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The Venetian masquerade at Lady Whitney’s house was expected to be the most talked-of event of the season, but as Lady Emma Renfrew wove her way through the crowds, her vision ever-so-slightly obscured by the mask tied on with silk ribbons, she wished with all her might that she had stayed home.

John had called upon her at home and escorted her to the party in his phaeton. Now, her hand lay lightly on his arm as they maneuvered through the crowds. And yet, from the moment she had laid eyes on him this evening, he had seemed distant, as if he weren’t actually there.

It had been three days since their searing kiss in Vauxhall Gardens, and he had been thus ever since.

He was present with her but not, barely meeting her eyes.

He was abstracted, distant. And yet, she frequently felt his eyes heavy on her when she wasn’t looking.

She tried to catch him staring at her, but he was too fast; every time she turned, he was already looking away.

At first, she thought it was some kind of game he was playing, but now, she feared the worst. I was too forward the other day.

He is reconsidering the marriage. Of this, she was increasingly certain.

He had barely even looked at her when he arrived at her townhouse to collect her this evening, sparing no compliments for her person, her figure, her dress.

And now, in the heat of the ballroom, he was looking everywhere but at her—most likely looking at the other young ladies he had yet to conquer.

He is a rake, after all. He believes he has conquered me with a kiss, has already grown bored, and is looking for his next conquest. And Emma didn’t understand why this idea bothered her so much.

After all, her initial marriage proposition made it clear that they would not interfere with each other’s business.

She’d had no intention of stopping her own escapades, and she saw no reason why he should, either.

Theirs was merely a business arrangement.

But if that was the case, why was she increasingly bothered by the way John’s eyes scanned the ballroom, taking in everything but her?

At that moment, the subject of her thoughts turned to face her. For the first time all night, he turned the full power of his gaze on Emma, electrifying her. “It seems they are preparing for the next dance,” he said. “Would you like to join me on the dance floor, Lady Emma?”

Emma struggled to conceal her relief and pleasure as she nodded and replied, “I would be delighted, Mr. Davenport.”

He led her to the dance floor as their hostess was busily arranging the couples and finding partners for everyone.

It was a matter of moments before they were in the set, surrounded on each side by countless other couples, all in masks that hid their expressions more than their identities.

The musicians struck up their tune, and the dance began.

John and Emma said little for the first few minutes, moving through the steps in an awkward silence. Finally, when Emma could stand it no longer, she said, “We must have some conversation, Mr. Davenport. Otherwise, the gossips will think we had a falling-out.”

His eyes seemed fixed on her right shoulder as they advanced and retired toward and away from each other in the figure. “Forgive me. I… I am not sure what to say.”

Emma’s temper flared, and as they crossed by each other within the set, she hissed at him, “Is this truly how you seduce all your conquests?”

His face paled, and his blue eyes snapped up to meet hers. “I’m afraid not.” His expression shifted to become more flirtatious, but she noted that his countenance was still unusually pale. “Would you like a proper seduction?”

Emma bit back her response as they separated within the figure, circling around the other pair in their set. When they came back together moments later, John wore the look of a teasing flirt, but Emma could tell it was a mask. His smile never fully reached his eyes.

“I would simply like for you to look as if being engaged to me isn’t a trial,” she whispered as they passed each other once more.

“Believe me, my lady, nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Then why am I subject to all your scowls this evening? Can you not look pleasant and like a man in love?”

His next words set her heart thudding heavily in her chest: “It is easier to give the appearance of such emotions when I do not feel them so acutely.”

Emma stumbled in her steps. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice—not even John or the other young couple they were dancing around, who had eyes only for each other. What can he mean? What can he possibly mean? John can’t possibly be… No, it’s not possible!

For several minutes, Emma didn’t dare respond as his words turned over and over in her mind. She couldn’t meet his eyes, and she didn’t feel John’s searching hers out.

Their first dance ended, and the second began, still without Emma making a response of some kind.

