... This paper has it on excellent authority that a certain impoverished Lord has taken an interest in a very well dowered Lady. While we cannot confirm the lord-in-question's plans, we can confirm that they spent a quarter of an hour on a dark balcony several nights ago. We are assured that, while Lord L— was a perfect gentleman, he shan't need to be for much longer...

... Truly, there are few couples we adore more than the Marquess and Marchioness of R —. It has been more than a decade that we've watched them make eyes at each other, and of such obvious adoration, this paper does not tire. Rumor has it that they even fence together...

The gossip pages of The Weekly Britannia, April 29, 1833

The columns were beginning to work.

Georgiana had danced with five potential suitors at the Beaufetheringstone Ball, including three impoverished fortune hunters, an ancient marquess, and an earl of questionable breeding. And the night was only half over.

Now, as the orchestra paused between sets, she stood at the refreshment table at the far end of the room with Viscount Langley, no doubt waiting for the music to begin so the two could dance – and she could take the next steps in securing her future role as viscountess.

The attention might have been because the Duke of Leighton had called in all his chits to get his sister married. The duke and duchess were in attendance, as were the duchess's extended family including the Marquess and Marchioness of Ralston, and Lord and Lady Nicholas St. John.

Or it might have been because the owners of The Fallen Angel were also in attendance, though their support was required to be slightly less public. But they were in attendance, nonetheless, which was something of a marvel, as there were few things the Marquess of Bourne and Earl Harlow enjoyed less than Society functions. Yet they were here, posted about the room like silent sentries.

It might have been because of the wives – each a power in her own right, newly minted, a new generation of the aristocracy. Some scandal, some utter societal perfection.

It might have been any of those things, but West knew better.

It was the newspaper columns.

And West wasn't certain how he felt about their success.

He stood watch over the entire scene, observing as Lady Beaufetheringstone, the most gossip-prone doyenne of the ton, lifted her lorgnette and cast a discerning eye in Georgiana's direction. After a long moment, Lady B lowered the glass and nodded once before turning to the ladies in her surrounds, no doubt to discuss the new addition in her ballroom.

It was remarkable that Georgiana required West's support – what with the collection of lords and ladies in her orbit, those who had navigated the myriad pitfalls of Society themselves in their own scandalous journey to acceptance. But there was nothing in the world more dangerous than a woman cloaked in scandal and without marriage.

So it had been when Eve had tasted the apple, when Jezebel had painted her face, when Hagar had lain with Abraham.

He watched as she lifted a glass of champagne and drank. When she lowered the glass and smiled at her companion, West imagined her lips gleaming with residual wine, imagined sipping it from them.

It might have been days since their kiss, but the taste of her lingered, and every moment he thought of her or caught a glimpse of her, he grew more desperate for this ball to end, and the night to begin. He was simply biding his time until he could touch her.

Langley placed a hand at her elbow, guided her to the ballroom floor for their dance.

He was beginning to dislike Langley.

He was beginning to dislike the viscount's easy smile and his perfectly tailored coats and his untouched cravats. He was beginning to dislike the way he moved, as though he were born for this place, for this world, and perhaps for this woman. It didn't matter that such a thought was supremely irrational, as Langley had been born for all those things.

And he was really beginning to dislike the way the viscount danced. All smooth grace and gentlemanly movements. And the way Georgiana smiled up at him as they twirled across the floor – not up at him, West edited disagreeably, as Langley was equal to her in height and no taller.

He tried his best to avoid the scowl that threatened. He didn't like how handsome a couple they made. How easy it was to see them as one.

How easy it was to realize that they would make handsome children.

Not that he cared about their children.

She met his gaze, and pleasure shot through him. She was beautiful tonight. Even at six and twenty, she was brighter than most of the women in attendance. She fairly glowed in the candlelight, the silk of her gown gleaming as Langley twirled her through the room, her golden curls brushing against the place where the long column of her neck met her shoulder. The place where she smelled of vanilla and Georgiana. The place he intended to lick the next time they were alone.

He nodded his head in her direction, and she flushed, looking away instantly. He wanted to crow his success. She wanted him. He was willing to bet nearly as much as he wanted her.

And they would both have what they wanted tonight.

