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She couldn’t blame them for being eager to be rid of her, she supposed. She’d been rattling around the house and dragging the corpse of her soul behind her for nearly a year. Who would wish to subject themselves to that?

“A scandalous courtship? Are you suggesting that I wasn’t born three months prematurely?” Truman gasped.

“Yes, well, you might say it encouraged me to return to London for another Season.”

“Whether you wanted to or not, hmm?” He turned his head back toward the ballroom, his look dark and foreboding.

She followed his gaze to find Kellum standing with one elbow resting on the spiral newel-post at the base of the ballroom

stairs, holding court for a passel of adoring sycophants. His annoying scuckle bounded through the crush like a pig on the loose.

“I noticed you kept two dances available on your card. You weren’t hoping for...”

“No,” she said at once. Then repeated herself for good measure. “No. I’m not a dimwit.”

There was a hardness lingering in the gaze that studied hers, an unspoken promise of retribution if she should but ask. But

he must have been satisfied with her answer, because he offered a short nod.

“And yet, you’re still the sister who brought chickens into the drawing room,” he said, the light catching the silver skin

of that scarred brow as it arched in teasing.

She felt her lips twitch despite herself. “I’ll never live that down, will I?”

“Never.” He grinned and proffered his arm. “Care to return to the horde? I’m sure your next partner is ready to impress you

with superior form and grace.”

His inflection was the exact imitation of their old dancing master, whom they’d dubbed Mr. Bumbleton because he was forever

warning them against the bumbling offenses of slouching and stumbling.

Thea was laughing as they turned, just when Captain Summerhayes appeared. She hadn’t realized he would be among the guests this evening.

The instant he saw her brother, he stopped at the threshold, his expression one of surprise. “ Hawk? ”

Truman blinked. “Summerhayes. I heard you were in town.”

“I imagine you did. As I recall, very little escapes your notice.” His momentary surprise faded as he extended his hand. “It’s

good to see you under better circumstances.”

Thea pretended not to notice the way her brother discreetly shook his head or the way his arm tensed beneath her hand. Dutifully,

she tamped down her curiosity. For the moment. There was a story there that she very much wanted to hear. But this was clearly

not the time.

“I have recently become acquainted with your sister,” he continued. “And if it is acceptable to you, I should like to request

a dance. That is”—he turned to her—“if Miss Hartley is amenable.”

It was clear in her brother’s curious expression that he was wondering if Summerhayes was the reason she’d kept those dances

empty on her card.

She knew it had been foolish to hold out hope that St. James would have been in attendance. That he might have asked her.

She couldn’t have accepted, regardless. And yet, she had still hoped.

But not any longer.

“I would be delighted, Captain,” she said with practiced alacrity worthy of the stage.

He glanced down at her card and smiled. “Shall we attempt the dinner waltz again?”

Ignoring the pang in the center of her chest, she nodded.

***

After the dinner waltz, she’d ended up offering Summerhayes the last dance she’d left open, as well. But when it came time to take her to the floor, she asked if he wouldn’t mind taking some air instead. Her heart simply wasn’t into dancing.

They ventured out onto the terrace with Truman’s nod of approval as he lingered inside and spoke with an old friend.

Earlier, her brother had remarked that Summerhayes was a good man, but a serious one. “He’s looking for marriage,” he’d said.

“Not simply wanting to pass the time on the arm of a pretty girl.”

In other words, she should be serious as well about her choice.

And yet, the last time she had thought she’d been serious, she had chosen wrong. How could she trust herself again?

As if conjured by her thoughts, Kellum appeared on the terrace. And framed in the glow of the ballroom, he looked all too

smug.

Beside him was Lord Buxton, puffing on a cigar. They were deep in conversation and didn’t seem to notice her. But she had

little faith that Buxton would allow her to escape this evening without having his drama.

Believing she could steal inside before they saw her, she turned to her escort.

Summerhayes had his face tilted toward the night sky with the quiet reverence of a man who’d used the stars to guide him home

a time or two.

“Do you miss it?” she asked, curious despite her need to slink away unnoticed.

“When the nights are clear like this one, aye.” He breathed in deeply, then looked down at her. “But my feet are firmly planted

on English soil, where I hope to build a home.”

“If you are building a house, you should consider my brother as your architect,” she said quickly, purposely misunderstanding

his meaning.

The flesh around his eyes creased attractively when he grinned. “I believe you know that isn’t what I meant. But I understand you. These things take careful consideration, after all. Though, I will assuredly think of your brother for the design of my country home.”

She was grateful that he wasn’t pressuring her. He was kind, considerate and patient, not to mention handsome and intelligent.

He was precisely the type of man she’d hoped to find after last Season.

So then why couldn’t she stop thinking about St. James?

Before the chorus could chime in with their opinion, she decided to embrace her eldest sister’s more sensible nature. Looking

up at him—and trying not to compare his height and coloring to St. James—she said, “I suppose this is when I ask where you

intend to live.”

He grinned again in approval. “I actually have several properties. One, most notably in Lincolnshire where, I believe, your

parents live.” At her nod, he continued. “But I’ve yet to make a firm decision.”

