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Just past ten o’clock, Drew ran upstairs in The Albany. He had been walking off his irritation for hours and now he was late for the ball. He bore no anger towards Mary, she was not responsible for his birth. But today’s experience had humiliated him and re-opened childhood wounds.

It was not until a church clock struck nine times that he realised how late it had become. He had rushed back, cursing himself for deserting her again.

The handle turned but the door did not open. It was locked. Mary must have given up on him and gone to bed – at least that was what he hoped.

He unlocked the door and went in.

She was not in the parlour. Guilt grasping in his gut, he checked the bedchamber. She was not there either, but her items were, including the stays she was unable to secure herself that had been left on the bed. She had not left him, then.

In the parlour, the chessboard was back on the table, but it was broken in two. He noticed two used glasses standing with the decanters. The one he had drunk from before leaving, the other she must have used…

He felt as cold as stone. Where is she?

With her family , common sense replied. She would have sent word to her father and they would have collected her. She must be at the ball, and he could meet her there.

The smell of her perfume hovered in his rooms as he put on his evening dress. Arriving late was better than not arriving at all.

He reached the Caldecotts’ house in less than thirty minutes. The receiving line had broken up and the ballroom was full. His spine stiffened as he joined the crush, preparing to face her father.

The light from a few hundred candles shimmered in the glass of chandeliers and glittered from the mirrors lining the hall. The same mirrors reflected London society in all its splendour. Marlow and Pembroke were easy to spot. Like him, they were a head above most of the women and some of the men. Drawn like metal to a loadstone, his spirit cried for Mary as he made his way through the crowd. But still he could not see her.

He stopped, his gaze skimming over the dark heads of hair among those dancing. There , the exact shade of ebony secured in a high knot by a silver comb that had lain on his dresser earlier today.

His feet became as heavy as lead as his blood turned to ice, and a red mist clouded his vision. She was waltzing with Peter! What the hell?

Peter’s hand rested on her slender back, and his other held hers, leading her through the dance.

She had not used the second glass in his room; Peter had been in his rooms with her. And now here!

The thread that had come loose this morning unravelled at a rate of knots as his hands balled into fists. He did not hear music, nor conversation. No one existed but him and the two of them as he walked among the dancers. People stumbled, bumped into him and complained as they pulled their partners out of his way.

The music finished with a flourish and couples separated.

Peter’s hands fell and Mary stepped back smiling, the colour in her cheeks high and her eyes bright.

Drew’s stride lengthened.

Mary looked his way and her mouth opened.

Peter turned too.

Then Drew reached them.

He thumped Peter’s shoulder with his left hand, knocking him away from Mary. Peter stumbled back a step. Then Drew thrust his right fist at Peter’s jaw. The impact satisfyingly reverberated up Drew’s arm as Peter lost his balance and fell on his arse.

A chorus of screams rang out, along with deeper notes of masculine disapproval.

Peter would have risen, but Drew struck his shoulder with the heel of his shoe, keeping him sprawled on the floor. ‘Traitor!’ The word echoed about the high ceiling.

‘Andrew! Please stop!’ Mary’s hand held onto his right arm.

Peter leaned up on one elbow.

Drew was not done. He pulled his arm away from Mary and dropped to one knee. ‘Leave my wife alone. Do you hear?’ He would have grasped Peter’s neckcloth but Peter caught his wrist.

‘I was doing you a favour,’ Peter growled, his voice containing disgust.

‘I don’t care. Don’t touch her. Do you understand?’

‘I only danced with her.’

‘Do you understand?’

‘For God’s sake, don’t be ridiculous. You are making fools of us both,’ Peter snarled.

Drew clasped Peter’s cravat and twisted it as his other knee came down on Peter’s chest.

‘Enough!’ a domineering yell rang out, as someone grabbed the collar at the back of Drew’s evening coat and pulled him back. Drew released Peter with a shove as he was pulled to his feet. ‘You are embarrassing my daughter,’ Marlow hissed into Drew’s ear. Then, ‘The show is over,’ he said in a loud voice to those watching, releasing Drew’s collar.

The Duke of Arundel helped Peter to his feet.

Mary’s skin was pallid, and one hand hovered over her stomach as though she were nauseous.

Hell . He had done it now; he could not be a good enough man for her.

But Drew’s whole being revolted at the thought of Peter’s hands on her, of him in a room alone with her.

‘I will call for our carriage,’ her father said.

‘We are going now, anyway.’ Drew looked at Mary and held out his hand.

She did nothing.

He raised his hand higher, saying come to me, and desperately hoped she would…

Her hand slotted into his, in that perfect fit he had become accustomed to. But a vicelike pain clenched about his heart as he remembered her hand in Peter’s moments ago.

He turned away from Peter and her family, taking her with him. He would not apologise for who he was. They can like me or not. I do not care.

All his life that spiteful voice inside him would have then shouted, I only care for my friends. So, what now…?

So what if I no longer have Peter? I have Harry and Mark. And he had Mary. She could not leave him.

Drew forced a path through the crowd, pulling Mary by the hand behind him.

In the hall, he told a footman to find her cloak quickly. That was where her parents caught up with them.

‘Lord Framlington!’ Marlow’s strides ate up the last few yards.

Mary’s loyalty was to be tested in another tug of war.

‘What did you think you were doing? People are gossiping.’

‘What do I care?’ Drew snarled.

‘I care,’ Marlow answered, his voice low and threatening. ‘And Mary cares. You will have her ostracised. You are hurting my daughter.

‘Mary, come home with us.’ Marlow’s voice became soft and understanding. ‘We should not have let this happen. This is enough. We will protect you.’

From what? From me!

The wind blew out from the sails of Drew’s anger. This was another moment of choice: her family or him. Drew’s jaw locked hard.

Her hand held his more firmly. ‘No, Papa, Andrew and I are going home. Do not worry. I will call at John’s tomorrow.’

Relief raced beneath his skin, as cold as ice, through blood and bone and sinew. But it was too late for her to cling to him now, she had torn his heart in two. He had turned to stone inside.

Her father sighed.

‘My lady.’ A footman brought Mary’s cloak.

Her mother took it and lay it on Mary’s shoulders, while Drew held her hand as though he were drowning in a swelling sea and Mary was driftwood. The pain from his rib, he realised now as it was no longer masked by anger, was excruciating. He could barely breathe as they turned to the door.

‘Tomorrow…’ her father said, as though he would try to persuade her to leave again tomorrow.

Drew knew, now, she would not leave. She would be like his mother, stay for the sake of appearances when there was no love – and be unfaithful. He was not good enough – he was not lovable. She would turn to other men for love, men who were more like the members of her family, like Peter, and Drew would go mad with jealousy.

A shiver ran up his spine as they walked along the street.

A hansom carriage waited on a far corner. Drew raised his hand, beckoning to the driver. ‘The Albany,’ he called up their destination and opened the door for Mary.