“Mary,” he said fondly, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. He and the auburn-haired, green-eyed beauty had been...associated, a few years ago.

“George, my dear,” she said, smiling fondly. “I’ve not seen you in an age! I hear you’ve been rather well occupied. Women and ships, is it?” she asked with a slight wink. “All of them sailing beyond your reach?”

He was surprised she’d heard. “Not all,” he said with a wink.

She laughed. “I can’t believe you’re here, darling.”

“Why is that? Because I don’t dance?”

“Because Gloucester is here.” She glanced around, rising up on her toes to see over the heads of those who crowded around them. “You really shouldn’t have come.”

He privately bristled at the idea Gloucester’s invitation meant more than his. “I have an invitation,” he said.

“Best not let him see you.”

“Lady Seifert!”

Lady Seifert and George both turned round; what was that, his heart skipping a beat or two at the sight of Miss Cabot?

“Miss Cabot,” Mary said graciously. “How do you do?”

“Very well, madam. And you?”

“Quite well. May I introduce Mr. George Easton?” Mary asked, gesturing to George.

“A pleasure, Miss Cabot,” George said, clasping his hands behind his back and bowing.

Honor’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she curtsied. “Thank you, Mr. Easton. A fine night for a ball, is it not?”

He could not begin to guess what a night must include to be considered fine for a ball. He smiled. So did Honor.

Mary, he noticed, looked intently at Honor, then at him, her eyes narrowing slightly above a wry smile.

“I think fortune has smiled on Lord and Lady Prescott and sent the rain away for the day,” Honor said, and glanced about the room, as if she were looking for someone.

“Has it?” George asked amicably. “Personally, I don’t give much thought to weather.”

Honor looked as if she had just swallowed something.

“One can’t help but wonder what you do give thought to, Mr. Easton,” Mary purred next to him.

“My guess is that the gentleman gives thought to all the newly presented debutantes,” Honor suggested. “There are quite a lot of them this evening.”

“Would that include you, Miss Cabot?” George asked.

She laughed. “I was presented three years ago, Mr. Easton! I fear I’ve lost that glow.”

“Oh, I think not, my dear,” Mary said.

Another gentleman appeared in George’s peripheral vision. “Lady Seifert,” he said, greeting them. “Miss Cabot.”

“Good evening, Sir Randall!” Mary said.

“Miss Cabot,” the young man said, “if you will allow, I request the honor of standing up with you on the next set.”

“I would be delighted,” Honor said, and looked as if she meant it. “Please, excuse me, Lady Seifert.” She glanced slyly at George, a smile playing on her lips. “Mr. Easton.”

Sir Randall quickly offered his arm to her; she put her hand lightly upon it, cast George a quick but sparkling little smile and glided away at the fop’s side. George tried not to gape at her back.

That was it?

She would toddle off and dance while he did her dirty work? He watched until they’d disappeared into the crowd. He didn’t realize he was staring until Mary touched the tip of her fan to his shoulder. “Drink your champagne, George, darling. She’s not for you.”

He chuckled. “No? Tell me, love, who is for me?”

“Certainly no debutantes here,” Mary said with a lilting little laugh. “Their mothers would never allow it.” She winked at him. “Enjoy yourself all the same.” She moved away, her hips swinging suggestively.

George turned from that delectable sight, and his gaze landed on none other than Miss Monica Hargrove, standing beside Sommerfield. At least he might get his mission over and done, he thought, and casually walked to where she stood.

She glanced up as he approached and blinked with surprise. “Oh!” she said. “Mr. Easton!”

“Miss Hargrove,” he said politely.

She looked at her fiancé, who was eyeing George curiously. “Lord Sommerfield, may I introduce Mr. Easton?” she asked.

“Easton, yes, of course!” Sommerfield said jovially. “Yes, yes, it is you. We’ve met,” he said.

“Oh?” Miss Hargrove said.

“Quite right. At the club, I do believe. Was it not the club, sir?”

George was not welcome in Sommerfield’s club but said, nonetheless, “Good to see you again, Sommerfield. Your family is well?”

“Exceedingly. That is, with the exception of my father. He ails terribly, what with the consumption.”

“I’m saddened to hear it.”

“Thank you,” Sommerfield said perfunctorily.

“I had hoped,” George said, turning his attention to Miss Hargrove, “that I might entice Miss Hargrove to take a turn about the dance floor.”

Miss Hargrove blanched at the invitation and looked at Sommerfield, who looked just as flustered. He smiled nervously and patted her hand. “Of course you must, my dear.”

