Love at first sight. I the aggressor. I must be getting very clever since I managed to hide it from hundreds of searching eyes, even from my entourage.
"Lucretia," I whispered breathlessly to my confidante, "find out the name of the Vortänzer, quick."
The Vortänzer, at royal courts, is a sort of official master of the dance, who sets the pace for the company, combining the duties of master of ceremonies and of dancing master.
The more I looked at the Vortänzer, the more he enchanted me. Taller than any other man present, elegant, blonde, clean-shaven. Not an ounce of superfluous flesh, I judged. Might be the reincarnation of the Duc de Richelieu, who seduced my three cousins d'Orleans.
His face is livid with white and carmine tints; his eyes glow with an irresistible charm. That figure of his! The elegance of the palm tree, both straight and flexible. And the infinity of grace as he waltzed that little Baroness around.
"Baron Bergen, of the Guards," breathed Lucretia into my ear.
"My Master of Ceremony will command Baron Bergen at the end of this dance."
When he stood before me, bowing and smiling, the idea that he was Richelieu reincarnated became almost a certainty with me.
Like Richelieu, his face has the refinement that we admire in women (I forgot to say that I became infatuated with him merely from seeing a back view of the man. When he turned around, I was lost).
While he chanted the usual compliments, my eyes hung upon his cherry lips, reveled in his white, strong teeth. The man I want. I say it without shame, without care.