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Leading her away from the table, he kept hold of her hand. “Do you remember how to position yourself?”

She nodded, facing him and putting her hand on his shoulder. Their clasped hands shifted, and he put his hand on her waist. There were several inches between their chests, but Fiona was intensely aware of their proximity and that enduring magnetism that continued to draw her to him.

“Ready?” he murmured, his pewter gaze locked with hers.

“Yes.”

He began to move, gently steering her about the room, gliding with masculine grace as he avoided the furniture. And he did so without looking, for his attention was focused wholly on her. She could not have taken her eyes from him, even if she wanted to. Did he feel the same?

Without music, the room seemed somehow smaller, more intimate, and the space between them charged with a specific energy that only they could generate. Without music, it was not really a dance, but a joining in which they used the waltz as an excuse to move as one.

After a few circuits, he said, “I think you’ve mastered this.”

“I’m only following your lead. I suspect I may only be as good as my partner.”

He smiled. “Not true. You’ve become quite good at the other dances you learned. I saw how well you danced at the ball the other night.”

He’d watched her? “Did you?”

“It is my responsibility to supervise you.” The words should have disappointed her, for she wanted to be more than a responsibility. However, the way he continued to look at her made her feel a bit giddy.

“Do you like me at all, my lord?” She’d meant to tease him, but she found she wanted to know the truth. She was his father’s ward, and she’d caused him a great deal of trouble and expense since coming into his life.

He slowed until they came to a stop. “Fiona.”

Her heart beat fast and hard. He’d said her name, not Miss Wingate.

His thumb stroked her hand, and his fingers moved like a whisper along her spine. “I like you very much,” he breathed.

Fiona slid her hand along his shoulder until she met the stiff, vertical collar of his shirt. She leaned slightly toward him, erasing half the distance that separated them. Focusing on his lips once more, she could almost taste his kiss…

He abruptly released her and took a step back.

A cold disappointment washed over her. She wrapped her arms about her middle.

He didn’t want to kiss her again—he’d said they couldn’t.

He was her guardian . But what of this magnetism or whatever it was she was feeling toward him?

She’d have to find a way to put a stop to it.

“I’d say you are more than ready to waltz with Lord Gregory,” he said, his features stoic. “He is an excellent match.”

She was growing tired of hearing people say that. “I know. However, marriage between us is not a foregone conclusion. I am still not quite ready to make that leap.” Except she’d told the earl that she would. She owed it to him to stop being a nuisance. Particularly when he clearly saw her that way.

“You’ll have to decide soon. Lord Gregory is not stupid, and you are an excellent catch.”

“Why? I’m a nobody from the country.”

“You’re intelligent, beautiful, and you have a rather large dowry,” he added wryly. “Thanks to my father. As a second son, that will undoubtedly be enticing to Lord Gregory.”

“I’m a good investment,” she muttered.

“It’s an added benefit. Lord Gregory may have pursued you even without it.”

Fiona froze. Cocking her head, she stared at him a moment. “He knows about my dowry?”

“I would assume so.”

“Why? Is there some publication where eligible young ladies are listed with their pedigree and monetary worth?” Anger bubbled inside her.

“Of course not. But when a young woman enters the Marriage Mart, certain things are shared.”

“So you shared—with who, the entire ton—that I have an oversized dowry?”

“I made it known, yes.” His brows dug down as his eyes narrowed. “That is how things are done, particularly when a young lady is not, as you put it, pedigreed.”

“I see.” She would never know if any man was ever interested in her for her or for the money she could bring him.

Money that wasn’t hers, but with which she could change her life and be independent.

Of course, women were never afforded that option.

Just imagine if a father—or a bloody guardian—said, “This is your dowry, but if you choose not to wed, you may take it for yourself.” She nearly laughed out loud.

“You seem angry,” he said slowly.

“I feel trapped. I am utterly reliant on you and my future husband. I don’t even know what to do about poor Mrs. Tucket.

She’d probably be happier back in Shropshire, but I can’t make that happen.

I have to ask you or my husband to provide a retirement for her.

Apparently, I have a dowry that I could use, except that I can’t because it isn’t really mine. ”

Lines burrowed across his forehead. “You aren’t trapped. I am doing my best to give you the best opportunities.”