“But I...I thought that perhaps...”

“I vow not to step on your toes,” George said, and offered his arm. Miss Hargrove looked uncertainly at his arm, then at Sommerfield. Her fiancé nodded encouragingly.

She reluctantly put her hand on George’s. “Thank you.”

George moved quickly, forcing her to come along before she leaped into Sommerfield’s arms. He led her out onto the dance floor, and they lined up across from each other.

Miss Hargrove frowned at him. “That was rather brazen.”

“That is the least brazen I can be, Miss Hargrove. You may as well accept that I am a determined man.” He smiled.

The music began, and he bowed. She curtsied. They moved forward, and she skipped around his back.

“What could you possibly want from me?” she asked, taking her place in line again.

He stepped forward and around her back. “To convince you that there are more potent choices than Sommerfield for a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

She gasped as he stepped back into line. They came together in the middle, their hands meeting above their heads. “I am affianced to Lord Sommerfield.”

He twirled her around in a tight circle and smiled down at her. “I know.”

As they started through the paces again, she said, “What do you possibly hope to gain, Mr. Easton?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” He allowed his gaze to drop to her lips as he stepped back.

“And how do you propose to lure me?” she asked skeptically as they clasped hands overhead and turned. “You’ve no connections, and rumor has it that your fortune has been lost.”

George smiled. “Rumor has been unkind to my fortune, but I’ve not lost it. And I happen to think I am very well connected. I am the nephew of the king.” He let go of her hands and stepped back.

So did Miss Hargrove. “You can scarcely expect me to believe it,” she said laughingly.

“Then perhaps you will believe this,” he said, stepping forward again. “I am captivated by you.”

She didn’t respond to that but with a smile, and continued to study him. George danced as well as he was able, meeting her gaze at every turn.

When the music drew to a close, he bowed low and reached for her hand. He gave it a tender squeeze before placing it on his arm, covering it with his hand. “I beg your pardon if I’ve offended, Miss Hargrove,” he said as he led her back to Sommerfield, who shifted from one leg to the other, anxious to have his prize back at his side. And beside him, standing innocently with her hands at her back, was Honor. She didn’t look at George, and in fact, she made a point of looking away so as not to suggest any sort of familiarity between them.

“I am not offended, Mr. Easton,” Miss Hargrove said, smiling up at him. “But I am taken.”

“I will concede that you are...for the time being.”

Her smile seemed to go a little deeper, the color in her cheeks high.

That was it, the unmistakable sign of being smitten. No doubt he could invite her into the garden now to take full advantage of her. But as they had reached Sommerfield and Honor, George took her hand from his arm, stepped back and bowed low over it. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Hargrove,” he said. “A finer partner I’ve not experienced.”

Miss Hargrove laughed as if she found that quite impossible, but Sommerfield was quick to agree. “She is indeed a fine dancer. I confess, I could learn a thing or two from you, Mr. Easton.” He laughed as he nervously rubbed the side of his nose. “I should employ you to teach me the steps to our wedding dances.”

“I am not a very good dancer, my lord. I’m more of a horseman.”

“Nothing like a good horse race to get the blood flowing, eh?” Sommerfield agreed. “We are very proud of our horses at Longmeadow,” Sommerfield continued. “Some of the finest horseflesh in the country—”

Honor suddenly gasped. “Augustine, you must invite him to Longmeadow!”

Sommerfield and Miss Hargrove looked as stunned as George felt—he could not find his tongue immediately. “Pardon?”

“Oh, dear,” Honor said with a pretty smile and a curtsy. “I do beg your pardon, sir. Please, forgive my outburst, but it occurs to me that there will be quite a lot of horse racing at Longmeadow this spring.”

“Well, yes,” Sommerfield said uncertainly. “But I didn’t... That is to say...” Terribly flustered, the poor man smiled nervously at those around him, looking for help.

Honor’s face fell. “Well, now you’ve made me seem perfectly foolish, my lord.”

“No, I—I don’t mean that,” Sommerfield blustered. “I mean to say of course you are very welcome at Longmeadow, Mr. Easton. But the racing is all in fun.”

“Dearest—” Miss Hargrove said, and laid a finger on her fiancé’s arm.

“And it’s rather a lot of fun,” Honor quickly interjected before Miss Hargrove could persuade her fiancé differently. “A lot of friendly wagering. You must come, Mr. Easton. There’s always need for a gentleman to serve as dance partner, and I am certain we will all appreciate an experienced card player.”