Mischief by Moonlight by Emily Greenwood

woman’s laugh—she sounds like a donkey. That’s not magical.”
    â€œLadies,” Maria said cheerfully, “let us remember our tone .”
    Lord Mappleton appeared then and invited Edwina to dance. Maria presented Josie to a very handsome blond gentleman who turned out to be Viscount Roxham, one of Colin’s good friends. His wife, Lady Roxham, was dancing with someone else, and he smiled kindly at Josie and offered her his arm.
    â€œNick told me about you,” Roxham said as they began the steps of a quadrille.
    She blushed. “I seem always to be hearing of him from other people.” And it struck her that, yet again, she’d forgotten about him. She hadn’t thought about him once all that day.
    The knowledge made her a little sick.
    â€œIt must be odd,” Lord Roxham said with a rueful smile, “to find yourself discussed by people you’ve yet to meet.”
    â€œA little,” she said weakly. What she had been paying attention to was Viscount Roxham’s handsomeness. People called him Lord Perfect, and she saw why: he had golden hair and sparkling blue-green eyes and these very fascinating little slashes that formed in his cheeks when he smiled. Truth be told, his smile made her feel a little breathless, and what on earth was wrong with her ? Roxham was a married man, and she was engaged!
    She moved her eyes away from his male beauty, but they only settled on a man behind him who had curly brown hair and a wonderfully deep laugh that made Josie want to stand in front of him and see if she could make him laugh more. Dear God, maybe she even wanted to kiss him, this handsome stranger.
    Almost frantically she swung her eyes about the room as she danced, but everywhere she looked were gentlemen who seemed fascinating. Handsome, dashing, playful—she wanted to know them all, know their stories, hear them laugh, feel what it would be like to be with them.
    Heaven help her, she was an emotional hussy.
    Somehow she finished the dance with Roxham, only to be invited to dance by the curly-haired gentleman, an Irishman named Mr. Kit Standish, it turned out. She said yes to him, and to all the other men who asked. She loved dancing with them, but all the time her conscience kept demanding to know what she thought she was doing. It accused her of liking their attention too much, and forced her to admit that she had a deep appetite for all of this—for the compliments men gave her, for their charm and their male beauty and the feel of their strong hands on her.
    Anxiety mingled with the pleasure of the dancing, so that her head spun.
    Colin, the only man with whom she felt she might safely dance and avoid this turmoil, had not come near her all night. She caught a glimpse of him dancing with a lovely woman wearing a feathered turban, and another time with an exquisitely dressed stout woman. But he didn’t seem inclined to catch her eye or come to chat with her or ask her to dance. She began to wonder if he was avoiding her.
    By the time the dinner break came, she felt quite disgusted with herself, and while the others were leaving to find the dining room, she lingered at the table where cups of ratafia were set out.
    She took a glass and sipped it, feeling the now-familiar burn of brandy behind the sweet flavor of the cherries and spices. It went to her head almost immediately, and she began to think it might help take away the mixed-up feelings that had overtaken her as she realized how much she was dazzled by the men of London.
    She finished one glass and took another. A few moments later, she saw Colin passing near her, unaware of her presence. She stepped forward and grabbed his arm.

Six
    Colin turned in surprise.
    â€œDidn’t you see me?” Josie said, an unwanted husky note in her voice betraying that she was upset. But they’d been such good friends, and he was treating her like an acquaintance, and she hated it. She needed him now.
    She took