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Cherise dipped her head as Helen performed a deep curtsy. “Of course, darling. It’s good to see you this evening, Lady Helen. I am in need of Thomas, though. There are those who do not believe he exists since he’s so rarely here in London,” she claimed.

“Of course, my lady,” Helen said, dipping another curtsy.

Tom gave her a beseeching look before he was led away through the crowd.

“ H e seems rather amiable,” Stella Jones Tennison, Countess of Everly, remarked as she joined her daughter at the edge of the ballroom.

“Indeed,” Helen replied, finally draining her champagne. “Nearly as much as Penton.”

Stella arched an elegant brow. “They are cousins, are they not?” When Helen responded with an uncertain glance, she added, “I am led to believe the entire family is amiable.”

Knowing to what her mother’s hints were leading—possible marital matches—Helen decided it best she change the subject. “Did you enjoy your dance with Father?”

“I did, and I still have all my toes,” Stella replied, grinning in delight.

About to mention it would be hard for her father to step on them given her mother’s expanding belly—the countess was due to give birth the following January—Helen decided against teasing her mother.

The poor woman’s emotions seemed to change on a moment’s notice these days.

At least her father knew what to do, although it frequently required the two of them to be behind closed doors.

He was far more free with his kisses of late, too, but his displays of affection were at least limited to the confines of their townhouse in Mayfair.

At least, as far as she knew.

“Will he be dancing with you?”

Helen lifted her wrist so her mother could see the entry on her dance card. “The waltz,” she said, arching a brow as she grinned. She quickly sobered. “But don’t get your hopes up, Mother. He’s about to depart for his Grand Tour,” she warned.

Stella allowed a long sigh. “Did you have your hopes up?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Shrugging, Helen said, “I know better these days.” Her eyes widened when she realized two young men were standing behind her mother, apparently waiting for her. “Good evening,” she said, her simple words enough to have her mother happily stepping aside.

Within minutes, she had several more lines filled in on her dance card, a situation which pleased her mother and gave her hope for the immediate future.

Apparently Thomas Forster’s attentions had convinced other young bucks that they should seek her company.

L ater, when he appeared at the appointed time for their waltz, Helen was still catching her breath from the last dance—a Scotch reel with Lord Penton. “Hello again,” she said, managing a curtsy.

Tom bowed and seemed uncertain for a moment. “I do hope my cousin didn’t step on your slippers,” he said, his gaze darting to David.

Although she hadn’t known for certain the two were related, Helen was happy for the confirmation.

“Even if he had, I would have forgiven him. He’s a very amiable young man,” she said, watching as the topic of their conversation smiled and greeted every other young buck as if they were long-lost friends.

His behavior with young ladies was the same, and she wondered how many knuckles he had already kissed that evening.

“If he’s not careful, he’s going to find himself betrothed before the evening is over. ”

Tom’s guffaw and subsequent smile resulted in a dimple appearing at the base of one cheek. “It would serve him right,” he commented jovially. He sobered somewhat and glanced about the ballroom before he leaned closer and asked, “Would you prefer to walk in the gardens over dancing, perhaps?”

Torn between heartily agreeing to the suggestion—the ballroom had grown quite warm—and suspicion as to the young man’s motives, Helen was about to reply that she would prefer to dance when he stepped even closer and added, “I fear I might step on your toes since I’ve never waltzed with anyone but my.

.. my brother .” This last was said in a whisper, and it was almost impossible not to giggle at hearing his admission.

“A walk in the gardens will be most welcome,” she replied, placing a hand on his arm. “Tell me, Mr. Forster?—”

“Thomas. Or you can call me Tom,” he interrupted.

“Thomas,” she said, rather surprised he would give her permission to use his Christian name when they had only just met. “Have you enjoyed your evening?”

“Oh, very much, although it has mostly been in the company of my grandmother’s friends,” he replied. They made their way to the back of the ballroom, darting around pockets of people in conversation. He held open a French door for her, and they both inhaled deeply upon leaving the ballroom.

“I didn’t realize Lady Devonville was your grandmother,” Helen said as they made their way along the pavers. A series of Japanese lanterns bobbed in the slight breeze, casting their shadows on the clipped lawn of the garden.

“Step-grandmother, actually,” he replied. “On my mother’s side.”

Helen struggled to remember what she had read in Debrett’s . “So... David, Viscount Penton, is your?—”

“Cousin,” he stated. “He’s going with us on our Grand Tour.”

“Us?” she prompted.

“My oldest cousin, Donald Slater, will be our guide. My older brother, Randolph—he’s the heir to the Gisborn earldom—and then...” Here he paused and cleared his throat. “My aunt and uncle are traveling with us as well.”