He itched to touch her. He'd thought of little else since the moment she'd turned to him in the park the prior day and said, "I choose you." Christ, he'd wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her into the nearest copse of trees and lay her bare and worship every inch of her with every inch of him, damn the world into which she'd been born and the one in which she'd chosen to live.

I choose you.

It did not matter that she'd likely said the same words to a dozen other men in her life. That she likely knew their power and wielded it like an expert.

When she'd said them to him, he'd been hers. Instantly. Filled with a dozen ideas of how to make her his. His desire had been primitive at best – he'd wanted her. Fully.

And tonight, he'd have her.

"Did you receive my note?"

He stiffened at the words, turning to face the Earl of Tremley, now at his shoulder. "I did."

"You have not run the article we discussed."

The war in Greece. Tremley's support of the enemy. "I have been busy."

"Gambling and socializing are not business. I do not like being ignored. You would do well to remember that."

Everything about the words angered West, but he knew that the marquess was angling for a fight. "I am paying attention now."

"Because one word from me and every one of these people would happily turn up to see you hang."

West hated the truth in the words – the fact that, no matter the reasons for what he did, no matter the outcome of the actions, no matter the power he now wielded as a newspaper magnate, he was not one of them.

He never would be.

He ignored the thought, turning back to the ball, pretending to care, as he had for more than a decade, about this world that would never be his. "What do you want?"

He asked the question as a collection of young men passed, no doubt looking for a card game to pass the time at a ball their mothers had forced them to attend. Several of them turned to acknowledge Tremley and West, finding nothing strange about the two men deep in conversation.

They both held important positions – Tremley, as an advisor to King William, and West as a newspaperman to whom much of Society was beholden. There was only one other man who shared their influence.

The man Tremley had come to discuss. "I want Chase."

West laughed.

"I fail to see the humor in it," Tremley said.

West raised one brow. "You want Chase."

"I do."

He shook his head. "You and the rest of the known world."

Tremley smirked. "That may be, but the rest of the known world doesn't have you."

That much was true. For a decade, West had been funneling information about Society to Tremley as blackmail payment for the earl's silence about his past. About their mutual past.

And every day, every piece of information he shared and printed killed West a little more. He was desperate to get out from under this vicious man. Desperate for the information that would free him.

Years of practice kept him from revealing the fury and frustration that roiled in him whenever Tremley was here. "Why Chase?"

"Come now," Tremley said, the words low and nearly teasing. "There are only two men in London who come even close to having my power. One of them is in my pocket." West's fists clenched at the words even as Tremley continued. "The other is Chase."

"That's not enough for me to go after him."

Tremley laughed, cold and full of hate. "I like that you think you've a choice. He's shown an interest in my wife. I don't like being threatened."

Anger flared as West considered Tremley's treatment of his wife. "Chase is not the only man who might threaten you."

"Surely you don't mean yourself." When Duncan did not reply, the earl continued. "You can't ruin me, Jamie."

The whisper of the name, decades old and unused, sent a thread of unease through Duncan. It made him itch to destroy the smug earl. It made him willing to do anything for the information Lady Tremley had offered for her membership to The Fallen Angel.

He took a breath. Affected calm. "You think I have not looked for Chase before? You think I am not aware of how well that reveal would sell papers? While I'm flattered by your confidence, I assure you, not even I can gain access to Chase."

"But the whore can."

The words – the word – rocketed through him, and it was only the ball whirling around them that kept West from sinking his fist into the earl's smug face. "I don't know whom you mean."

"You are tiresome when you wish to be," the earl sighed, feigning interest in those dancing past. "You know exactly who I mean. Chase's woman. Now, apparently left over. To you."

West stiffened at the description, at the way she was tossed about as nothing more than an accessory. At the way he referenced her – cheap and used and unwanted.

She was the daughter of a duke, for Christ sake.

Except she wasn't to Tremley. Just as she wasn't to the rest of London.

"There's no use denying it," the earl continued. "Half the ton saw you steal into a private room at the casino the other night. I've heard three different stories that say Lamont stumbled upon you up her skirts. Or was it she who was down your trousers?"

He wanted to roar his anger at the insult. If anyone else dared speak in such a manner, West would destroy them. They would suffer for a week at his hands. And they would suffer for years at the tip of his pen.

But Tremley was safe from West's anger, because he knew too well how it had been used in the past. What it had fought for. What it had won.

