Lord Westley Ryland, as he scanned across the populated dance floor with eyes of coal, was slightly dismayed. He truly could not recognize the identity of any of the dancers. Indeed, he thought that he heard traces of voices that he might recognize, but no definite image came to him in his mind. So how, tonight, was he to find out if this courtesan that he ran into in Norshire was truly a lady?

He could fight it and pretend that he didn't care. Unfortunately, Westley was never a very good actor when he felt as passionate as he did about this courtesan. He blamed her Spanish blood. He blamed her fiery eyes and lustrous hair. No matter what he blamed, however, he simply had to admit that he wanted her. Then again, what man wouldn't, after taking two seconds to observe her?

Recognizing the danger of succumbing to these thoughts while present at a Masquerade, Lord Westley determined to look around the milling crowds of people and pick a random woman to dance with, one who was quite pretty. He himself looked quite striking as well, wearing his formal black outfit, complete with black boots, black hat and a Nasone style black mask that was trimmed in white. He found himself wondering if he could perhaps poke a lady's eye out with the giant nose protruding from his mask, and chuckled darkly in his head.

Instead, he caught sight of a woman wearing a very lovely dress with a bright mask, and immediately set out towards her. There was no turning back now. Knowing that his deep, baritone voice was extremely recognizable, Westley determined not to speak until he could shift it around to keep his identity hidden. Instead, he merely bowed to her and offered his hand, remaining lowered into his bow as he looked up at her, his eyes calling for her to dance with him.

The handsome man behind a mask that walked over to her surprised her, she hadn't expected much attention. She decided to take a chance with fate and speak, after all, very few had heard her voice, and then it was only for a bit speaking to one another for a few minutes. She smiled and curtseyed to the charmer in front of her. Taking the few steps to reach him. "Hard to find people like this, isn't it?" She said, smiling, her voice, though she realized all to late that it did have an affect on people, was once more like when she used it towards men, soft as a dove, and seducing as a courtesan, her calling.

A smirk flicked across his lips at her voice. There was something familiar about it, almost naturally seductive. His hand took her own as he lifted back up to his height, only looking down at her slightly. She had dark hair. She had dark eyes. She had that perfect Spanish skin tone...and she had that enthralling voice. There was little doubt in his mind that this could be that courtesan that he sought. Then again, Lord Westley was quite the egotistical one, and in his mind, he was rarely wrong. As he began to lead the woman out onto the dance floor, his calloused thumb lightly ran across the top of her smooth knuckles, in almost a carressing manner. If this was indeed the courtesan he sought, he had no doubt that she would reveal her own self simply through her actions of the dance.

As they reached a rather crowded area of the dance floor, one where Westley knew they would mostly be shielded from prying eyes of gossips, he turned and placed a hand on her waist, lifting her other hand that he held toa proper height, before beginning to lead her in a simple dance. 'Twas one that he had known for many a year that he could lead subconsciously, giving himself plenty of time to completely identify this woman without a doubt.

While Westley took the lovely lady around the dance floor, his thumb on the hand on her waist also beginning to lightly graze along the fabric of her dress, he knew that he would need to speak to completely identify this woman. He could only trust that she would not recognize his voice in the slightest. "Has my lady been enjoying herself?" he nearly crooned, putting the slightest amount of stress on the word 'lady'. Any reaction?

His voice hit her like a brick, the stress on the word 'lady' astonished her, she knew who he was. "Westley?" She whispered, astonished. She didn't even bother to add Lord to his name, she didn't know what to do. The urge to flee was unbarable, an instinct that was her's and her's alone when she felt that things would quickly be going in the wrong direction. But he'd led her to a crowded section, one she couldn't easily run from. She took a deep breath and danced with him, her eyes beneath the mask glaring easily at him.

