“Will you excuse me for a minute, Miss Scarlet?” he bowed graciously, and I curtsied, smiling.
I lost him for nearly an hour. In that time, I hooked up with Jane. She scolded me for losing sight of her, then she introduced me to her friends—most of whom were dressed for the Masquerade and would be unrecognizable in their street clothes. I’d never identify them once we were away from the gala.
“In this crowd, there are those who are real players, and those who are bystanders,” she said.
“Yes, I know. You’ve explained.”
“If you’re interested, I’ll ferret out some real ones?”
Was she serious? After all my protestations against getting involved again?
But my crotch was being playful; my mind filled with new fantasy. She seemed to short-circuit my flimsy resolve with the simple question.
