"My heartiest apologies, Godfrey," Rutherford said quietly to his companion. "I would not have dragged you here this early if I had known that there would be enough of a squeeze for us to be kept waiting on the stairs."

"Think nothing of it," his friend replied, smiling and inclining his head in the direction of an acquaintance farther down the staircase. "Being early does have its advantages, you know, Charles. One can find space on the cards of some of the prettier girls before they fill up."

"Hm," Rutherford said. He had never found difficulty in securing a set with even the prettiest girl after midnight if he just smiled at her or her mama in the right way. Perhaps his status as a wealthy, titled bachelor had something to do with the matter.

By the time the two men had made their way along the line ten minutes later, Rutherford was scowling, an expression that paradoxically drew even more female glances his way than usual. He clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the scene around him, while Sir Godfrey beside him looked more pointedly with the aid of a quizzing glass.

His grandmother was not difficult to find, Rutherford soon discovered. Her tall figure and upright bearing drew one's eyes even without the purple satin gown and turban and ridiculously high plumes. And even from a distance he could see the rouge on her cheeks and lips. She had not yet seen him, or she pretended not to have done so. Probably the latter. No one had sharper eyesight than Grandmama, even without the spectacles.

Rutherford's eyes narrowed on the young person beside her. She was half turned away from him so that he could see only the barest profile of her face. The nose was straight, the chin determined, though not jutting. Pretty hair. It was no decided color, merely a light brown, but it was soft and shiny. Her figure, he guessed, was quite exquisite, though the fashionable gown falling loose from below her bosom hinted at rather than revealed the curves of waist and hips. One leg was slightly bent at the knee, a further hint of shapeliness. Her breasts looked full and high. She was perhaps on the low side of medium height.

Perhaps this would not be such an ordeal after all, he thought, his interest piqued.

"I must go and pay my respects to the dowager," he announced to Sir Godfrey, and began to stroll in her direction.

"Who is the beauty?" his friend asked, falling into step beside him. "Anyone I should meet, Charles?"

"Ah, Charles, m'boy," the dowager duchess said loudly as he approached, "what a surprise. I did not know you frequented ton balls."

"Indeed, Grandmama?" he said, eyebrows raised in some surprise. He took the hand she held toward him, executing one of his most elegant bows, and kissed her gloved hand. "I see you are looking quite as ravishing as usual."

"Impertinent boy," she said, rapping him on the sleeve of his brocaded coat with her fan. "Meet my guest, Charles. My grandson, the Earl of Rutherford, my dear. Miss Jessica Moore, Charles."

Strangely, he thought afterward when he had a chance to think, although he had turned to her and looked appreciatively into her lovely face even as his grandmother still spoke, it was only as she mentioned the girl's name that he was jolted into recognition. His hand was already extending itself, he was already in the motion of bowing. His face was already set into a smile.

He completed his actions, raised her hand to his lips, and murmured, "Hello, Jess," without missing a heartbeat, just as if he had known she would be there, had prepared himself to meet her again. In truth, he was stunned. There was an air of unreality about the moment.

His mind hardly registered the fact that she was very pale when he went into his bow, decidedly flushed when he came out of it, and that almost no sound escaped her as her lips formed the words, "My lord."

"Good evening, Sir Godfrey," the dowager duchess was saying graciously beside them. "How is your father? Recovering? I am delighted to hear it. Do meet my guest, the granddaughter of my dearest friend, who is staying with me for the winter. Jessica, my dear, this is Sir Godfrey Hall. Miss Jessica Moore, sir."

She curtsied to Godfrey and even gave him something that would pass for a smile. She had done neither for him. Rutherford looked at her and then transferred his narrowed gaze to his grandmother. The old fiend. How did she hope to get away with this masquerade? And why was she doing it? To punish him? To have a joke on the ton? It was quite a tasteless and certainly an insufferable joke.

She smiled blandly back. "How grand of you to be here so early, Charles," she said. "Do you plan to dance, or are you to spend the evening in the card room?"

