And yes, he had actually used the word “lustfully.” Which would have shocked her except that he had such an amusing way of saying things. All she could do was laugh, which, he informed her, was only fair because he could not have it getting out that he was laughing at her jokes and not vice versa.

Which made her laugh again.

They had repeated the charade the next afternoon, and the one after that, too, taking a picnic with Sir Harry and Lady Olivia. Mr. Grey had returned her to her grandparents’ home with strict instructions not to arrive at the Hartside ball that evening until half nine at the earliest. The Vickers carriage rolled to a halt at nine forty-five, and when she stepped into the ballroom five minutes later, Mr. Grey just happened to be standing near the door, in conversation with a gentleman she did not recognize. When he saw her, however, he immediately broke away and came to her side.

That he walked past three extremely beautiful women to get there was not, Annabel suspected, an accident.

Two minutes later they were dancing. And five minutes after that she was dancing with the gentleman he’d been chatting with. And so on and so forth, straight through the Russian prince, both Berbrookes, to Lord Rowton. Annabel was not sure that she wished to live her life as the most popular girl in town, but she had to admit that for one evening at least, it was marvelously good fun.

Lady Twombley had approached, all venom and bile, but even she could not twist the gossip into anything unpleasant. She was no match for Lady Olivia Valentine, who (Annabel was informed) had casually mentioned that Mr. Grey might truly be smitten to three of her closest friends.

“The three with no discretion whatsoever,” Sir Harry had murmured.

Lady Olivia, Annabel was coming to realize, had a very astute grasp on the mechanics of gossip.

“Annabel!”

Annabel saw Louisa waving to her, and as soon as she curtsied to Lord Rowton and thanked him prettily for the dance, she made her way over to her cousin’s side.

“We are twins,” Louisa declared, motioning to their gowns, which were of an almost identical pale sage hue.

Annabel could not help but laugh. Surely two cousins had never been made less alike.

“I know,” Louisa said. “It’s a dreadful color on me.”

“Of course not,” Annabel assured her, except that, maybe a little bit, it was.

“Don’t lie,” Louisa said. “As my cousin, it is your duty to tell the truth when no one else will.”

“Very well, it is not yourbest color…”

Louisa sighed. “I am without color.”

“Of course not!” Annabel exclaimed, except that tonight, in the sage green that looked so terrible on her, maybe a little bit, she was. Louisa’s skin was always pale, but the dim light and the dress seemed to suck every last bit of pink from her cheeks. “I quite liked the blue you wore to the opera. It was very fetching on you.”

“Do you think so?” Louisa asked, almost hopefully. “Ifelt fetching in it.”

“Sometimes I think that is half the battle,” Annabel told her.

“Well,you must be extremely fetching in sage,” Louisa said. “You are quite the belle of the ball.”

“It has nothing to do with the color of my dress,” Annabel said, “as you well know.”

“Mr. Grey has been very busy,” Louisa stated.

“Indeed.”

They stood for a moment, watching the rest of the crowd, and then Louisa said, “It was very good of him to intercede.”

Annabel nodded and murmured her agreement.

“No, I mean it wasvery good of him.”

Annabel turned to face her.

“He did not have to do it,” Louisa said, her voice not quite stern, but…almost. “Most gentlemen would not have done.”

Annabel watched her cousin closely, searching her face for some sort of hidden meaning. But Louisa wasn’t looking at her. Her chin was lifted, and she was still glancing out over the crowd, her head moving

so very slightly, as if she were looking for someone.

Or maybe just looking.

“What his uncle did…” Louisa said softly. “It was inexcusable. No one would have faulted him for striking back.”

Annabel waited for more. An explanation. Instructions. Anything. Finally she let out a pent up breath. “Please,” she said. “Not you, too.”

Louisa turned. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly that.Please just say what you mean. It is exhausting trying to determine what everyone is saying to me when it has nothing to do with the words that are actually coming out of their mouths.”

“But I was,” Louisa said. “You need to understand how remarkable his behavior has been. After what his uncle did to him, and so publicly, he could not have been blamed had he wished to wash his hands of the entire affair and leave you to your scandal.”