He was good enough to turn his gaze toward the gardens instead of handing her the weight of an expected response. And he continued

conversationally, remarking on the merits of each parcel.

She listened with a distracted ear when she thought she heard her name mentioned between the pair of gentlemen at the far

end.

Her shoulders tensed. She’d been spotted. But surely Buxton and Kellum wouldn’t have the audacity to approach her when she

was with Captain Summerhayes.

Oh, who was she fooling? Of course they would. Where one loved drama, the other loved being the center of attention.

She stole a wary glance down to the men just as Kellum’s gaze met hers.

The instant she saw him move in her direction, she felt the clutch of panic root her to the terrace stones. She wanted to turn away. But it was as if those roots were slowly dragging her down, encircling her ankles, vining upward to curl around her throat...

“Miss Hartley, what a delight to see you again,” Kellum said, sweeping up her unoffered hand and pressing his lips to it before

she could pull away.

When she did, she shored up her spine. She wouldn’t reveal that just the sound of his voice could make her feel smaller. As

if she were slowly sinking into the earth, disappearing without a trace, without even a footnote.

“Sir Archer,” she said.

Years of performances on the family stages had taught her how to hold her features unmovable. Therefore, Captain Summerhayes

wouldn’t detect her disquiet, and Lord Buxton wouldn’t have his entertainment. But more importantly, Kellum couldn’t feed

off her reaction as he’d always done, practically crowing in triumph whenever he’d reduced her to tears.

As if her lack of reaction posed a delightful challenge, Kellum’s eyes brightened. “It has been nigh on a year since we’ve

last been in such close confines, has it not? Then again, I’m sure you could tell me the exact day. You likely wrote it down

in one of those little ledgers you like to keep.”

“I’m sure I cannot recall.” She swallowed. “Have you met Captain Summerhayes?”

Without missing a beat, Kellum turned with a genial smile that won over nearly everyone he met. “Captain Summerhayes, a pleasure.

We haven’t been introduced, but I’ve heard many good things about you and I was looking forward to making your acquaintance.”

As Summerhayes shook his hand, Thea was struck by how easy it was for Kellum to appear the amiable man-about-town. Manipulation

was mother’s milk to him.

The evening they’d met flashed through her mind. How impressed he’d been that she knew so much about the structure of a play. His woebegotten tale of his secretary running off and leaving him in a bind, and Thea’s innocent offer to assist him.

Admittedly, she’d been dazzled by him. That was the reason she hadn’t seen it. How nothing she did was ever good enough. She

would stay up all through the night making copies of his plays because he said he didn’t trust anyone else. Then he would

look the pages over and find displeasure in her penmanship, her margins, a stray drop of ink...

From there, after he affectionately said she made a worthless secretary, he invited her to watch one of his plays from his

own box. Then he’d begun to court her. He’d showered her with comfits, popped by for surprise visits, overwhelmed her with

his attention... and apologized for being so jealous after he’d lost his temper, time and again.

Looking back, she didn’t know how she hadn’t seen it while it was happening.

“Lost in your own little world again, Miss Hartley?” Kellum smirked when she blinked and chafed her hands over her arms. “You

had the faraway look of reminiscence on your face.”

Thea shook her head. For him to say such a thing was unspeakably rude to Captain Summerhayes.

“No, indeed. I simply did not want to interrupt your conversation.” She remembered how much he despised being interrupted.

“However, if you are through, then the captain and I’ll leave you and Lord Buxton to your cigars.”

When she put her hand on her escort’s arm, Kellum stepped forward.

“Actually, if Summerhayes doesn’t mind, I should like to have a private word with yooo —”

A surprised squawk came out of him as he stumbled. Then, the estimable Sir Kellum Archer fell to his hands and knees at her

feet.

He howled with incredulity, cursing out accusations of someone having the nerve to trip him. But it wasn’t until he glanced back that they all noticed the ropes of ivy wrapped around his ankle.

Thea was no expert in horticulture. However, she was fairly certain ivy didn’t grow that quickly. Which meant that something,

or someone , made certain that Kellum would fall.

It seemed impossible. The terrace was six feet from the garden below. It would have taken a very tall man to reach up, to

loop the ivy around an ankle without anyone noticing.

There was only one man who could have done it. One man who blended in with the shadows. One giant of a man that no one would

ever suspect of being that clever.

Her breath caught at the possibility, her heart thumping like a rabbit beneath her breast.

She spun around to search the shadows. And just then, she heard a rustling sound on the stones at her feet. And there, perched

on the very edge of the terrace, lay a small paper rose.

As Summerhayes and Buxton assisted Kellum, she bent down and just managed to slip her arm through the balustrade when her

hand was clasped by someone below. Someone in the shadows. It was just a brief touch and over before she could even form a

gasp. But she knew precisely who it was as warm tingles raced up her arm.

St. James.

Standing, she tucked the flower into her bodice and smiled toward the darkness.

He couldn’t stay away, she thought. And that changed everything.