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T he next day, having spent a restless night worrying over what had passed between Lannister and Sarah at the theater, Robert attempted to call upon her only to be denied.

He came back two hours later with the same result.

Frustrated, he went home to discover that his duties that evening were to escort Mama and Ava to Lady Castlereagh’s ball.

The ballroom was stuffed to bursting with London society, and it was obvious this was going to be a squeeze, which was a compliment to the hostess but less pleasant for the guests.

Finding chairs for his ladies in a nook picked out in ferns and flowers, they soon found themselves swamped with gentlemen eager for introductions to Lady Ava Layne.

Three who did not require such an introduction were his friends Ashford, Ravenshaw, and Pendrell, who had all run tame at The Castle since their days at Cambridge together and knew Ava from when she was in pinafores.

Ravenshaw, much to the chagrin of other gentlemen, earned the right to the lady’s first dance and swept her off with the smooth aplomb for which he was well known.

If Robert hadn’t been so preoccupied with looking for Sarah and Lady Holbrook, he might have been alarmed by this, as none knew Ravenshaw’s reputation better than he.

He had still not found them when the marquess restored Ava, flushed and sparkling to her seat.

The practiced air with which Ravenshaw kissed her hand and gave her an extravagant compliment, and his sister’s blush and coquettish laugh in response, gave him a jolt.

Little Ava was grown up and, damn it, Ravenshaw had no business encouraging her to form a tendre for him, particularly after the way he’d been disporting himself with Lady Holbrook.

He threw the marquess a disapproving look to which his lordship responded with an urbane smile and a single raised eyebrow.

Blast! He didn’t have time to be keeping an eye on Ava and chasing Sarah—no, Miss Watson, for she hadn’t given him leave to use her name, had she?

Pendrell took her out next, and since Robert had no qualms about Pendrell keeping the line—he wasn’t interested in females as his only passion was his fusty antiquities—he was able to relax for a few minutes and look about for the object of his preoccupation at this cursed affair.

He spied Miss Watson joining a set just forming with Greathouse, Ashford, and Caroline.

At least there appeared to be no sign of Lannister.

It was to be hoped that he hadn’t received an invitation.

Lady Castlereagh being a patroness of Almack’s, that seemed likely.

As much as he wanted to approach Sarah, he thought he needed an ally in his quest, and Lady Holbrook might fit the bill.

Lady Holbrook he found seated with the duennas in the corner near the entrance to the gardens. He made his way there and bowed to her. “May I steal you away, Lady Holbrook?” he asked, breaking in on her conversation with Lady Pierce.

“Of course, Your Grace,” the lady appeared startled and slightly flustered.

He guided her out onto the terrace where a seat away from the main throng gave them some privacy.

“You will be aware that I made Miss Watson an offer a few days ago and was refused,” he began abruptly.

“I am, Your Grace, and I am terribly sorry!”

He wanted most desperately to ask her if what Sarah had told him, that her affections were already engaged, was true, but felt that to ask would put the lady in the difficult position of breaking Sarah’s confidence.

Instead, he said, “I had hoped that if I could have some further speech with Miss Watson, I might persuade her to reconsider. Would that be a futile endeavor, Lady Holbrook?”

The lady’s light blue eyes widened. She seemed to be considering his words, or perhaps she was just shocked.

Whatever it was, she appeared to come to a conclusion and, leaning in, put a hand on his arm and said softly, “I do not. I do most earnestly encourage you to try again. Sarah has been a little emotional lately. She misses her family, you understand, and—and the prospect of assuming the role of your duchess overwhelmed her.”

“I see, that is understandable.” His heart lifted, this made perfect sense.

Perhaps he had been mistaken in thinking Lannister had anything to do with her refusal.

This put quite a different complexion on matters.

Sarah had given him an answer she thought would drive him away because she was afraid.

In fact, he had given her the lead by asking if her affections were already engaged.

He kicked himself for not reassuring her more. But her air of capability and intellect had fooled him into thinking her more worldly than she was. All the warm feelings he had been nurturing came back in a flood.

