals, cast disapproving glares, urging Agnes to present an even more poised front.

Agnes sighed, adjusting her posture again and again as Mary subtly encouraged her to stand taller and prouder.

When will this ever end?

The ball had suddenly become a societal theater that demanded a spectacle, and Agnes, with her chin held higher, her gown shimmering and mask ethereal, played her part. Yet, in the midst of this performance, she abruptly halted. Frozen in her bones.

Before her stood a masked man, clad in all black, his diamond-studded mask adding an air of mystery.

Agnes and the enigmatic stranger locked eyes, a tangible tension enveloping them. She felt a visceral recognition, a knowing that transcended the need for unmasking.

Even without glimpsing his face, Agnes knew who it was. She sensed it.

Matthew.

She knew him just by his presence.

His lips stretched into a sly grin, acknowledging the unspoken connection between them. With a graceful bow, he extended an arm toward her, maintaining the enigma of the masked encounter.

“Good evening, Lady in Blue. You look rather ravishing tonight,” he greeted, and heat pooled in Agnes’s chest and cheek.

Grateful her blush was not visible under her mask, Agnes also did a graceful curtsy.

“Good evening, Mystery Man. Your compliment sounds very… sinful and indecent, but I’ll take it,” she whispered, excitement thrumming in her bones.

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