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T he Eldridge House ballroom glittered as candlelight fell on a cascade of jewels and beadwork. Positioned near Lady Heathbrooke, lest she should require refreshment while chatting with Baroness Midhurst, Melody surveyed the opulent space.

Dancers weaved their way between one another upon the dancefloor. Debutantes tittered behind their fans while eyeing the eligible bachelors. A small group of wallflowers sat nearby, their eager expressions confirming that they would be thrilled by the slightest attention.

Melody felt for them and was glad she had never been forced to endure the distress of being ignored. Though she had always considered her job as Lady Heathbrooke’s companion a waste of her talent with little point to it, there was no denying the benefits of it, however small.

For starters, she’d been allowed to observe the ton in a way no other woman of her lowly birth ever had. Until Samantha received her orders. The insight this had provided was most enlightening. It made her realize how lucky she was not to be one of them, to avoid being the focus of everyone’s attention, gossiped about, and used to others’ advantage.

Besides this, her position allowed her to exist in the same way a potted plant might. There without expectation, without the stress of having to fill a dance card in order to be deemed worthy. Knowing that no one would think any less of her for not being invited onto the dance floor was liberating.

Even if she secretly believed dancing to be the most thrilling activity she’d ever engaged in. More so than fencing or riding. Though she had done it just once.

But that once…

The memory of it stuck with her, no matter how hard she tried to dislodge it.

More so the man with whom she’d partnered.

Her gaze continued to scan the ballroom, her heart fluttering lightly against her breast while she told herself she wasn’t looking for him . Indeed, there was a good chance he would not be here. Considering all that had happened in recent days it would make sense for him to avoid the inquisitive looks he would no doubt garner as Croft’s closest friend.

She picked up on the Croft name once more, uttered not only by Baroness Midhurst but also by a young man who chatted with two other men his age. It seemed to be the only thing upon everyone’s mind. And it was becoming tedious.

Melody shifted her feet and sighed. If only a footman would come this way so she could get something to drink. Her gaze drifted toward the refreshment table. She considered suggesting to Lady Heathbrooke that she fetch some of those small, frosted cakes for her and the baroness.

But when her gaze slid back across the room, he was suddenly there, handsome as ever, and cutting a path directly toward her. Mouth dry, she watched his approach. His solid frame, clad in evening black, seemed more imposing than usual this evening. A spark of intensity brightened his eyes. His dark blonde hair, slightly tousled as though some strands might have caught on his hat when he’d removed it, afforded him with a windblown appearance that suited him more than it ought.

Her heart beat harder and then he was standing before her, frozen in place as though he’d not yet figured out what to say or do once he reached her. The momentary awkwardness was surprisingly endearing. She smiled and he instantly blinked.

“Marsdale.” Lady Heathbrooke’s voice drew attention.

He turned to the dowager, hands clasped at his back, and executed a short bow. “Marchioness. Baroness Midhurst. What a delightful pleasure.”

The faintest hint of a smile curved Lady Heathbrooke’s lips. “You flatter us, my lord.”

“Not at all,” he murmured, having clearly found his bearings. “Indeed, I would be honored if you would both grant me a dance this evening.”

Lady Heathbrooke snorted while Baroness Midhurst produced a low chuckle. “Heavens above,” Lady Heathbrooke remarked. “Do you not see my cane?”

“Dance with me,” Marsdale told her, “and you shall not need it.”

Melody bit her lip to keep from grinning. She’d no idea Marsdale had the confidence required to be so overly charming. More astounding yet, was Lady Heathbrooke’s blush.

And then the old woman suddenly laughed – a rapid outburst swiftly brought under control. She tapped Marsdale’s arm with her fan and leaned toward him, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “Be that as it may, I believe Miss Roberts would make a much better partner than either I or Lady Midhurst.”

Even though she’d been taught to control her emotions, Melody’s face heated as three pairs of eyes looked directly toward her.

Marsdale’s gaze warmed. His lips quirked even as he said, “Do you honestly think so?”

“I do,” Lady Heathbrooke informed him, slyness dripping from every word as she said, “I also believe her to be your primary target.” Her mercenary smirk would do any pirate proud. “Don’t make the mistake of confusing old age with ignorance, Marsdale.”

He grinned. “It would seem you’ve outmaneuvered me once again, my lady.” He glanced at Melody, then asked the marchioness point blank, “May I steal her away from you for a while?”