"You recognize me?" She smirked, laughing softly, the sound like bells ringing. She didn't like playing this game with him, true, she'd come to prove to him and herself that he was wrong, but she had hoped she could avoid him until the unmasking so that she could enjoy herself while the mask hid her. She was quite aware that she was being gossiped about, and that some were putting two and two togethor at the moment, as she felt the stares prickling on her skin. She wet her lips and met his gaze. "I'd hoped to prove you wrong. Do you believe me now?" She said, obviously revealing who she was if he hadn't already guessed.

At her whisper, Westley's smirk spread a bit wider. "That is Lord Westley to you, my dear courtesan." His voice was more of a drawl now, something self-assured and confident as he viewed the glare she was sending him from beneath her mask. By God, how those passionate Spanish eyes set his soul on fire. The glare did nothing to deter him. If anything, it only filled him with a sense of ecstasy that threatened to overflow. There was something about the air of the masquerade that had been filling him with excitement and anticipation...and now that he had found the Emerald courtesan he had been seeking throughout the night, he felt ready to explode. "You are all too easy to recognize. Though as to me believing you...could you not have merely snuck into the masquerade with a stolen dress?"

Did Lord Westley Ryland ever admit that he was wrong? Of course not. This was certainly not going to be different. He refused to let on that he had heard the rumors of a courtesan who was also a lady floating about the castle. That tonight she certainly did indeed look more like a lady than a courtesan was unspeakable. No, he would continue to play his hand. He would stay in control.

As the two continued to dance across the floor, he began to add pressure on his hand that rested on her waist, shifting it until it cradled her back instead. He hoped to do it so lightly that she would barely notice that he was drawing her closer to him. He only knew that he couldn't help himself; he had to be closer to this woman, this siren of sorts. He knelt his head down a bit, just so that she could hear him better if he dropped his voice. As he did so, however, he caught sight of her moistening her lips. A single pause, his eyes resting on those tantalyzing lips of hers, before he began to speak. "Proclaimed lady or not, you would never be anything but a courtesan in the eyes of these true ladies and lords." He paused, drawing in a silent breath through his nose to catch her scent. It drove him crazy.

"Perhaps you should give up and be the person you were made to be." His words were crooned softly again, the tone of his voice carrying the slightest seductive timbre as well. The hand that cradled her back shifted a little again, now running his fingers softly up and down the fabric along the small of her back, just enough for her to feel a featherlight pressure on her skin. Careful, Westley. Don't lose your head.

She drew in a soft whisper of a breath as she felt his fingers running across her back. She willingly stepped closer at the pressure on her back, a slow smile realizing itself on her outstanding features, his words spoke that he wanted her, or he would be trying to make her be the lady that she pretended to be, instead of the wild courtesan that hid beneath the skin. "Perhaps you should give up and realize your desires." She hissed back at him.

She stepped slightly closer, space between them quickly decreasing. She fought the urge to laugh at herself, she was overstepping the line that she'd set when she took her job. You never got close to the customer, and you never wanted them, not truly. Watch yourself, he's tricky. She warned herself, arching a smooth eyebrow at him.

Westley lifted his eyebrow beneath his mask, his smirk fading only slightly. If only this soiled woman, this liar of a lady, had any idea that he had been battling with such a thing since the many days he had encountered her in the streets, then - wait...had she called him Westley?

As the two spun around the floor, his smirk faded into a frown and his brows furrowed, hidden behind that cursed mask of his. "...I do not believe I ever told you my name, my dear courtesan." After this was said in a rather stunned fashion and he gazed at her in silence for a few moments, he threw his head back and laughed, no doubt drawing a bit more attention to the two of them than before. Currently masked, no doubt they had not been identified, but he could not guarantee the same after the unmasking. Somehow he doubted that gossip would center around the two of them...but he needed to be careful.

Such a thought was promptly thrown out the window of his mind. Who cared anymore? Certainly not him. Instead he focused his eyes on her, which were slowly turning from mischievious and playfully sparkling to a passionate and smoldering fire. "Do I have a little stalker now, my dear?" he drawled again, now purposefully making his deep voice carry an air of seduction. "Perhaps you should speak of your own hidden desires, then." Oh God, she was close to him now, so much so that he could feel her body heat floating off of her. His hand paused on her back as he purposefully made himself focus moreso on her forehead instead of her eyes. He couldn't lose control. Not now. Not ever.

