The Man Behind the Mask. Christine Rimmer

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      Perhaps.

      Hope destined to remain unfulfilled, but hope, nonetheless.

      That night, the night we first met, it became imperative that I discover where she slept. I knew which servants I could trust—the ones who had indulged me as a boy and kept the secrets of my occasional follies as a youth. I asked and it was answered.

      Once I knew which room, I knew which hidden entrance would lead me in there.

      It was acceptable that I know it, I reasoned at the time. It was acceptable because I would never use that information. I would never actually seek the woman out in her room. It was enough, I told myself in those early hours right after the ball, to know where to find her. It was enough just to know where she slept.…

      Ah, what lies a man will tell himself.