“Provided you agree to partner with me for a game of bridge later. That will be my price, Marsdale. The dance I can do without.”

He dipped his head. “We’re in agreement then.” A nod toward both peeresses. “Ladies.”

Straightening, he then turned and offered Melody his arm. Made speechless by the unusual exchange between a woman she knew to be slightly cantankerous and a man she believed too stoic for this sort of mischief, she set her hand upon it without a word.

The earl led her toward the dance floor and paused in anticipation of the next set. “Forgive me,” he told her when a few seconds had passed. “I hope I haven’t embarrassed you in any way.”

She turned her attention toward him, gave her head a quick shake to put her thoughts back in order. “You could never do so, my lord. I just didn’t realize Lady Heathbrooke knew how to smile, never mind laugh. Or that you would be the man to elicit such a response from her.”

A flicker of mischief appeared in his eyes. “Truth is, she has a bit of a soft spot for me.”

“Really?”

“I’m surprised she made no mention of it before. Especially after you and I danced at the Avernail ball.” He leaned a bit closer, his shoulder touching hers, and confided, “After all, the grumpy old dear is my godmother.”

Melody wasn’t sure how she managed to react with a soft smile indicative of only slight surprise, instead of the absolute shock and horror his words induced. Because this was no small thing she’d missed. It was a huge piece of information she ought to have learned when she’d first arrived at Heathbrooke House.

Furthermore, it presented a problem since her instructions to form a close bond with Marsdale – a bond she might have to break at a moment’s notice – would also tie her more firmly to Lady Heathbrooke. A disaster, since the lady would not look kindly on anyone who hurt her godson. Of this Melody had no doubt, even if the lady had made no mention of the relationship before.

“Shall we?”

Marsdale’s question made her realize the other dance had ended and the dancers were clearing the floor. The gentle tug of his arm drew her forward, even as Melody’s thoughts continued to swirl.

It felt like the ground was tilting and she was sliding sideways, helplessly grasping for purchase. A firm hand gripped hers and a strong arm braced her back. She angled her head, found Marsdale’s steady green gaze upon her, and instantly recovered her footing.

“All right?” he asked as the first few notes sounded. “You looked a bit lost for a moment, as though you were searching for something but couldn’t recall what.”

In other words, she’d not quite managed the neutral expression she’d aimed for. Lord help her, this wasn’t going well at all and since telling the truth was out of the question, she had no choice but to lie.

“Just a bit of lightheadedness for a second, that’s all. Most likely brought on by the heat.”

Concern filled his eyes. “Would you rather get some fresh air?”

“No.” She practically blurted the word like an unschooled ninny, and watched Marsdale’s eyes widen in response. Heat swept the back of her neck. “Forgive me. I just…I would really like to dance with you, my lord.”

Finally, a piece of truth she could allow.

Marsdale smiled in response and eased her into a gentle waltz. Such a kind and considerate man whom she could so easily have grown fond of, if not for Harlowe and the duty that compelled her to serve him.

He can never be more than a mark to you .

A vital reminder as the earl swept her in a wide circle. Though she’d never excelled at her dance lessons, his even pace made it easy for her to match his movements. To feel as though she’d been born to do this. With him.

A preposterous notion given their difference in station.

Even if she had not been tasked with extracting information from him and sending it back to Harlowe, dreaming of a future with Marsdale would have been lunacy. He spoke with her and danced with her. That was all. It meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Least of all for a man who was destined to marry within his own circle.

A laundress’s discarded child would hardly make for a suitable countess.

“I almost didn’t come,” Marsdale said as they glided between two other couples. A sideways nod to indicate everyone present. “Allowing myself some enjoyment is no easy task. There’s too much on my mind. But the thought of not seeing you – the subsequent loss I would feel, made me put in the effort.”

It was without doubt the greatest compliment she had ever received, and her heart swelled with it. A dangerous feeling, though one that could not be helped. “I’m glad you did.”

They were silent for a moment, the music swirling around them, rising and falling in gentle waves. Melody tried to think of how best to broach the subject she had to address, when Marsdale said, “Tell me what life is like with her ladyship.”

Her thoughts turned toward the marchioness and an instant surge of pleasure followed. “I enjoy her company. Even if I do find Heathbrooke House a little stuffy.”

“But not the lady herself?”

“Oh no, I could ne—” She broke off at the realization that he was jesting. A touch of humor that pushed past the gravity so often filling his gaze.