“Sarah has led a less sophisticated existence in a simple country vicarage. Her family is perfectly respectable and of good birth, but somewhat rustic.” Lady Holbrook echoed the direction of his own thoughts.

“I understand, thank you.”

“If you wish to have speech with her, go to the second room off the gallery at eleven fifteen. I shall contrive that Sarah will meet you there. I trust to your address, Your Grace, to persuade her.”

“Thank you, Lady Holbrook.” He rose and offered her his arm to return her to the ballroom.

He had just over an hour to wait until the appointed time of the rendezvous, and while it was tempting to request Sarah to dance, he did not.

Instead, he returned to his mother and sister’s side with the intention of keeping a glowering eye on Ava’s partners.

He took the opportunity to have a word with Ravenshaw, who was propping the wall, watching the dancers.

“I’ll thank you to stay away from Ava,” he said abruptly.

Ravenshaw eyed him with his characteristic lazy smile and said, “Keep your shirt on, Rob, there is no harm in a little light flirtation, she has to try her wings sometime. Better me than some unscrupulous type.”

“Since when have you had scruples?” demanded Robert, realizing belatedly he was being a curmudgeon. What has got into me lately? I am not usually so testy.

Ravenshaw stiffened slightly. “She is your sister, Rob, I’ve known her since she was a lass. I might be all sorts of a blackguard, but absolve me of that, please!”

Robert flushed and apologized. Damn it, I am not myself.

The sooner this business with Sarah is resolved the better.

Bethinking himself of last night he added, but rather more mildly than he had originally intended, “What were you doing squiring Lady Holbrook and Miss Watson to the recital last night?”

“Daphne had a fancy to hear the performance, so I obliged.”

“Daphne, is it? I know it’s none of my business—”

“You’re right, it isn’t,” Ravenshaw cut him off.

Robert raised his eyebrows at him, and Ravenshaw flushed faintly. “Don’t get your tails in a twist, it’s just a harmless flirtation, nothing more. You wanted me to keep her entrained at Vauxhall, I did. She’s a lonely widow, I’ve done nothing more than make her feel young again.”

With that slight assurance, Robert returned his attention to Sarah who danced every dance.

Not once did she appear to glance in his direction or even be aware of his presence, much to his chagrin.

When she and Ava were in the same set, they talked in a friendly fashion, and he longed to ask what she had said but was afforded no opportunity to ask Ava, as she was barely back at her mother’s side before she was whisked off again.

At the appointed time for the promised rendezvous, he made his way to the room indicated by her ladyship and entered.

The chamber was lit by one candelabra on the mantelpiece, and a small fire burned in the grate.

It was furnished with a couch and a side table and had a window embrasure that gave onto the gardens with thick curtains in red velvet hung on either side of tall windows.

“Daphne?” Sarah entered the room looking about and stiffened at the sight of him. “Where is Daphne?” she asked.

“Lady Holbrook? Were you expecting to find her here?”

“Yes, the servant told me she was feeling faint and had come in here to lie down.”

“She is not here,” he said, stating the obvious.

“No, you are, which I find most odd,” she said. “I will bid you good evening, Your Grace.”

“Please, Miss Watson,” he said, coming forward and pushing the door gently shut behind her. “Grant me a few moments of your time, I beg you.”

“We can have nothing further to say to each other—”

“Lady Holbrook explained. I understand perfectly.”

“You do?” her eyes widened, and a pretty flush crept into her cheeks.

He took her hands and led her gently over to the couch where he eased her down beside him, keeping a hold of her hands.

They were both wearing gloves again, and he knew a moment’s irritation.

It would be nice, just for once, to touch her skin.

She was lovely tonight in a gown of sapphire-blue satin. Her soft brown eyes stared up at him as her lips parted slightly on a faint gasp. A waft of roses and her natural scent teased him, and all the pent-up desire aroused from Vauxhall came flooding back in a rush.

“I do. Your trepidation is natural but unfounded, I assure you. You will make a magnificent duchess.” He let go of one of her hands to raise his to her face and cup her jaw gently.