And so instead of beating him bloody, West said, "You should be careful with how you speak of the lady."

"Oho, she's a lady now? The whore" – he emphasized his crass wording – "must be tremendous between the sheets if you're elevating her so far." Tremley looked back at him. "I don't care what you do to her. But she's Chase's whore first and foremost. And you'll get me his identity."

One day he would destroy this man, and it would feel glorious.

The earl seemed to hear the unspoken thought. "You loathe it, don't you?" he said, watching West carefully. "You hate that I have so much power over you. That with a single breath, I could ruin you. That you are beholden to me. Forever."

Hate was too easy a word for what West felt for Tremley. "Forever is a very long time."

"Indeed, you would learn the truth of that statement if you were ever found out. I am told that forever in prison is even longer of a time."

"And if I cannot get you his identity?"

Tremley looked away and West followed his gaze, the way it flickered over the ton, finding his wife in the throngs of dancers. West noticed the lady's eye, yellowed around the edge. It took a moment to realize that Tremley was not in fact looking at his wife; her partner turned her, revealing the couple behind. The woman behind.

Cynthia.

"She's a pretty girl."

West's blood ran cold at the threat. "She stays out of it. That's always been the deal."

"It was. It still is. After all, the poor thing doesn't know the truth about her perfect brother, does she? What you did? What you took?"

The words were a cold, brilliantly crafted threat. West did not look to the earl. Could not guarantee that if he did, he would not assault the man. Instead, he took the words Tremley spoke. "It would be a pity if she were told the truth. What would she think of you then? Her unimpeachable brother?"

It was a perfect threat. Not empty in any way. It did not threaten West's future. It was enough to keep him under Tremley's thumb without being enough to force Tremley to make good on the larger, constant threat that hung between them.

He did not threaten to reveal West's secrets.

He threatened to reveal Cynthia's.

"You cannot save all the women in the world, Jamie."

Anger flared, hot and nearly unbearable. He spoke, a low, dark promise. "I will wreck you someday. I shall do it for me, yes, but for everyone else you've ever hurt."

Tremley smirked. "Such a hero. Tilting at windmills. Still the boy who cannot win." The words were designed to make Duncan feel powerless. "I don't care how much money or influence you have, Jamie, I've the protection of a king. And your freedom exists only through my benevolence."

With the words, Duncan was a child once more, furious and eager for a fight. Desperate to win. So desperate for a different life that he was willing to steal one.

He did not reply.

"That's what I thought," said the other man, taking his leave.

West watched him as he approached a young woman, a duke's daughter, just out, and asked her to dance. She smiled and accepted the offer, sinking into a deep curtsy, knowing that a turn with the Earl of Tremley, who held King William's ear, would only increase her value.

It was ironic that the aristocracy did not notice the filth among them – only its title.

He needed to know what Chase knew about Tremley.

Immediately.

She'd had too much to drink.

It was unplanned. Unexpected, even. Indeed, she could drink scotch with the best of them. She had drunk scotch with the best of them.

But tonight, she'd had too much champagne. And champagne, as everyone who had lived since Marie Antoinette knew, was perfume going in and something altogether different once it got there.

She paused. Was it Marie Antoinette with the champagne?

It did not matter. What mattered was that she had had too much champagne, and now she was expected to dance. And later, she would be expected to do other things entirely.

Things she wanted to do. With Duncan West.

Things she'd asked to do.

Things she was terrified of doing incorrectly.

But all those thoughts were for a different time. Now, all she had to do was dance.

Thank heavens that Viscount Langley was an excellent dancer.

It should not have come as a surprise, as he was exceedingly well bred – charming and amusing and more than willing to keep up his end of the conversation – but Georgiana was always surprised when the viscount whirled her across the ballroom without a single misstep, ignoring the fact that she was not an exceedingly talented follower at this point in the evening.

She didn't think she'd ever danced with someone so clearly athletic.

She had enjoyed it in the past, and might have done so this evening if she hadn't had too much champagne, which she would never have done if she weren't so damn focused on another man, who was not dancing. Indeed, Duncan West had not moved from his post at one end of the ballroom since he'd arrived at Beaufetheringstone House an hour earlier. And his lack of motion was making it quite difficult for her to watch him without being caught.