“As dictated by Society. I must learn to dance and how to behave so that I may find a husband.”

He frowned more deeply. “I also obtained books and maps for you, as well as a pianoforte. I’ve tried to give you things you’ve never had and that you clearly enjoy.”

Some of her ire dissipated, but the sense of being in a cage did not.

She thought of returning to Shropshire with Mrs. Tucket, but she’d be without choices there too, since her cousin would marry her off just as Overton was doing.

“I am grateful, my lord, for everything. And I shall repay you by marrying Lord Gregory, provided he proposes. It seems that is the preferred, and best, course. I bid you good evening.”

She turned and left the library without tidying the maps. Because to stay another moment in his presence might have completely broken her spirit.

After a particularly long day at Westminster, Tobias went directly to the gaming room at the Phoenix Club where, over the course of an hour, he lost a considerable sum of money. Most of it went to Mrs. Jennings, a sharp, witty widow around forty years of age.

As he took his leave of the table, she did the same. “You seemed distracted as we played, Overton,” she said as they walked between the tables.

Between his troublesome ward and his lack of marriage prospects, Tobias was more than distracted. One might even describe him as morose. “My mind is cluttered,” he admitted. “It was a busy day at Westminster.”

“I don’t miss that about Mr. Jennings,” she said. “He spent far too much time there, which was probably the cause of the fit that killed him.”

Tobias recalled that he’d died—in his seat in the Commons—two years previously. “Mr. Jennings was a strong voice.”

“He was indeed. Is that what you were doing today?” she asked, peering at him askance with her bright blue-green eyes. “Pontificating?”

“Heavens no.” Tobias made a slight face for comedic effect. “I try never to do that. I did deliver a small speech about voting reform, but there aren’t many who support that.”

She smiled approvingly. “Mr. Jennings would have been proud of you.”

Tobias’s father would have been horrified, which Tobias counted as an added bonus. “Are you going upstairs to the members’ den?” he asked, intending to offer his escort.

“I am.” At her confirmation, he presented his arm and an invitation. “Thank you. Can I attribute anything to your behavior beyond polite kindness?”

He guided her toward the staircase hall. “What do you mean?”

“I understand you are searching for a wife. I am probably too old for you. However, my younger sister is not. She is, however, on the shelf and not currently in London.”

Tobias liked Mrs. Jennings, but this was an odd conversation. Did he appear desperate?

“I heard about your…situation last week here in the garden.” She gave him a sympathetic look as they started up the stairs.

“I wondered if you might seek to find a bride who would not be troubled by your…activities.” Lowering her voice, she added, “My sister would not mind. In fact, she’d be happy to engage in an arrangement in which she provides you an heir and beyond that you lead separate lives. ”

Tobias caught his foot on the next stair and had to clasp the railing. Mrs. Jennings gripped him more tightly and let out a soft chuckle. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I was not, ah, expecting you to say any of that.” His mind scrambled to think of an appropriate response. Was there an appropriate response?

“Such things aren’t typically discussed so brazenly, but I don’t see a need to mince words. You seem in want of a wife and find yourself in a difficult circumstance. I only wanted to offer a solution.”

“Brilliant, thank you.” He summoned a smile. “I shall take your thoughtful offer under advisement.”

They’d reached the top of the stairs. “I’m for the library,” he said, deciding at the last moment that he’d rather not risk the chance of having to sit with her in the members’ den. He didn’t think he could withstand any further attempts at “assistance.”

She took her hand from his arm. “I thank you for your distraction earlier. My modiste will be quite happy to receive my next order.” Smiling widely, she took her leave and sauntered toward the members’ den, which would be quite full of ladies this evening since it was Tuesday.

Tobias hesitated. He should go. What if his bride was there and he had only to go in and find her?

Scowling, he turned on his heel and went to the library. There, he strode directly to the liquor cabinet and promptly swore when he couldn’t find any Scotch whisky.

“Waiting on a shipment, I think,” Wexford said from a table behind him. “There’s Irish though!” Grinning, he raised his glass.

“Irish,” Tobias muttered as he poured some. He joined Wexford at his table and sipped the whisky. “Not bad.”

Wexford narrowed his eyes jauntily. “After you finish that glass, you won’t go back. I’ll put ten pounds on it.”