"I came to dance, ma'am," he said, his voice icy. "Miss Moore, may I have the honor of signing your card for the opening set and the supper dance? If those dances have not been spoken for already, of course."

There was an awkward pause as she stared at him in almost open dismay. "No," she said. "I mean no, those sets have not been reserved. I thank you, my lord."

He looked her straight in the eye before bending his head in order to scribble his name against the two dances on her card. He bowed and turned away as Godfrey-poor fool-was reserving the second set with her. He clasped his hands behind him and surveyed the ballroom anew, without seeing anything. He concentrated on keeping his breathing under control. He could not recall ever feeling quite so murderously furious.

He was not given much time in which to either control his anger or allow it to build. Lord Chalmers was leading his wife out onto the floor to begin the opening set. Other sets were beginning to form around them. Lord Rutherford turned toward Jessica, bowed stiffly, and held out his arm for her hand.


Jessica was feeling flushed and inwardly excited by the time the ball was two hours old. Amazingly, she had been partnered for every set, though she had been fully prepared to stand on the sidelines with the dowager duchess for most of the evening as a mere spectator of the dancing. She had not expected to draw the notice of any gentleman, unknown as she was.

It was not just gentlemen to whom she had been presented. The dowager had taken her to meet her daughter-in-law, the duchess, and her granddaughter, Lady Bradley. Both were very different from Lord Rutherford, she noticed. The duchess had graying fair hair and was comfortably plump. Her daughter was a younger version of herself though not yet as ample in figure. Jessica felt deeply mortified at being thus presented to them. In other, slightly altered circumstances, she would be completely beyond their lowest notice, their son's and brother's chere amie, no less. As it was, Lady Bradley invited her to attend her soiree three evenings hence.

Jessica also met Lord Rutherford's other sister, unmarried though she was older than he. Lady Hope looked somewhat like her brother, tall, slim almost to the point of thinness, dark, rather handsome. But she lacked the haughtiness of either her brother or her grandmother. She had a habit, Jessica noticed, of smiling quickly and nervously, her hands fluttering aimlessly.

Lady Hope came to speak to her grandmother and to meet Jessica between the first and second sets and made herself agreeable. Sir Godfrey Hall was forced to interrupt her conversation with Jessica in order to lead the latter onto the floor for the quadrille. Lady Hope smiled at him and curtsied. He smiled warmly back and signed her card for the supper waltz before leading Jessica away.

Had she enjoyed the ball so far? Jessica asked herself when the dowager put that very question to her. The supper dance was next. It was a waltz, and the duchess had assured her that she might dance it though she had not been approved by the hostesses of Almack's. That was a ridiculous custom anyway, the old lady said, and one that certainly need not apply outside the months of the Season and to a lady well past her twentieth birthday.

Had she enjoyed the ball? Yes, of course she had. There was a thoroughly heady feeling of triumph in being at a ton event and accepted just as if she were one of their number by everyone present. She had not seen anyone frown her way or whisper behind a hand or a fan. There was satisfaction in knowing that she looked well enough that a whole succession of gentlemen had sought an introduction to her so that they might dance with her. And there was a delightful sense of freedom in being able to dance, to look her partners in the eye, to converse with them, smile at them, laugh with them. Only two weeks before she had been a governess, hemmed in by rules, expected to be seen and not heard outside the confines of the schoolroom.

And yet how could she enjoy herself fully? The dowager had assured her that Lord Rutherford did not frequent the same events as she. Was it merely an unfortunate coincidence that he was in attendance at her very first social appearance? Or had the duchess lied to her? Jessica suspected the latter. She did not want to be in his presence. She had been horribly embarrassed ever since she had first glimpsed him strolling toward his grandmother before the dancing started.

She had been unable to relax since, unable to ignore his tall, elegant presence in the ballroom. How could he be dressed all in gold and snowy white without looking to even the slightest degree effeminate? He had not once left the ballroom even though many other gentlemen noticeably came and went. She had not seen Sir Godfrey since the second set. And the Duke of Middleburgh and Lord Bradley were in the card room, their wives had explained.