Had this been a Midwinter Masque rather than Midsummer's Night, the warmth of his smile would have kept her warm in these gardens without a single additional stitch upon her to keep off the cold. Her own was as bright and sunny to match it, and her free hand slid up into her hair, slipping out the tiny catch in the ribbon that held her mask on, slipping it free so that only her grasp kept her face shielded.<br/><br/>"Two," she picked up the whisper, her hand trembling just a little, "One...."<br/><br/>From within, a gong was struck, and there went up a great cry as the partygoers freed themselves of their many brilliant masks. Here, alone with her unknown lover, she had no such outward exuberance, but she quivered to her core as she slid the feathered mask aside to reveal herself to him, murmuring her name.<br/><br/>"Miranda LaVelle, milord..."