Nonetheless, she met his gaze across the room, excitement and nervousness spiraling in the pit of her stomach.

Tonight was tomorrow night.

I am in control.

The thought of his words from the prior evening, of their promise, sent a wash of color across her cheeks. She tore her gaze away.

Good Lord. It was possible she'd made a terrible mistake in making such a bold, brazen suggestion. Now she was going to have to go through with it.

She'd never simultaneously wanted and been terrified of something so much.

"What has you so interested in Duncan West?"

And it was clearly, thoroughly obvious.

She turned her gaze to Lord Langley, affecting surprise. "My lord?"

Langley smiled, all affability. "I am not without powers of observation."

She shook her head. "I don't know what you mean."

His brows rose. "You only make the situation more curious with your protests." She let him twirl her across the room, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. He did not wait for her to find her words, continuing. "I suppose it is gratitude?"

"My lord?" This time she did not have to affect anything. Duncan West was making her terribly nervous simply by breathing. Why would she be grateful for that?

"He is doing excellent work in bringing your qualities to the attention of the ton." He smiled, self-deprecating. "I suppose that when West is done, you shan't even give me a second look."

It seemed that Langley noticed more than she'd given him credit for. "I doubt that, my lord," she said. "Indeed, it is you who condescends to be seen with me."

He smiled. "You are very good at that."

"At what?"

"At making it seem as though I am a catch."

"You are a catch," she insisted.

He smiled, and she recognized the irony that others would not see. Chase recognized the irony. "I am no such thing. I'm impoverished. Can barely afford the shoes on my feet."

She made a show of looking down at them. "They are exceedingly well polished, if for the holes." When he laughed, she added, "My lord, I am said to be impoverished in any number of other ways – ways that cannot be so easily rectified."

He watched her carefully. "Then I am to be grateful for the title?"

"I would be." The words were out before she could stop them. Before she could realize how many different and inappropriate ways they could be taken. "I did not mean —"

He smiled. "I know what you meant."

She shook her head. "I don't think you do. I merely meant that any number of others would happily trade places with you."

"Do you know anyone?" He smirked.

Her gaze flickered over his shoulder again, to the place in the crowd where Duncan West's golden hair gleamed, his height making him thoroughly visible. She wondered – if he could trade it, would he take the title?

If he had a title —

She did not allow herself to finish the thought. "I'm afraid I don't."

"Aha," he announced. "So you admit that titles are not all they are cracked up to be."

She smiled. "They do seem to be a great deal of requirement and obligation."

"I was not supposed to have the obligation," he said, wistfully.

"Damn distant infertile cousins," she said, her hand flying to her lips to stop the words after they'd been spoken.

He laughed loud enough to draw attention from fellow dancers. "You are more than you seem, Lady Georgiana."

She thought of the file in her office. Disliked the guilt that came with the idea that she might have to use it to win him. She smiled up at him. "As are you, my lord."

He grew quiet at that, and she wondered if he realized what she was saying. What she knew. What she was willing to use if need be.

Her gaze flickered to West, still standing sentry, this time with a companion.

Tremley.

She would have barely noticed their conversation a week earlier – but now, there was something about them, about the way Tremley smiled that smile that did not reach his eyes, and the way West stood, strangely stiff, unsettled.

She owed West the information on Tremley – the file now filled with the secrets his wife had shared. But now, watching them together, she wondered at their connection. Why was he so interested in the earl? How had he known there were such secrets to be had?

Something unsettling curled through her as she watched, and then the dance required a turn, and she exhaled her irritation at this world, where she was beholden to custom instead of her own curiosity.

They were at the edge of the room now, near to the doors that stood open onto a crowded balcony. Langley looked down at her. "Shall we take some air?"

It was possible Langley had noticed that she'd overimbibed.

And perhaps it was a good thing that he had, as outside would distract her from Duncan West, and anything that distracted her from Duncan West this evening was a good thing.

Langley guided her to the edge of the ballroom, past a lone woman standing at its edge – Lady Mary Ashehollow, alone, bereft of suitors. Georgiana experienced a slight tinge of remorse at the young woman's sad eyes.

She paused on Langley's arm. "Lady Mary," she acknowledged, willing the girl to show some remorse.