“I realize with hindsight that I went about my proposal in the wrong way. I led you to think that my only motive in making it was mercenary. Please let me show you that it wasn’t. ”

“I don’t think I understand,” she said, her breath coming in short pants, her eyes wide. Is she going to flee from me again?

“Sarah, if I frightened you at Vauxhall, I’m sorry, but I thought, perhaps mistakenly, that when we danced you wished me to kiss you? Tell me I was wrong?”

She swallowed visibly and licked her bottom lip nervously; the sight sent a pulse of desire through him. “Sarah?”

“No,” she whispered. “You weren’t wr—”

He cut her off with a swift, decisive kiss, breaking it only to dive back for a longer, deeper kiss, hauling her slender, delicious body tighter against him.

As he moved his lips over hers seeking a response, she made a noise in her throat, encouragement or protest? He nudged her lips with his, a flick of his tongue on her lower lip to encourage her. He ached for her response. Kiss me, Sarah, please!

A gasp parted her lips, and he took full advantage, invading her mouth with his tongue, teasing and persuading her with his lips.

And there. The response I have been after.

She moved her lips, kissing him back, taking his tongue and replying with her own.

Desire surged in him, making him pull her closer, kiss her with deepened fervor.

If she had doubts, he did not—he unequivocally desired her.

Miss Sarah Watson should be in no doubt that I want her for more than her fortune.

*

The pressure of his mouth on hers shocked her to the core.

She had read his intent in his eyes as he leaned toward her, and her every instinct screamed at her to pull away.

But something mesmerizing held her in its grip, and instead she leaned inwards and pressed her lips to his.

The explosion of tingling delight that radiated outward from the touch of his lips robbed her of breath and sense.

The kiss at Vauxhall had just been a taster.

Since then, she had fantasized about him kissing her properly, but her imaginings were nothing to the real thing.

As his lips moved over hers, she felt a languorous heat pervade her limbs and settle between her legs.

Her heartbeat kicked up and her breath came short.

He let go of her other hand and wrapped an arm round her waist, pulling her closer against the hardness of his chest. He angled his head to kiss her more deeply, his tongue teasing her lips, and she parted them instinctively.

This kiss was so much more than the brief tantalizing brush of his mouth at Vauxhall.

Nothing in her experience had prepared her for this avalanche of feeling and sensation.

Her hands slid up his chest to his shoulders.

He was big and solid and masculine, and his taste and smell made her dizzy with delight.

She pressed into his kiss, losing herself in the pleasure of his mouth and his hands on her body. I am wicked, but oh I want more...

“Sarah!” Daphne’s shocked accents broke into her reverie, and she and the duke sprang apart guiltily as she turned to stare at the doorway where three ladies stood.

Daphne and, horror of horrors, Lady Castlereagh, their hostess, and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, two of the highest sticklers among the patronesses of Almack’s.

The duke rose immediately and bowed, his color high and a look of barely concealed fury on his face.

“Ladies,” he said.

“Your Grace, what is the meaning of this?” asked Lady Castlereagh.

He pulled Sarah gently to her feet, and he said, “You must be the first to congratulate us, Lady Castlereagh, Miss Watson has done me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage.”

Sarah stiffened, her heart thudding. He squeezed her hand gently and glanced down at her. His expression seemed to say it will be all right.

Easy for him to say! He has what he wants now, doesn’t he? She threw a furious glare at Daphne. He has conspired with her to spring this trap . Tears stung her lids and she blinked rapidly to clear them. Betrayal cut her to the quick. I will not cry like a ninny.

Daphne came forward wreathed in smiles. “Your Grace, how glad I am to hear it.” She glanced over her shoulder at the other two women. “A newly affianced couple can be forgiven one kiss, can they not?”

Lady Castlereagh’s lips twitched. “I think we can forgive His Grace a little ardor, can we not, Clementina?”

Mrs. Drummond-Burrell sniffed. “I suppose so, Amelia.”