“What is not a competition?” he said cautiously.

“Come now, dear—you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Mother’s gaze remained on the crowd. “I believe India made her choice when she refused to return to London with him. Now it’s up to you.”

“I see.”

“I do hope so.” She paused. “I assume you intend to marry her.”

“That is my intention.” He shook his head. “Convincing her will be another matter.”

“As she has already refused to marry you once?”

“Not exactly, as I didn’t actually ask her.” Everyone in his family tended to overlook that particular fact. It was extremely annoying. “But she feels she is not an appropriate match for a future earl.”

“And yet I like her far more than any of the appropriate matches you’ve paraded through our lives.” She slanted him a pointed look. “As do you.”

“Agreed.” He nodded. “However, she is also convinced I am the mastermind—”

Mother’s brow arched upward “Mastermind?”

“I know, I like it, too.” He chuckled. “She is convinced I am behind the Lady Travelers Society.”

“She doesn’t know this was Guinevere and her friends’ scheme?”

“No, she thinks I’m manipulating them.”

“Goodness.” Mother shuddered. “Don’t ever let Guinevere know that.” She hesitated. “You aren’t, are you?”

“Yes, Mother.” He rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “I have been doing nothing but work for Uncle Edward for months now. However, as I am an acknowledged mastermind, I confess, in my free time, I have maneuvered three elderly women into serving as a facade for a fraudulent organization designed to steal the savings of other unsuspecting women while sending them unprepared into the adventure—or rather—the ordeal of travel.”

“It sounds rather bad when you say it that way,” Mother murmured.

“It is bad.” He sighed. “I’m going to seek out additional legal advice when we return to London. I am hoping this can be resolved without anyone the wiser. I should like to avoid everyone ending up in prison.”

“We shall hope for the best.” She finished her champagne and signaled a server to take her glass. “On the bright side, India must think you’re fairly clever.”

“And she has taken it upon herself to reform me.”

“She’s turned you into a project?”

“So it would appear.”

“That’s a very good sign.” Mother cast him a smug smile. “No woman wastes time improving a man if she doesn’t wish to keep him. Even if she hasn’t yet realized it.”

He grinned. “Thank you, Mother.”

“For pointing out the obvious?”

“For easing my nerves.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t remember ever feeling this anxious over—”

“What time is it, dear?”

Derek pulled his watch out of his waistcoat pocket.

“Never mind, it’s of no consequence. It is time for the dancing to begin.” She put her hand on his arm and nodded toward the stairs. “And India is here.”

The professor paused at the top of the stairs and surveyed the ballroom. Estelle stood on one side, India on the other.

Derek’s breath caught. He was wrong.

She was beautiful.

More than beautiful, really. She was a vision, straight out of every dream he’d ever had. She wore some sort of pale green confection, a shade that reminded him of the translucent color of the curl of a wave of seawater. The gown floated around her as if in defiance of the laws of gravity and yet managed to caress her in all the appropriate places. Softly draped sleeves revealed tantalizing bare shoulders. The bodice dipped a bit low, too low, temptingly low. He’d always appreciated a revealing bodice on a woman’s gown but not this gown on this woman. He couldn’t recall ever having to fight the urge to throw his coat over a woman before. Her hair had been allowed further escape tonight, gently piled on top of her head, soft curls tumbling down one shoulder. A cascade of tiny pink roses drifted down her hair and across her bodice and scattered over her skirt.

“Thank you, Mother.” He couldn’t pull his gaze away from India. “Although, it really doesn’t matter to me.”

“I know that, dear. I didn’t do it for you. Now—” she nodded toward India “—you should join her before someone else does.”

He hurried across the room toward her, trying not to push people out of his way. The first dance was about to begin, and he had already claimed it. He reached the stairs just as she stepped onto the bottom step.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do next. In a perfect world, a world that existed only in dreams, he would sweep her into his arms, press his lips to hers and never let her go. In this world, however, a display of affection while surrounded by people eager for the next bit of gossip would only lead to rumor and gossip about Derek Saunders’s latest indiscretion. He would prefer to avoid that.

He held out his hand. “You are late.”

She placed her hand in his. Amusement flickered in her green eyes. “I am precisely on time, according to your mother.”

“My mother wasn’t counting the minutes until your arrival.” He led her out onto the floor.

