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H as there ever been anything duller than this?

Richard almost spoke the words aloud—which would have been most impolitic. It was not his friends’ fault, after all, that the delights of a ball no longer gave him any joy.

“—all the way from Brighton!” the Earl of Dalmerlington was saying brightly, his prominent chin in the air. “I always thought it would be a challenge to tempt them here, but eventually, they agreed—and what music!”

The gaggle around the hosts all nodded and murmured positive noises of agreement. The music was, indeed, splendid.

Richard just about remembered to nod at the right time.

The music? What care he about the music?

“I am so delighted that you accepted my invitation,” the earl said, turning unexpectedly to Richard. “Why, I thought it would be impossible to get you to agree. You’ve become almost a recluse lately.”

Ah . “Nonsense.”

It was perhaps not the most elegant answer, but it was the only one Richard was willing to give.

This was, after all, polite Society. Anything he said here would be noted down, he knew, in the mental notebooks of half the ladies within earshot, and the news would spread to the other half before this waltz was up.

He was hardly going to admit to his friend exactly where he had been so often these last few weeks…

“—fortunate enough that you have returned from your travels,” the Earl of Dalmerlington was saying, and Richard forced himself to pay attention. “The place was quite desolate without you!”

Richard tried to smile as the other guests gathered around the earl looked at him curiously. “I am sure London Society has managed to go on quite well without me.”

Many things had changed, but nothing of true import. Besides, he did not want any further whispers about where he had been and precisely what he had been doing there. The least said about that, the better.

Not that it had stopped the letters.

—need you here in France. The work is not yet done—

—understand you greatly suffered, but I had hoped you would return—

—even receiving these letters? I have received no word from you in weeks—

Richard’s jaw tightened. He had been receiving the letters from his colleagues still in France but had not replied.

What could he say? That his nightmares only lessened when he saw a particular woman?

That he was starting to see her as a medley of friend and confidante and medicine?

That the idea of subjecting himself to the dangers of France again filled him with dread, but not as much dread as the thought that he had turned coward?

“—and the candles you have, most exquisite,” someone else was saying.

Richard’s friend beamed. “I am so delighted you noticed! I was speaking to my butler only a fortnight ago, and he said there was something very exciting occurring in the candle world. Well, I said, tell all! And he said…”

Whatever was happening in the candle world, Richard would never know. His concentration had meandered as soon as it had become clear that the topic would not involve a particular young woman… which was the only reason Richard had agreed to come to this damned place at all.

It was foolish, perhaps, but Richard had made up his mind. No more secrets. He had fallen into that lifestyle in France and it was time he broke it.

The Dalmerlington ball felt like the appropriate place to be formally introduced to Evelyn.

Her family was sure to be on the invitation list, Richard had been certain.

How, precisely, she would react to being introduced to a man she knew only as ‘Richard,’ only to discover he was truly Viscount Sempill…

Well. Richard’s imagination veered from delighted, hysterical tears to thumping him hard on the nose. Both were equally likely.

But the evening had dragged on and where were the Chances?

“—and so here we are, with the most splendid candles you can find in the whole of London.” The earl beamed.

There were murmurs of approbation and delight in the group, and Richard did his best not to roll his eyes.

Honestly: candles? That is the most riveting conversational topic in London tonight?

No wonder he had left England for adventure.

“You look distracted, Sempill.”

Richard jumped. Dalmerlington was smiling blandly and there was no malicious bone in his body, he knew. Still. It was almost too innocent.

“I was merely wondering if all your guests had arrived, my good friend,” Richard said aloud.

How long had they been friends, exactly?

The earl’s father and his own father had grown up together.

That much, he could remember… “The place is packed. You and your lady wife are clearly a popular invitation.”

Dalmerlington thrust out his chest. “Oh, yes, there are few people invited to a Dalmerlington ball who refuse. In fact, I know precisely whom you are waiting for.”

Richard almost dropped the glass of wine he had just taken from a footman’s silver platter. “You do?”

How was it possible? Had he not been careful, been surreptitious in his dealings with Evelyn? Had he not been circumspect?