For the second dance, there was far more time to stand and converse as they waited for the top couple to make their way down to them, which forced Emma to continue their conversation.

She settled on the simpler way forward through his last, oh-so vexing, comment.

“So, are you saying that you did not truly love all those young ladies whose hearts you broke?” she asked archly.

“I have only ever loved one lady—the one I told you about in the park the other day.”

That settled Emma’s mind somewhat. “Then why can you not play the same part with me that you did with all those other ladies?” She tried to make the question teasing, but it came out as more of a whine. “Or does seducing your intended lack any true challenge?”

The top couple reached them before he could respond, and the demands of the dance delayed John’s reply. As they passed each other, though, twirling in a circle with the top couple, he managed to whisper in her ear, “Why indeed?”

Emma struggled to understand his comment, but she was still twirling, spinning with her partner through the set until she came to a halt again, dizzy and breathless.

John was facing her across the set, a smug smile on his face.

He looked flushed from the exercise, and his Venetian mask had set his hair askew. Emma wanted to kiss him.

Instead, she changed the subject. “Is the lady you once loved here tonight?”

“She is indeed.”

“Could you point her out to me?”

His teasing smile was fading. “Why do you want to know who the lady is?”

“Because I am curious, and you are being so odd and cryptic tonight.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” she said, growing frustrated. “You refused to even look at me at first, and now, you answer all my questions with only half-answers.”

“Do you feel flirted with?” He raised a teasing eyebrow.

Before Emma could respond, the dance ended.

She breathed a sigh of relief as all the partners stepped back and bowed.

John escorted her to the edge of the dance floor and then quickly excused himself to bring her some punch, leaving her alone and confused.

The moment the dance ended, he had reverted to his quiet, odd, distant behavior.

He quickly returned with two glasses of punch; his expression was unreadable. They sipped their punch in silence for a few minutes as Emma struggled to understand John’s new distance and why it bothered her so much.

Before she could settle on an answer, though, the first strains of the Viennese waltz sounded across the ballroom.

Emma’s heart danced for a moment, then grew still, quiet, and cold.

She had always loved the spinning sensation of the scandalous partner dance, but now, with John as her partner, she didn’t know if she could stomach the closeness.

Still, when he offered his hand and muttered a few quiet words requesting her presence on the dance floor once more, Emma murmured her own acceptance and took his hand.

Soon, they stood in the middle of the crowded dance floor, the heat of their bodies melding together, their faces so close that she could smell the punch on his breath.

The one-two-three tempo swept them up, and soon, they were spinning, whirling, twirling.

John’s hand was nearly feverish on the small of her back, holding her close—so close she could feel every inch of him.

Emma normally liked the sensation of losing herself in the close, spinning movement of the Viennese waltz, but now, it was too much.

Too much noise. Too much spinning. Too much John.

Her lips parted in a little gasp for extra air.

“You asked me earlier about my seductions,” John said, continuing their prior conversation. Emma was grateful for the distraction, yet annoyed by the topic. He smiled down at her and offered a flirtatious, “The waltz is often a favorite of mine.”

“And mine,” Emma heard herself say. “It provides a venue for much more intimate conversation.”

“And intimate other things.”

His teasing released something tight and hard that had formed in her chest, making it easier to breathe again.

She could do this. She could flirt and banter and not risk her heart.

“Did you ever waltz with your lady fair?” she asked.

Emma wasn’t sure why she kept coming back to this—to the lady John had loved from afar for so long.

He hesitated, then answered. “No, I never had the opportunity. I was never bold enough to ask her.”

“Since she is here tonight, perhaps you can ask her to dance later. I would not be offended.” Something twisted in her gut, though—something low and deep and ugly—that said otherwise.

“Why are you so interested in the state of my heart?” he asked, both his tone and expression unreadable.

Emma withdrew into herself, her teasing manner fleeing. “I’m sorry. I should not have spoken of it. Forgive me.”

They lapsed into silence then as they swirled around the ballroom.