She tilted her head back and let out a lilting laughter, much like the sound of church bells ringing on Sunday. “You wish, I have much more important things to do then stalk you, Ryland.” She said, addressing him by his last name. “I learnt your name by a few women that were talking about you, they described you perfectly, right down to your finely chiseled jaw.” She said, her voice dropping softly to a seductive whisper near the end, as she drew her fore finger up and stroked his jaw lightly, a feather light feeling. She danced easily with him, though she felt none in the room. All she saw or heard was the music and him, as her dark eyes locked with his.

She stepped ever closer, a challenge in itself, though she already knew that she’d loose if he’d be fool enough to accept the purely physical challenge that she issue by taking that step. She was so close to him now, that only an inch of space separated him, her tightened breasts straining against the soft, slight fabric that separated her from him. Her breath was drawn in, though she somehow forgot to let it out. She wet her lips, somehow finding them to have dried them selves.

Westley looked back down into the woman's eyes, a smirk instantly drawing across his lips again. "You lie, my courtesan. I know for a fact that no woman of this court would be talking of myself so favorably." One would have to give him credit. He didn't stutter, not even when she drew a fingertip down his jaw, feeling as if she left a path of liquid fire in its wake. His eyes dropped to her lips when she wet them, his eyes seeming to take on that passionate flame that was characteristic of Spaniards. Though only his mother was a native of the Emerald Realm, he carried enough of her in his physical appearance and personality to fool many. She drew even closer to him, so close that it felt as if there was less than an inch of space between them. So what did Westley do?

What any man would in this situation. He began to panic. This woman, she had filled his veins with lava, it seemed. Of course she had. It was her job, wasn't it? But what was he to do? He couldn't very well escape, not in the middle of a dance. But could he stand it if he waited until the unmasking? When he saw her face in all of her beautiful glory, would he be able to control himself further? The music was drawing to a close. He had to escape before she could tempt him farther.

But before he fled...he needed something, anything, to quell these desires until he could get as far from this woman as possible and forget about her. And so, with little warning, he drew her completely flush against him with a soft groan, at the same time dropping his head to her neck. He nibbled very gently, for only a moment on her earlobe, before drawing his lips ever so slightly away, just so that his lips would barely brush against her ear as he spoke. "Adios, bonita. We will not meet again." With that said, he pulled away from her, tipped his hat lightly, and turned abruptly, starting across the dance floor. Distraction. He needed a distraction. He disappeared into the crowd, desperate for some place to hide from the woman. He could only pray that he would find it.

She sucked in a breath as she was pulled against him, though obviously she did not fight it. She knew that it was her doing, that she'd sent him into this frantic panic. And she knew that he would attempt to flee, she would leave him alone for a bit, she decided, that was, she decided this while she could still think. His actions were enough to make her forget who she was, and where she was at that very moment. She groaned softly, as she realized all to late that she wanted him more then was appropriate, that he was playing her like she was playing him, and with this realization was the one that she was hot and moist where she'd always managed to be controlled. His mouth against her ear, her heart was in her throat, she felt her skin shiver as he spoke.

She watched him walk away, admiration filling her at this. No man had denied her once, let alone twice in a row. She wanted him so much more for this, the forbidden had always drawn her. She moved away too, though only so she would not appear a complete fool standing there. She saw a waiter walking about, wine cups filled on his tray. She took one and nodded, though she moved far away from the spot where her skin had burned, her body ready to give up itself for one moment in time. She leaned against a wall and raised her cup to where she'd seen Westley move to, whispering the soft words, "To distraction, my fine lord." A smirk play across her lips as she raised the cup to her soft lips and drank from it, wishing she could waste herself if only to numb the feelings that raged underneath the beautiful skin that she wore.