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K ynthea’s hand shook as she fastened a single pearl necklace around her neck.

It was a replacement for one her mother once owned, given to her by her aunt last Christmas.

Her mother’s necklace had been sold along with everything else to pay her father’s debts.

And now, against all odds and thanks to the kindness of her uncle, she was about to attend her first ball.

It was Zoe’s come-out ball. Kynthea was a lowly guest who would also keep an eye on the servants, but that didn’t lessen her excitement.

She’d practiced all the dances at the same time Zoe had.

She’d learned how to plan a ball from Zoe’s mother who was a genius hostess.

The woman had organized every detail of tonight’s entertainment, and Kynthea had absorbed it all while the woman had tried to teach Zoe the task.

The girl had barely listened, but Kynthea had been fascinated by the process.

After all, she’d been the one to organize her parents’ household including their few parties.

This was the same thing but on a much grander scale, and she enjoyed learning how such a grand event was implemented.

Indeed, it was so much fun that if she somehow managed to redeem her reputation, she would add it to her skills as a lady’s companion. There had to be other ladies in the ton who wanted to throw parties but were uninterested in the details.

In any event, tonight was the big event.

It had already started with dinner for the family and a few intimates, including the duke and his younger sister Sara who was not yet out.

Her aunt thought it would be better if Kynthea ate in her room rather than upset any of the guests with her awkward reputation.

That slight stung. She was family. Her mother and Zoe’s father were brother and sister.

But she understood that Zoe’s parents were being especially careful and Kynthea didn’t want to rock the boat.

Her situation was too precarious to be upset.

So she’d swallowed the hurt and then let herself grow excited by the ball which she would attend.

It started in an hour. She’d already seen to the decorations, refreshments, and orchestra, acting on the countess’ behalf since the lady was dining with her guests. And now she was putting on the finishing touches to her appearance before her first society ball.

With her necklace on, its single pearl resting delicately at the base of her throat, she surveyed her appearance.

Her gown was simple as it was one of the countess’s cast-offs.

She would have taken one of Zoe’s gowns, but the girl was nearly a foot shorter and possessed of a full bosom.

So she’d removed all the ruffles and broken lace from her aunt’s gown, then stitched on a simple ribbon to cover places where the silk had holes.

Happily, the dark russet silk hid where her handiwork was less than perfect.

It had been six days since her disastrous evening at Almack’s.

In that time, she’d been the subject of the entire ton as they debated whether she was a brazen hussy or an ignorant country miss.

The duke, everyone seemed to agree, was simply a lustful dupe to her licentious nature.

Nevertheless, he had remained staunch in his support, and she was so grateful, she could barely look at the man without feeling weak in the knees.

Especially since her own aunt and uncle weren’t nearly so generous.

There was no reason for the duke to rise to her defense, but he had and that made him a hero in her mind. And now, despite all the bad talk about her, she was to attend her first society ball as if she were an equal to the glittering, glamorous ton.

She fussed with her hair that she’d set in the simplest style. Without any headdress or ornaments, she’d managed to twist a couple flowers into her curls. Which meant everything about her said simple and poor, but she was lucky just to be invited, so she stopped fussing and headed down to the ball.

As she passed the dining room, she heard the duke speak and everyone else laughed in response.

His voice probably wasn’t any louder or richer than any other man’s, yet she heard it like the ring of a low bell.

Not as brash as a gong, but the echoing call to attention as all eyes and ears turned to him.

She was no different. She paused by the door, straining to hear his words, wishing that he was looking at her when he spoke.

She remembered every kind word he’d said to her, relived those precious seconds when he’d looked straight at her.

Two days ago, he’d told a shrewish clergyman’s wife that Kynthea was “a lovely woman who defended her charge like a virtuous mother hen.”

He was being kind, restoring her reputation so that he need not marry Zoe.

And yet, she held those words to her heart like a teenager experiencing love for the first time.

She stroked them in her thoughts and imagined he looked her straight in the eyes as he said even more beautiful words.

Something about devotion, maybe. Or lust. And in her most private thoughts, she pretended he loved her.

Indeed, there had been several moments in the last week when she’d caught him looking at her with hunger in his eyes. It was possible she imagined it, but she felt it. And she yearned, as she never had before, for a man who could never be hers. Their social status was too disparate for a match.

And yet, she dreamed of him every night.

What harm did it do for her to imagine a duke saying he loved her?

None, except that it made her heart beat faster when she heard his voice.

It made her toes curl when she thought of when he might next look upon her.

It made her heart break when she reminded herself that a duke would never look twice at an impoverished miss at the mercy of her uncle’s charity.

She swallowed down her childish game of pretend and forced herself to move on.

Perhaps, if she were very lucky, there would be an earnest merchant’s son who noticed her tonight.

Perhaps an older widower in need of a mother for his children would look kindly upon her.

Or best of all, an older woman in need of a companion would chat with her tonight and find her perfectly acceptable.

These were her thoughts when she stepped into the ballroom to make sure that everything was in order.

Forty-five minutes later, all was indeed settled for the first guests.

Kynthea stepped out from the kitchen into the back alley for a breath of fresh air.

Or at least, as much as one could have in London.

As she walked to an oak tree, she lifted her head to the sky, trying to remember what size the moon would be above the clouds.

“There you are!” he said from behind her.

No need to identify who “he” was. His voice trembled down her spine to settle low in her belly.

Damn her for weaving dreams about him in the middle of the night.

It made her heart beat in her throat as she turned to see him.

He would have been handsome in whatever he wore, given his broad shoulders and pleasing face.

But tonight, he was dressed in perfectly tailored black that flowed smoothly down his back and revealed muscular legs that needed no padding.

She’d seen that when she’d spied on everyone collecting in the parlor before dinner.

Now she saw the perfect white of his cravat shining bright in the fading light.

But his smile upon seeing her was the brightest of all.

“Your Grace,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady. She dropped into a curtsey before him. “What brings you outside? I was taking a moment before the festivities began.”

“Should I lie and say I’m doing the same thing?” he asked as he made it to her side. “I was looking for you, you goose.”

She frowned at him. He was being exceptionally genial for the normally reserved man. “You seem to be in a good mood, Your Grace.”

“Do I?” he asked. “I suppose I am hopeful that the end is in sight. I have stood by you for days now. That quelled a good deal of the gossip. The invitations to my ball will go out next week, and Mr. Pickleherring has moved on to other targets.”

She’d seen. He’d written about some baron with unsavory appetites who could not keep staff because he was so awful.

No one cared. Lustful aristocracy was so common as to be boring.

The column had added that perhaps the writer had spoken too soon about the character of one Miss Petrelli.

By all appearances, he wrote, she was an upstanding lady.

Everyone assumed that the duke had forced the paper to print that as a kind of retraction, which meant that nobody believed a word of it.

She’d lost count of the number of times she’d heard the phrase ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire’.

As if her character carried some sort of devil’s flame set to burn everyone else.

At least she’d kept her job. “I must thank you for speaking out on my behalf.”

“It’s the least I could do. Though I thought it unfair that you could not join the family at dinner.”

She snorted, then abruptly covered her face at the unladylike noise. “Unfair? Your Grace, with my current reputation, I am lucky to be allowed to attend the ball at all.”

“Ridiculous. You’re part of their family, and dinner before a come-out ball is for family.”