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His large hand curled around her thigh under the table, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning as her body responded with instant desire.

It was also good that she hadn’t taken a spoonful of stew yet, because she would have spewed it across the table at the Countess of Chelsea.

Could he perhaps have been referring to them when he said, “Love is in Bath?”

Several courses came and went, and at every opportunity, his hand slid beneath the table, stroking her thigh.

The same need for his touch traveled through her entire body each time.

When desserts of fruit, nuts, custards, and confections came to the table, Emmeline was unable to eat another bite unless she loosened her stays and doused her body with cold water.

“Do you suppose the gentlemen are going to have port and cigars? Or are we going straight to the ballroom for dancing?”

“I’m hoping for port and cigars. I can’t possibly be expected to dance after everything I ate.”

“Me too. A little time in the drawing room to digest would be nice.”

“Since when do ladies talk about their digestion?” he said with a grin.

She wanted to smack him. “Since this lady felt like it. Do not look, but Caldwell is seated next to Lady Clarice Chesterfield. Remember the scandal that ensued the summer Aiden died?” She watched Andrew closely when she mentioned Aiden, otherwise she would have missed his entire body tightening up muscle by muscle.

Until today, she hadn’t notice how tense he got when Aiden’s name was spoken.

It pained her to know he was still dealing with Aiden’s death.

“No, I don’t.”

“Her parents, the Earl and Countess of Portsmouth, made several bad investments and were in dire straits. They used poor Lady Clarice. They dangled her beauty, kindness, and charm in front of all the wealthy gentlemen seeking brides during her first Season.” She softened her voice.

“It was as though they sold her to the highest bidder. Every rich aristocrat, older, widowed, single and looking for a young bride to raise his children, or looking for an heir, lined up to pay homage to her parents. Also, gentlemen who’d had trouble finding a bride for whatever reason also came to London.

They had their pick of a dozen suitors. But the earl and countess were smart, and they chose the oldest and richest. Instead of a dowry paid to the groom, I heard the groom paid a dowry to the bride’s parents and to the bride as well, so when he died, she would be rich in her own right.

Which I know happens all the time, but they announced it openly in the Daily Times . ”

“Christ.” Andrew coughed into his hand. “Warn me before you say something like that.”

“I will next time. Anyway, her parents sold... procured a wealthy and ancient husband for her. The Marquess of Chesterfield.”

“Ah, yes. I do remember now.”

“He died two years ago. No children. A distant nephew inherited the title and estate. I heard that Clarice receives two thousand pounds annually until she remarries.”

“I never took you for a gossip.”

“I’m offended. All of this could be read in the papers. What else was I to do when holed up inside my townhouse for years but keep up with the current affairs of the ton ?”

Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t know what to do with this information, and why were we discussing Lady Chesterfield anyway?”

“Well, it’s only that Caldwell looks smitten with her. Hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off her face or...” Emmeline glanced pointedly down the front of her dress.

“I see. Or rather, don’t want to see. But Caldwell is seeking company for tonight and nothing more.”

“How scandalous,” she whispered, wishing Andrew would visit her room tonight seeking her company. Moments later, the ladies retired to the drawing room and the gentlemen remained to enjoy their port and cigars.

*

Andrew went to Emmeline in the drawing room once the men rejoined the ladies, then escorted her into the small ballroom.

When the dancing began in the ballroom with thirty people in attendance—not including the older guests, such as her mother and other chaperones—Emmeline and Andrew stood in a slightly crowded corner.

Tapping her feet to the music, she hoped Andrew would ask her to dance, though from experience, she knew he wasn’t much of a dancer.

Not that he couldn’t dance, but she remembered he preferred not to take to the dance floor.

Tonight, she sincerely hoped he would indulge her and dance.

Just then, the orchestra began the opening chords of a waltz. She held her breath, hoping...

“Would you care to dance?”

Her pulse jumped. Finally, she would waltz with him. “Yes.”

They joined the other couples on the polished wooden floor.

Andrew placed his large hand on the center of her back while his other hand held hers.

The heat from the hand on her back burned through her clothing.

Her hand not holding his rested on his upper arm, near his shoulder.

His solid muscles rippled beneath her hand as they moved across the dance floor to the lively tune.

Talking wasn’t always easy during a waltz as they twirled around the room, but they made the best of it and succeeded quite nicely.