Helen had to place a hand over her mouth lest she laugh at hearing his last comment. “So you will be on your very best behavior,” she replied.

“I try to be all the time,” he countered defensively.

She aimed a look of disbelief in his direction. “’Tis a pity,” she replied. “I might have been compelled to allow you a kiss,” she teased. She heard his inhalation of breath and immediately wished she could take back her last words. “I am teasing,” she stated.

“Oh,” he said, the sound of disappointment evident in his voice.

They walked along in silence until they reached the row of rose bushes that lined one side of the property. Backed against a hedgerow and edged on the front with tiny white flowers, only the lighter colored blooms showed in the light from a quarter moon.

“Do you have a favorite?” he asked.

Helen glanced down the row and pointed to some light pink roses, their darker centers almost black in the darkness. “Those are especially lovely,” she remarked.

He led them to stand before the pink blooms, reaching out to pull one of the largest closer. “The color of a blush on a maiden’s cheeks,” he whispered, remembering how his mother described the roses she had planted in her garden outside the orangery behind Gisborn Hall.

“An embarrassed maiden,” Helen said.

“Something tells me you are not easily embarrassed.”

She inhaled sharply, the sound almost a scoff. “Perhaps I am merely cynical.”

He turned to face her. “You are not old enough to be cynical,” he argued.

Helen didn’t meet his gaze, her attention still on the roses. That is, until two of his fingers touched her cheek to gently turn her face to his.

His lips were on hers before she quite knew what was happening. Firm pillows pressed to her lips, her mouth open from the momentary shock at his bold move.

For a moment, she didn’t quite know what to do.

She had imagined at least a hundred times what a kiss was supposed to be like—imagined what she would do in return—but the reality added texture and warmth she had not considered, a suckling sensation that was both pleasant and erotic, and a wash of warm breath over her cheek that held hints of champagne and amber and something spicy.

Despite wishing the kiss would continue, his lips left hers. His forehead touched her forehead, though, and remained there as he seemed to contemplate what to do next.

“I should apologize?—”

“Oh, please don’t,” she whispered.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I met you,” he murmured.

She pulled away enough to stare at him in surprise. “You have?”

He nodded. “All I could think was that I would most assuredly step on your toes if we danced, and so I tried to think of what I might do that would save your slippers and keep me from displaying embarrassment undoubtedly redder than those roses.” He motioned to the pink roses.

“Even so, I fear my face is quite red. Did I do it right?”

“Do it right?” she repeated.

“The kiss?”

Helen blinked. “How would I know?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “It’s not as if I’ve ever...” Here she clamped her mouth shut and took a half-step back. The momentary spell that had been cast over them seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had formed.

“It was so pleasant,” he stated. “I didn’t really know what I was...” It was his turn to stop speaking.

“You’re claiming you’ve never kissed before?” she asked in disbelief.

He shrugged, his broad shoulders emphasizing the simple response. For a moment, she imagined him capable of lifting her over one of them and carrying her to who-knew-where so he could do who-knew-what with her.

Mayhap behind the hedgerow.

The thought had her heart rate increasing so she could practically hear her pulse in her ears.

“I haven’t,” he affirmed. “Although, I would like to do it again with you. That is… if you’re of a mind to be kissed again.”

Torn between running back to the ballroom or holding her ground and engaging in a second kiss with the spare heir, Helen closed the distance between them, gripped a lapel in one gloved hand, and pressed her lips to his.

She wasn’t expecting one of his arms to encircle her waist, but she was glad for the support. Glad for the warmth the front of his body provided for the front of hers. Glad that their second kiss was at least as pleasant and pleasing as their first.

Better, even, since neither paused with uncertainty at the beginning as they had with their initial kiss.

The ending, though, could have been so much better. Especially if Lady Devonville hadn’t called out Tom’s name from somewhere near the French doors.

“Apologies,” he said, annoyance apparent in his voice.

Helen blinked several times, stunned by how he jerked away from her.

She nearly allowed a curse but immediately understood why he had ended it so abruptly when she heard his name called out by his grandmother a second time.

“You’re forgiven,” she whispered. “Go. I’ll return to the ballroom in a moment. ”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Of course,” she said, giving him a gentle shove to send him on his way.

“I look forward to seeing you again,” he said. He bowed and hurried off.

Holding her breath until she was forced to let it go, Helen dipped her face into the nearest rose and inhaled, allowing the heady floral aroma to replace the intoxicating scent of Thomas Forster.

She would not soon forget it, nor the kiss they had shared.