“And you were?”

“If I had had to wait another second for you, India—” his gaze met hers “—I would have gone to your room and fetched you myself.”

“Would you?”

“I would, although it would have been a grave mistake.”

“Oh?” A distinct challenge shone in her eyes.

He bent close and spoke softly into her ear. “We would never have left your room.”

She sucked in the tiniest breath, then exhaled softly. “That is good to know.”

Derek almost tripped over his own feet. What in the name of all that was holy did she mean by that? It was one thing for him to make flirtatious, slightly suggestive comments but quite another for her to do so. “Is it?”

She laughed. Which was no answer at all.

He turned to face her. “Are you flirting with me, Miss Prendergast?”

“You are the second man in as many days to accuse me of flirting.”

“Not Sir Martin, I hope.”

“No,” she said firmly.

“Good.”

The music began and she stepped into his arms. “Jealous, Mr. Saunders?”

“Yes.”

“How delightful.” She smiled, and he noticed the faintest dimple at the corner of her mouth. Charming and fairly begging to be kissed. How had he not noticed that before?

They moved together to the soft strains of an easy waltz, and he noted, as he had when they’d first danced together, how very right she felt in his arms. How smoothly they moved to the music as if they and the melody were one. As if they were meant to dance together. As if she was the perfect partner. His perfect partner. The thought was both exciting and terrifying. It struck him that all the other times he’d been in love, or fancied himself in love, there had never been so much as a moment of apprehension. Now, he realized he hadn’t feared losing any of them. The idea of losing India knotted something inside him.

“Dare I ask what you are thinking? You seem very far away.” She studied him curiously. “Your mind is certainly not on the here and now.”

“On the contrary, India, my mind is entirely on the here and now. My thoughts are entirely on you.” He maneuvered them around a couple that was moving far too slowly for even the sedate waltz.

“Now who is being flirtatious?”

“Not at all. Flirtation is a game of sorts, a teasing duel of words, and looks, and gestures, which may or may not lead to something more. Perhaps even something important. Flirtation can be nothing more than a distraction meant only for the moment.” He gazed deep into her green eyes. “Or it can be a promise that will last forever.”

“And is your flirtation a distraction or a promise?” Her tone was light but something—something wonderful—shone in her eyes. “Something for the moment or forever?”

“That may well be too important a question to answer in the middle of a crowd of relative strangers.” He smiled and held his breath. “But I am willing to answer it if you are.”

Her brow arched. “Turning the tables—are we, Mr. Saunders?”

“Whenever possible, Miss Prendergast.” He chuckled and steered her through a perfectly executed turn. She followed his lead without so much as an instant of hesitation, as if she trusted him without question. “I must confess. When I envisioned looking up at the stairs and seeing you tonight I somehow imagined you wearing your gray dress, with your umbrella in one hand and your bag over your arm.”

“I had considered it,” she said thoughtfully. “But your mother went to great effort on my behalf, and she would be inconsolable if I were to appear in my gray dress. Indeed—” she grinned in a wicked manner “—I suspect she would be devastated should she ever even see my gray dress.”

He laughed. “It is not up to her standards of fashion. But, I must confess, I rather miss it.”

“You do not.” She scoffed. “Although there is much to be said about a sensible, serviceable gray wool dress.”

“There is indeed and as a gentleman, I shall refrain from saying it.”

“How very thoughtful of you. And as you have confessed, I shall do so, as well.” She hesitated. “I have never in my entire life had a dress this lovely and this perfect. The color alone, sea foam—”

“I thought it was green.”

“Sea foam, Derek,” she said firmly. “I never imagined wearing such a color. It’s so...carefree. Your mother says it enhances the green in my eyes.” She fluttered her lashes at him. “What you do think?”

“I think now you are fishing for compliments.”

“I would never...” She paused. “Why yes, I believe I am. It’s entirely unlike me but then I have never been to a ball or worn a—”

“Your eyes, India—” he pulled her a bit tighter against him “—rival the finest emeralds, whether you are wearing sea foam or gray wool. Your hair has the loveliest hints of burnished gold when it’s allowed a bit of freedom and makes a man long to run his fingers through it. Your mouth is perfection itself and when you smile the most intoxicating dimple appears at the corner. Your lips beg to be kissed. And tonight, you are indescribable.”