“May I ask a question?” she said, suddenly feeling shy in his arms.

“Anything within reason,” he replied with a wink.

“You’re a good dancer. Light on your feet. So why don’t you like to dance?”

“Ah, a mighty fine question. It is something I’ve never been comfortable with. I don’t mind a waltz, but the country reels and intricate line dances don’t interest me. I prefer to sit them out.”

“I understand. Many dislike them. I love all dances, but the waltz, with the right partner, can be beautiful.”

He grinned and winked at her again. “Am I the right partner?”

In every way that matters. She swallowed down the words she wanted to say. “For right now, you are,” she teased, and she enjoyed the sound of his quiet laughter.

“I deserved that.”

“Tell me how it feels to be back in London. How are your mother and sisters coping with the loss of your father?”

His body tensed, and she regretted asking him. But truthfully, she wanted to know, and she wanted him to know she cared about his family.

“Mother took it hard. My father was only fifty-eight years old and in good health. The family physician believes he had a stroke. My mother’s sister, also a widow, moved with her to the dower house. I believe they are enjoying the peace and quiet of the countryside.”

“And your twin sisters?”

“Amy and Amelia were both devastated. Their brood of children, husbands, and estates keep them busy. They married brothers, so they are still close and live an hour’s ride from each other. I imagine that gives them solace from their sadness.”

“What about you?”

His eyes saddened. “When I returned to London from the West Indies, I looked forward to spending time with my father. You know about our history and how disappointed in me he was. We corresponded, however, and I knew he was proud of me and forgave me for what I had put him through. I was excited to see him. I missed him by eight days.” He cleared his throat. “Eight heart-rending days.”

She gently squeezed his upper arm. “I’m sorry. I know you had your differences, but he bragged about you to my mother. Just because I didn’t socialize didn’t mean my mother stayed home. Besides reading the Daily Post , she kept me abreast of the goings-on in town.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

The music ended, and Andrew escorted her off the dance floor. He turned and bowed. “Today was wonderful spending it with you, but if you’ll excuse me, I believe I will retire early.”

“Goodnight.” She curtsied as her heart folded in on itself.

*

As he walked away from Emmeline, Andrew felt like a bloody arse.

He couldn’t help it, though. He didn’t want his sudden, somber mood to seem reflective in any way of what he felt for her.

Except when he entered his small chamber, his mood worsened.

He’d been playful tonight and flirting with her, which felt amazing and natural, except when his guilt had crept up when they danced.

Guilt surrounding Aiden’s death. He hated keeping the truth from her any longer, but he needed more time to solidify their relationship, so when she found out, perhaps her heart would be too invested to hate him.

An empty decanter sat on a chest of drawers, so he rang for Clayton. When he arrived, Andrew said, “I believe you packed my favorite brandy. Could you fill the decanter?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He disappeared, only to return minutes later and empty a bottle of brandy into the crystal decanter. He poured half a glass and handed it to Andrew.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No. I’m fine for tonight.”

He bowed. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”

Andrew sat in an overstuffed chair before the cold hearth, staring into his glass of brandy, contemplating his life.

He had spent a lot of time regretting several decisions and choices he’d made in the past. He was so very thankful for the good ones he’d made regarding his close friends and their business venture they so graciously let him buy into.

Since inheriting the dukedom, he didn’t need the funds from Mayfair Imports and Exports, so he had begun donating much of it to charity and had set up a fund for his future wife and children.

He wanted funds not entailed to the dukedom to be readily available to them if anything happened to him.

Since his father’s death, he had thought a great deal about his mortality and the mortality of others.

Well, to be truthful, it had really started with Aiden’s death and the darkness that followed him around like a shroud.

He didn’t want any more regrets. He didn’t want Emmeline to be a regret.

He didn’t want to look back on his life and say, what if I had done this?

He didn’t want to die never having made love to her.

Being selfish was not in his nature, except when he had been a gambler and fallen into an abyss of debt.

If he went to her room and made love to her, would that be selfish?

It would be fulfilling a dream for him, but would it be fair to Emmeline to put her in that position?

A position to risk her reputation if anyone found out or if she became with child before agreeing to marry him.

Downing the contents of his drink, he pushed his physical needs aside and went to bed with visions of Emmeline in his head.