It was a subject she longed to broach though she knew not how. To inquire about the loss he’d suffered in response to Miss Evelyne Croft’s death might re-open a wound that was in the process of healing. At best, it would peel away the positive mood he presently put on display. At worst, it would cause him to retreat from her, undoing all the work she’d done so far.

So she held her tongue and tamped down the thoughts that begged to be heard. If he wished to discuss this sensitive subject with her, he would have to be the one to broach it.

Besides, it was best if she stayed on task and focus on what was important. Harlowe would be expecting her to deliver more information after tonight. Having something to give him would make it easier for her to write her report.

So she waited for the dance to end, for Marsdale to start leading her off the dance floor, before pressing closer to him in order to say, “I find myself increasingly worried about Samantha. Mrs. Croft, that is. There’s been no word from her at all since she disappeared.”

“As you know, the authorities are searching for her, so I’m sure she’ll be found eventually.”

“Yes, but will she be dead or alive?” The genuine fear she experienced as she posed the question caused tears to well in her eyes. She did her best to blink them away, though not before Marsdale saw them.

“Come.” He escorted her through the crowded ballroom and toward the French doors leading onto the terrace. “I believe a bit of fresh air will do you good.”

“But Lady Heathbroo—”

“Can wait.” They reached the doors, and he ushered her through them, into the cool evening air. “I’ll take responsibility for your delayed return, should she decide to fuss about it.”

“That’s very kind of you, my lord.” They moved toward the balustrade and stopped to look out over the torch-lit garden. “You must forgive me. I feel incredibly foolish burdening you with my concerns.”

“There is nothing foolish about it,” he murmured, the low timbre of his voice adding an intimacy to their conversation that hadn’t been there before. It seemed to increase the pull – that feeling of closeness she had to foster despite the dread it instilled in her. He turned slightly, angling himself toward her. “Your concerns are not unfounded. If anything, they suggest that you care for Mrs. Croft just as I care for her husband. Considering the circumstances, the fact that both are wanted fugitives, there is cause to fear for them. For if they are caught, there’s no doubt as to what will occur.”

Both would hang. Samantha for aiding a convicted murderer, though that would merely be an excuse to remove an agent accused of treason.

“All we can do,” Marsdale added, “is pray that they manage to make their escape. In which case, there is a good chance we’ll never hear from either of them again.”

“You say this even though your friend killed a man? The crippled son of a marquess, no less.” She needed to get to the core of this matter and figure out what had occurred. Because instinct told her there was more to this case than everyone realized – that Croft had not killed Mr. Benjamin Lawrence without good reason. Simply because Samantha would never stand by that sort of man.

Marsdale leaned in a little. Just enough for the heat wafting off his body to brush her arm. “Croft may be guilty of many things. Rumor would certainly have us believe that.” Carefully chosen words no doubt intended to safeguard his friend and whatever confidence Marsdale might be privy to. “However, I know the sort of man he is, which is why there’s no doubt in my mind that this is an effort to take him down.”

“You believe the accusations made against him are false?”

He was quiet a moment, the silence filled with the chatter from other guests who’d escaped the ballroom. And a frog’s distant croaking. “I believe he spoke the truth when he said that he acted in self-defense.”

“Against a man who could not stand?”

“Of course not, Miss Roberts. My belief is based entirely upon Croft’s assurance that Mr. Lawrence was not the cripple he pretended to be.”

* * *

Disbelief widened Miss Roberts’s eyes, allowing the moonlight to catch them. It made her look like a wondrous imp, astounded to learn of the world that existed beyond the forest. It also tempted him to lean in, to seek additional closeness with her if only for half a heartbeat.

He resisted the urge and flattened his hand on the balustrade, allowed the cool stone to seep through his fingers and ground him. A future with this woman could never exist. It was stupid of him to behave in a way that might suggest otherwise. Worse, it could very well wreck her if he didn’t put a definitive stop to it now.

To suffer the heartbreak of lost love was something he knew enough of never to wish it on anyone else. Evie had been his world, his universe. Her death had destroyed him in a way that had made it nearly impossible for him to breathe. Even now, four months later, thinking about her pained him beyond all measure.

He feared it would not become easier, no matter how much time passed.

At least meeting Miss Roberts had soothed his shattered soul. With her, he’d found an easy friendship, different from what he’d known with anyone else, even Adrian. A serene haven amidst the day-to-day clutter.

