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Selina leaned in. “That is James’s father,” she explained.

Diana studied the old man by James’s side. If her fixation allowed, she would have seen the resemblance at once. She also noticed that she was not the only one studying the Duke. Wherever he went, conversations died down, and almost all the guests whispered behind bejeweled hands and fans.

“It seems that he is back in London for good,” Selina commented.

“Where was he?”

“He was in their country estate. There was a rumor…” Selina hesitated. “There was a rumor that he went mad.”

“Mad?”

Diana studied the Duke again. He seemed composed and civilized, though his steps seemed weary.

“Only according to the rumors.”

“But what happened?” Diana asked, intrigued.

“No one knows for certain,” Selina admitted. “Not even Richard knows for sure—or if he knows, he hasn’t shared that with me. All I know is that the rumors began after James’s mother died. Some say grief drove the Duke into seclusion. Others say it was something more… serious.”

Diana felt a lump clogging her throat. She realized that the infuriating man who teased her, who challenged her, who set her body on fire, was a real person. A person with scars of his own, not just that polished façade he let everyone see.

“Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are.”

She remembered the quote that she found so seductive. Now, she saw it under a new light.

She looked for him in the crowd. It was so easy to spot him, his frame towering over everyone. Even if he wanted to hide, it was impossible.

He was speaking to Richard, his face impassive, his body language a study in careful control. Diana willed him to look at her.

The ball was in full swing, but Diana was fuming. James hadn’t even spared her a glance. And she could only surmise that it was deliberate. Back at Herbert’s, he had made a point of saying that they would meet at the Ashford ball. Had practically promised it. And now? Now, he was ignoring her as if she didn’t exist.

Diana was patient and understanding. The fact that his father was re-entering Society must be taxing. She would be happy to be acknowledged even from across the room. A nod of the head, a tense smirk. She would answer with an honest smile to let him know that she understood. But being so blatantly overlooked? So pointedly ignored?

Diana took a deep breath. She was being foolish, and she knew it.

If James was determined to treat her like any other one of the ladies in attendance tonight, if he had decided to spend the evening avoiding her, then she would simply spend it elsewhere. It was indeed a beautiful night, and she had every intention of enjoying herself. Now that she was in the spotlight, she might as well bathe in the warmth.

As if by divine intervention, she saw Lord Hexter approach her.

Perfect.

Diana gave him her widest smile.

“My Lady, I must insist that you do me the honor of granting me your first dance.”

“I am afraid this dance is mine.” The eldest son of the Viscount Sherton bowed to her.

Diana realized that somewhere between debating philosophy and experiencing lessons in pleasure, she had nearly forgotten that she was still one of the most sought-after ladies this Season.

“Gentlemen, you flatter me. I am so fortunate to have two gentlemen of your station insisting on a dance with me.” She gave them a warm smile. Both men seemed mesmerized by it.

The notoriously daring Lord Sherton leaned in. “The ton is fortunate to bask in your presence, My Lady.”

Comically transparent, but Diana managed to hide her smirk behind her fan—a gesture Lord Sherton took as a victory.

“Lord Hexter, I believe I owe you a dance.” She gave the man her hand.

“My Lady.” Lord Sherton pretended to be wounded.