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“Y ou here again, old chap?” said Ashford walking up to Robert at Almack’s a week later. “I thought you were pursuing the widow?”

“I was,” said Robert disgustedly. “I popped the question yesterday, and she turned me down flat.”

“That’s a shame,” Ashford sipped the terrible lemonade they served here, for lack of anything else to drink, he supposed.

“Yes, I’ve lost a week,” fretted Robert. “I was hoping to find the Watson girl, but she’s not here yet and it’s just minutes to ten o’clock.”

“Doesn’t look like she’ll show.”

“No.” Just then Caroline swept off the dance floor on Greathouse’s arm and came up to them. Caro was a tiny woman, one of those ethereal sorts, with strawberry blonde hair and deep green eyes. She smiled up at him.

“Robert! Lovely to see you.” She looked about and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “How goes the hunt?”

“Not well, I’m afraid,” he admitted ruefully. “I’m glad to see you looking well.”

“Thank you. Emrys, will you fetch me a drink? I’m parched!” she said with a waft of her fan.

“Of course, my love,” said her obliging spouse, breaking off his conversation with Greathouse.

“Did Lannister fleece you the other night?” asked Robert.

Greathouse laughed. “No, his luck was damnably out.”

“Fabian!” scolded Caro with a light slap of her fan to his arm.

“Sorry, my dear,” he said absently. “Ravenshaw won.”

“Doesn’t he always?” replied Robert. Ravenshaw was nothing if not competitive.

Ashford reappeared with a glass of lemonade for his wife, and Robert excused himself. He’d spotted the Grenfell girl, standing in the corner with her mother, staring at her feet. If Miss Watson wasn’t here...

Approaching Miss Grenfell, he bowed. Her mother beamed and jabbed the girl with her fan, none too subtly.

Robert winced internally. Could he bear such a woman as his mother-in-law?

Lady Lockwood was a tin-miner’s daughter, and it showed.

Miss Grenfell straightened, glanced up at him, and dropped a curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured.

“Would you care to dance, Miss Grenfell?” he asked with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“She would love to, Your Grace! Wouldn’t you, Emily?” said her mother, almost pushing the girl in his direction. He offered her his arm and drew her away from her dreadful mama onto the dance floor.

“Are you enjoying the season, Miss Grenfell?” he asked, looking for a way to open the conversation.

“Yes, Your Grace.” This was uttered with such a listless tone, it was clearly a pelter.

“You don’t care for dancing?” he queried, wondering what in blazes she did care for.

“No, Your Grace.” Silence.

“If you could do whatever you pleased, what would it be?”

“I hardly know, Your Grace.” At this point he was longing for Miss Watson’s lively conversation.

Silence ensued after that as he was at a loss as to how to draw the lady out, and she made no attempt to engage him in conversation.

She performed the steps of the dance competently enough, but with little enthusiasm.

Her whole demeanor was of someone who wanted desperately to be somewhere else.

Yet when he gave her to opportunity to express that desire, she declined to take it.

He returned her to her mother’s side and beat a hasty retreat. Really, the whole evening had been a blasted waste of time. He sought out Ashford and Caro and bade them goodnight. Ashford offered him the opportunity to come home with them and share a drink, but he wasn’t in the mood to be sociable.

His mood wasn’t improved when he got home and discovered a pile of bills waiting for him.

Including a debt of his brother’s, Lord Kenrick, for five hundred pounds!

He dashed off a livid note to his youngest brother demanding that he explain himself, then took himself off to bed to fume and fret.

Between ridiculous debts, the widow’s refusal, and the inability to find Miss Watson this evening he was in a rare taking.

The next night, at his third ball for the evening, close on one o’clock, he finally found Miss Watson.

She was just coming off the dance floor on the arm of Lord Exforth, whereupon she was besieged by a bevy of admirers.

Word had got out about her fortune, clearly.

It was easy to see, even at this distance, that this unaccustomed popularity was flustering her.

He crossed the room with rapid strides, managing to avoid being waylaid by several matchmaking mamas, and reached her side. Catching her eyes with his, he smiled and offered a bow and an arm. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I believe the next dance is mine.”

Holding her gaze, he challenged her to deny him. For a split second he thought she might. Then she inclined her head in acknowledgement and, placing her hand on his arm, let him lead her away from the disappointed group of males. There were some advantages to being a duke, after all.