But then, you did march up to her in Green Park, stayed with her, even after her chaperone left , Richard thought wildly, wishing to goodness the whole group was not staring at him. And we went to that art gallery. And the street that one time—

“Yes, Walden should be here any moment,” mused Dalmerlington, his voice breaking into Richard’s frantic thoughts. “I expected him to—ah, there he is.”

Richard’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Oh—oh yes, good. Do excuse me ladies, gentlemen.”

It was the perfect excuse to separate himself from that particularly dull crowd. Richard was forced to push through a number of people before eventually reaching Walden, who had just entered.

“You look mightily flushed,” his friend said easily, clapping him on the back. “Been putting a few of Society’s ladies through their paces?”

Richard’s eyes became a stern glare. “What the devil do you think you mean by that?”

Walden stared. “Why, dancing, of course. What else could I mean?”

Ah. Right. Yes. They were at a ball.

“Nothing,” said Richard swiftly.

Well, it made a change from being bored out of his skull, he supposed. Now Walden was here, he could inquire on an entirely different matter.

Just as long as he could do it without making a complete ass of himself…

“It’s a busy ball,” he said nonchalantly. “Don’t you think?”

His nonchalance was entirely wasted on his friend. “What is it that you want, Sempill?”

“Nothing,” said Richard hastily. Too hastily. “Well, something. I just wondered…”

Whether you knew the Chances , he wanted to say. No, not the duke and his family, or the marquess and his—the other ones. No, not the illegitimate one adopted into legitimacy! The earl. His daughters. One daughter in particular…

It had been impossible to ask around about Evelyn because there simply wasn’t anyone to ask. Richard had lost most of his acquaintance after leaving for France. Being entirely incommunicado for several years had that general effect.

Now he only had Walden, and his friend was fixing him with a most unpleasant smile.

“You want to ask about a woman.” He chuckled. “I’m going to need a glass of wine for this—wine, or something stronger.”

“No, I merely—”

“Because I cannot recall the last time you ever asked about a woman. In fact, I do not think you ever have,” said Walden with a crowing laugh. “Have you finally fallen in love then, man?”

Richard swallowed.

No , he wanted to say.

But it would have been a lie. A lie of sorts. Whatever he had fallen into with Evelyn could not be categorized by mere words. Love did not do it justice.

Oh, hell, he was in trouble.

“I just thought…” Richard began.

He could not continue. He had become instantly distracted by the couple who had just entered the Dalmerlingtons’ ball, looking resplendent in matching green.

The Earl and Countess of Lindow. He had never seen the former that he could recall, but he recognized the latter.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Richard muttered, pushing past his friend.

“Sempill? Sempill, what on earth are you doing?”

Richard ignored him. It was nothing personal; he would have ignored anyone to whom he had been speaking in that moment.

Because Lady Lindow had glanced about, caught his eye… and smiled.

She remembered him.

Richard did not think. There was no time for thoughts because he had crossed the ten feet between them and was now standing, utterly silent and awkwardly gormless, before the Earl and Countess of Lindow.

The earl frowned. “Do I know you, sir?”

Ah. Right. Society’s rules.

Richard had been well drilled in them as a child, particularly when he had inherited his own viscountcy. Strange how they slipped his mind now, all thoughts instead pointing hazily to Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn…

“Ah, it’s that polite young man who is modeling for Evelyn,” Lady Lindow said warmly. “I hope you did not catch a chill after I last saw you.”

“No—no, Lady Lindow, thank you.” Get a grip, man! “I was most grateful for your hospitality, however, and wanted to introduce myself formally to yourself and your family. Is… Is Evelyn with you?”

It had not occurred to Richard for one moment that Evelyn would not be with them. After all, she was out in Society, was she not? Surely, she would be with her parents, available for dancing and for gentlemen to consider her as a match…

Richard’s jaw tightened, his temple throbbed, and pain as he had never known before rose inside him.

Why had the thought not occurred to him before? It was possible that Evelyn was being courted by a gentleman from Society. There was plenty of time that he and Evelyn were not together, after all, and they had made no promises to each other.

His stomach lurched. Where had that come from? Did he want to make promises to her?

The Earl of Lindow was inspecting him with a great amount of suspicion. Perhaps rightly so, Richard could not help but think. After all, he had called her ‘Evelyn’ and not ‘Lady Evelyn.’