“No, you see,that ,” Annabel exclaimed, relieved that Louisa had finally explained what she meant, even if the topic was less than pleasing. “Thatis what I was talking about. Perfectly clear.That is what I wanted to hear.”

“What did you want to hear?”

Annabel nearly jumped back a foot. “Mr. Grey!” she squeaked.

“At your ser vice,” he said, giving her a jaunty bow. He was wearing a patch over his injured eye, which on most men would have been ridiculous. He, however, looked utterly dashing and dangerous, and Annabel really wished she had not overheard two ladies commenting that they’d like to be plundered by that pirate.

“You look so intent,” he said to her. “I must know what you were talking about.”

Annabel saw no reason not to be almost completely honest. “Merely that I find it exhausting to interpret what everyone says here in London.”

“Ah,” he said, “you danced with Prince Alexei. Don’t mind him. He has a very thick accent.”

Louisa giggled.

Annabel fought the urge to shoot her a dirty look. “No one says what they actually mean,” she said to Mr. Grey.

He regarded her with a remarkably blank expression, then said, “Did you expect it to be otherwise?”

Another snort emerged from the general vicinity of Louisa’s mouth. Followed by several discreet and delicate coughs, since Louisa would never be so bold as to laugh loudly in public.

“I rather enjoy speaking in riddles,” Mr. Grey said.

Annabel felt something pulse in her chest. It might have been surprise. Or maybe disappointment. She looked at him, quite unable to mask her expression, and said, “You do?”

His eyes held hers for a breathlessly long moment, and he said, sounding almost baffled, “No.”

Annabel’s lips parted, but she did not speak. She did not breathe. Something unusual had just passed between them, something remarkable.

“I think…” he said slowly. “I think I should ask you to dance.”

Annabel nodded, almost dazed.

He held out his hand, then drew it back, signaling for her to wait where she was. “Don’t move,” he said. “I will be right back.”

They were standing near to the orchestra, and Annabel watched as he made his way to the conductor.

“Annabel!” Louisa hissed.

Annabel started. She’d forgot that her cousin was there. She’d forgot that anyone was there. For a few perfect moments, the room had been empty. There had been nothing but her, him, and the soft whoosh of their breath.

“You’ve already danced with him,” Louisa said.

Annabel nodded. “I know.”

“People will talk.”

Annabel turned and blinked, trying to set her cousin’s face into focus. “People are already talking,” she said.

Louisa opened her mouth as if she planned to say more, but then she just smiled. “Annabel Winslow,” she said softly, “I do believe you are falling in love.”

That snapped Annabel right out of her daze. “I am not.”

“Oh, you are.”

“I hardly know him.”

“Apparently you know enough.”

Annabel saw that he was making his way back, and something akin to panic rose in her chest. “Louisa, you hush your mouth. This is all for show. He is doing me afavor .”

Louisa gave an uncharacteristically cavalier shrug. “If you say so.”

“Louisa,” Annabel hissed, but her cousin was stepping aside for Mr. Grey, who had returned.

“It is a waltz,” he announced, as if he hadn’t just asked the conductor to play one.

He held out his hand.

She almost took it. “Louisa,” she said. “You should dance with Louisa.”

He searched her face.

“And then with me,” she said softly. “Please.”

He bowed, then turned to Louisa, but she murmured her regrets, tilting her head gently in Annabel’s direction.

“It has to be you, Miss Winslow,” he said softly.

She nodded and stepped forward, allowing him to take her hand in his. Around her she heard whispers, and she felt stares, but when she looked up and saw him gazing down at her, his eyes so clear and gray, it all melted away. His uncle…the gossip…none of it mattered. She would not let it.

They walked to the center of the ballroom, and she turned to face him, trying to ignore the shiver of anticipation that slid through her when he placed his other hand at the small of her back. Annabel had never understood why the waltz had once been considered so scandalous.

Now she knew.

He was holding her properly, a full twelve inches between them. No one could have found fault with their behavior. And yet Annabel felt as if the air around them had been heated, as if her skin had been rubbed with some strange, shimmering magic. Each breath seemed to fill her lungs differently, and she was acutely aware of her own body, of how it felt to be inside of it, of how each curve moved and flowed with the music.