Tonight, she was wearing a white muslin gown over a sea-green satin slip with silver trimming. And her reticule did not appear to contain any books. “Do you care to dance, or would you like to take a stroll in the gardens? It is disgustingly hot in here,” he said.

“Yes, some fresh air would be most welcome,” she said with a rather fixed smile.

“Your rescue was quite timely,” she added with a sideways glance that made his heart trip in an odd fashion.

He could have sworn that was another glare she threw at him.

The lady seemed to change mood faster than the weather.

Or is it just a trick of the light in her sherry-colored eyes?

“You looked besieged,” he said, holding the curtain aside for her.

“I was.” She frowned as they stepped through the open French windows onto the terrace. “Word of my fortune has spread, and now I am the cynosure of all eyes.”

“The world is regrettably mercenary,” he said with a twinge of guilt as he led her down the steps into the garden proper.

There were a number of couples taking advantage of the cooler air, and he set a sedate pace for their stroll down a path between trees forming a canopy overhead.

The moonlight filtered through the branches and gave the illusion of privacy, although they were not truly alone.

The murmur of the other couples’ voices could still be heard against the backdrop of the fainter sounds of music and conversation from the ballroom.

“I looked for you in vain at Almack’s last night,” he said.

“Lady Holbrook had a headache, so we didn’t go,” she replied.

“I was disappointed,” he said, deciding to go all in. “I wanted to see you, perhaps reprise our waltz?”

“Really? It has been a week, Your Grace.” Her voice was gentle, but he fancied there was a slight edge to it. He flushed.

“Yes, I’ve been a little busy.”

“I gather that your pursuit of the Countess of Esbury did not prosper,” she said flatly. He stiffened as if poked with a hat pin. His instinct was to protest that he didn’t take her meaning, but she didn’t give him a chance. “You haven’t seen the latest caricature?”

“No, I haven’t,” he said slowly.

“It’s quite amusing.” She didn’t look amused. “But then you must be used to being the butt of satire, being a duke and all,” she added with a drawl.

“You have a sharp wit, Miss Watson.” He spoke shortly, more than a little annoyed.

“You see, I couldn’t fathom why you suddenly took an interest in me after three seasons of ignoring me. Now I know why.” She came to a stop and turned. “I have had enough fresh air now, Your Grace. Please return me to the ballroom.”

He felt winded for a moment. The problem was he couldn’t deny that she was right without making a liar of himself, and that went against all his principles.

“You are perfectly correct in your assumptions, Miss Watson. My circumstances make it imperative that I find a wealthy wife. I can assure you it is something that I find of equal abhorrence to yourself.”

It was her turn to stiffen. Then her mouth fell open. “I have been insulted in all sorts of ways in my three years on the marriage mart, Your Grace, but I think you have just topped the list! If I am so abhorrent to you—!”

“Good heavens, I did not mean you were abhorrent!” he said testily. “I meant that the circumstances were as abhorrent to me as I am sure they are to you. Contracting a marriage of convenience was the last thing I wished to do.”

“Why? I would have thought that for one of your station it would be expected.”

“That may be, but I can assure you it is not the expected thing in my family.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. We have a tradition of marrying for love. Something I had long cherished hopes of doing. Unfortunately, I have never met a lady of suitable birth in my ten years on the marriage mart who has inspired more than mere liking or a fleeting physical attraction.” He flushed faintly to be so blunt, but since the gloves were off, he felt it best to be brutally honest.

“I see. Well, if the widow was your first choice, I make a pretty poor consolation prize,” she said, her color heightened. The lady was clearly still annoyed with him.

“You do yourself a disservice to make such an unflattering comparison, Miss Watson. You are not a consolation prize.”

“It is kind of you to say so, Your Grace, but I doubt that you are sincere.”

“Damn it all to hell, Miss Watson!” he said, losing his temper.

“You know me not at all if you think that I am in the habit of offering ladies Spanish coin!” Her eyes widened in shock, and he flushed with embarrassment.

“I apologize for my intemperate speech, but you’re the most exasperating female I’ve ever met! ”

“In that case, Your Grace, it is fortunate that if you were able to bring yourself to offer for me, as distasteful as the notion is to you, you can be assured that I would not accept!” On which, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone under the trees.

“Damn and blast!” he muttered. This is not going according to plan at all!