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Agnes tried to ignore the stares that seemed to follow them across the dance floor. Fortunately, taking her attention from the whispers and glances proved less challenging than anticipated. The commanding presence of the man she danced with ensnared her focus entirely, rendering the surrounding ballroom a mere backdrop to their exchange.

“Did you receive my note?” Agnes asked, the suspense gnawing at her far more than she cared to admit. A part of her desperately sought a diversion from the unsettling proximity between them. A waltz with any other gentleman would have felt ordinary, but there was an intensity about Gillingham that unsettled her.

“What made you change your mind?” He deftly skirted her question with one of his own, his voice carrying a hint of genuine curiosity mixed with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Does it matter?” Agnes replied. She aimed for nonchalance, hoping to steer their conversation away from the unsettling introspection his question provoked.

“Of course, it does. After vehemently telling and showing me how uninterested you were, merely hours later, you send a note stating otherwise. I should like to know if my threats truly worked,” he replied, the slyness in his tone unmistakable. Agnes recognized the tease. She mentally fortified herself against his verbal gambit, refusing to be drawn into his game.

“Oh, after thinking about it, I saw no harm in trying something new,” she countered with feigned sweetness. “After all, you did seem desperate. And I am feeling quite charitable,” she added, injecting a dose of mock generosity into her voice. His response was to chuckle, but there was something cool and sharp in his eyes. The man was as audacious as he was mysterious.

“Well, I am glad you reconsidered. Whatever your reasons are,” he conceded. Agnes’s eyebrows arched in mild surprise; she had half-expected him to press the issue further, to challenge her claims with the same tenacity he applied to everything else since she met him.

She frowned. “I thought you said you never made the same offer twice?” She couldn’t resist asking even though she might be pushing her fortune a little too much.

“Oh, but I never made the offer again.” Gillingham raised their arms, bringing them slightly closer, and Agnes felt slightly breathless. “yousought me out with an acceptance.”

Caught in the undeniable logic of his words, she had no choice but to concede the point, her pride smarting from the admission.

“Six events you said,” she quickly redirected the conversation to safer grounds, hoping to recover some of her lost ground. “Nothing more,” she asserted firmly, as if setting a boundary.

“And nothing less,” he agreed smoothly, leading her in a graceful twirl past a couple who seemed more at odds with the music than in harmony with it.

“Would this event count as one of them?”

He paused, considering her question with a seriousness that momentarily lifted the playful in his eyes. “It is only fair we count this out of our agreement, don’t you think?” he finally said.

“No, this has to be the first event,” she argued.

“I beg to differ, Your Highness. Remember that these are my terms, not yours.”

“Remember that I chose to agree and I can easily rescind my offer,” she shot back. What was the matter with him that he could not accept this as their first event.

His expression darkened. “Are you threatening me?”

“For your greed, yes, but it is more a certainty than a threat.”

Gillingham twirled her then, and when she was back in his arms, he leaned slightly. “My terms.”

There was something commanding in his voice that made her hesitant to retort, and Agnes allowed their dance to conclude in silence. He took her hand and placed it on his arm, leading her away from the dance floor. It was then that a, middle-aged gentleman approached them, his bearing one of assured ease and distinguished elegance.

“How interesting to find you here, Lord Gillingham,” the man said, glancing at Agnes.

“Allow me to introduce Miss Young, the ward of the Duke of Richmond.”

Agnes held her breath, hoping he would not scrutinize her as some did. The gentleman smiled softly and held out his hand, as Gillingham added, “The Earl of Asmont.”

His name was familiar. His business, renowned for its profitability and reach, was the envy of most men. The smallest investment in Asmont’s Trading Company was considered a badge of savvy and influence in London. Now she understood why Gillingham made her the offer.

“Ah, I finally meet the lovely Miss Young,” the Earl said with a flourish as he gently kissed her knuckles, his manners impeccable and his charm effortless. Agnes noted the respect in his gesture, a rarity from someone of his standing directedtoward her, given the usual societal whispers surrounding her family.

“It is a pleasure, My Lord,” she said, curtsying politely.

As he straightened, his keen eyes shifted between Gillingham and Agnes, a silent inquiry passing between them. An awkward silence enveloped them momentarily, the ballroom’s lively chatter fading into a distant murmur until the Earl said, “Am I correct in assuming that we would be hearing wedding bells this season?”

The question caught Agnes unexpectedly. “Oh, that depends on whether Lord Gillingham is as charming as he ought to be.” The words tumbled out before she could catch them, then her cheeks warmed. Gillingham nudged her slightly.

“I am confidently upon the path of winning her heart,” Gillingham interjected smoothly, his voice breaking the brief lapse into silence.