And instead of experiencing guilt over spending time with another woman, he found comfort and acceptance in it. Along with an increased yearning for happiness to once again fill his life.

But he could say none of this to her. Would not even know how to express it in the right way. Certainly not without her suspecting him of having intentions toward her. Which was something he absolutely could not afford to do.

She licked her lips and something fierce – an elemental need, long-buried deep within – instantly stirred.

Blast.

Slow steady breaths. Easy does it.

“You have no doubts?”

“About what?”

She gave him a funny look. “About Croft’s claim with regard to Lawrence’s physical encumbrance?”

“Right. I mean no.” Idiot . He leaned back against the balustrade and crossed his arms. “One of Croft’s best qualities is unfailing honesty. He does not lie.”

Disbelief showed in the way she tilted her head. “Everyone does from time to time.”

“Even you?”

She pursed her lips. “Admittedly so or your godmother would believe that I love engaging in needlework.”

“But you do not?”

“I detest it.”

A startled laugh shook his chest. “Why not tell her the truth?”

“Because she enjoys it.”

“So you do it for her?”

She shrugged one shoulder, her gaze shying away from his. “And for myself, I suppose, since pleasing her makes me happy. Besides, it’s one of the few activities we can engage in while talking.”

Edward scarcely knew what to say. He’d known there was something special about this woman after meeting her for the first time. But her kindness toward an old lady who wasn’t easy to get along with completely melted his heart.

Unable to resist, he reached for her hand, only to pause in case she wished to retreat. When she didn’t, he took her hand in his gently and raised it to his lips. Her white glove prevented him from touching her skin, but the gesture would hopefully impart upon her the depth of his appreciation.

“Your loveliness cannot be denied, Miss Roberts. That you would care for Lady Heathbrooke as much as you do has touched me immensely.” He let her hand go and took a step back. “I am without words.”

“And yet I find myself slightly undone by those very words you claim not to have.” A teasing smile accompanied the flush in her cheeks.

Awareness spread through his veins, heating his chest and making his pulse leap with pleasure. Despite his intention to steer clear of this sort of banter, here he was engaging in a flirtation for the first time in months.

Four, to be exact.

He blinked. The pain caused by Evie’s death had kept him from this path. Along with the guilt he was sure to experience if he enjoyed spending time with another woman.

But the blameworthiness he’d been expecting never assailed him. On the contrary, the attention Miss Roberts gave him felt damn good. And right. And downright invigorating.

He smiled with the simple pleasure of what their brief exchange implied.

Interest.

However unwise and impossible, it was reciprocated.

Eager to maintain their light flirtation, he told her slyly, “Then there is hope for me yet, for I have always striven to make ladies swoon with no more than a glance.”

She chuckled – the most melodious sound he’d ever heard. “And will you practice this look upon me, my lord?”

“Edward,” he dared, his stomach clenching as soon as he made the request. “At least when we are in private.”

“And when shall we be in private—” She sent a pointed look past his shoulder, reminding him that there were others about, then lowered her voice even further to whisper, “Edward?”

That yearning from earlier pushed past every defense he had used in order to drive it back and hold it in place. Desire licked at his skin as he stood there, fumbling for words, unsure of how to respond, his mind an absolute mess as he tried to find the right path. Only to fail.

It must have occurred to her that they’d strayed too far from the realm of propriety, for she suddenly moved, adding distance between them. “I’m sure Lady Heathbrooke must be wondering at my absence. It would be best for me to return to her side, in case she needs me. Besides, you did promise you’d partner with her for a game of cards.”

Oh, how he hated that their time together had come to an end.

It was for the best, he reminded himself as he nodded. Yet, he could not help but say, “It’s been a while since I called upon her at Heathbrooke House.”

“At least a year.” When he angled his head in question she said, “You have not visited her in all the time I have been there.”

“A humbling observation.”

“Sorry. I ought not have pointed that out.”

He pushed away from the balustrade and moved toward her. “I trust you would be there as well, were I to stop by.”

She blinked. “Well yes. Of course. I—”

“Tomorrow then. Three o’clock. I recommend you ask my godmother’s cook to prepare some shortbread.” He was enjoying himself again. Tremendously so. “They happen to be my favorite.”

“Then I shall request an entire platter full.”

“A treat I’ll look forward to with pleasure.” Though not nearly as much as he looked forward to spending more time with Miss Roberts.