The girl scowled and turned her back on Georgiana, an undeniable, public cut direct.

Georgiana raised a brow, and returned her attention to Langley, who had been shocked by the interaction. They pushed outside onto a balcony, where half a dozen people played chaperone. He walked her to the balustrade, away from the others, and she placed her hands on the stone, drawing a deep breath of cool air, hoping it would stop her spinning head.

"Is that normal?" he asked after a moment. "The rudeness?"

"It's never been quite so obvious," she said. "But Lady Mary might have a slightly more understandable reason for it."

He nodded, then asked, "Did she deserve it?"

"Deserve what?"

"Whatever you did to make her angry."

"She did, rather," Georgiana said.

She deserved it more than you would.

She left the last unsaid.

"It's exhausting, isn't it?" Langley went on. "The playacting?"

She looked to him, registered the understanding in his gaze. He acted, as well. Every moment. She smiled. "It is, rather."

He leaned back against the balustrade and indicated the group of women at the far end of the balcony, a collection of them, now whispering. "They are discussing us."

She looked over to them. "No doubt they are wondering what I've done to win you out here into such a clandestine moment."

He leaned in. "And wondering if they might witness something scandalous."

"Poor girls," she said. "They won't."

"Poor girls?" he feigned affront. "Poor me!"

She laughed at the words, even as she knew he didn't mean them, drawing more overt glances from the young women. Perhaps it would not be so bad to marry Langley. Perhaps he would make a good companion. Charming and entertaining. Kind. Clever.

But lacking in any attraction.

Lacking in any possibility of attraction.

Which was what had made him so perfect. Indeed, attraction had only ever been the source of her trouble.

She was best without it, and the events of the last week proved that. Without it – without the way Duncan West made her feel – she would not be so topsy-turvy. He would not have such unnerving power over her.

She should not be thinking of West, dammit. On what was to come that evening. On the promises he'd made, dark and sinful and wicked. On the promises she'd made, to give in. And why not give in? Now, once. Why not allow herself the pleasure of him? The experience with him? And why not then retreat, quietly, to a life as Viscountess Langley?

She had to be asked to be Viscountess Langley, first.

And that was not going to happen tonight.

Another girl stepped onto the balcony, one whom Georgiana recognized. It was Sophie, the daughter of the Earl of Wight, her champion from the other night.

She was alone, clearly exiled by her friends, no doubt for her defense of Georgiana. And the poor thing looked lost.

Georgiana turned to Langley, wanting to end this moment. Wanting to release him from her web. "You should dance with her," she said. "She's sweet. She could use the support."

He raised a brow. "From an impoverished viscount?"

"From a handsome, kind gentleman." It was an apology, but he did not know it. An apology for the way she used him. For the way she was willing to use him. She nodded in Sophie's direction. "Dance with her. I shall be fine here. It's nice to have the fresh air."

He cut her a look, his first acknowledgment of her inebriated state. "I imagine it is."

She shook her head. "I am sorry."

"No apologies necessary. Lord knows I've needed that particular brand of courage once or twice with the ton myself." He bowed, reaching for her hand and pressing a kiss to her gloved knuckles. "As my lady wishes."

He left her then, moving to Sophie, who was first shocked and then obviously flattered by his favor. Georgiana watched them return to the ballroom and take immediately to the dance. They were well matched, the handsome viscount and the nervous wallflower.

It was a pity that Langley could not give Sophie that for which she no doubt wished.

Georgiana turned away from the couple and took another deep breath, looking to the darkness, searching for solid ground.

"You won't find me out there."

The words sent a thrill through her, and she tried to hide it, which was more difficult than she would have imagined. She turned to find Duncan a few feet away.

She wished he was closer.

No. She didn't.

"As it happens, sir, I was not looking for you."

He met her gaze. "No?"

He was exasperating. "No. And as you came to me, one might believe that it was you searching for me."

"Perhaps it was."

It took all of her energy to hide the satisfaction she felt. "We must stop meeting on balconies."

"I came out to tell you that it is time to leave," he said. It seemed apt that the statement came from the darkness, as it brought a deep sense of sin with it, pooling inside her in a pit of nerves and anticipation. And not a small amount of fear.

"Farewell," she said, willing her fear away. Wishing for more alcohol.

"I'm for the club," he said, moving just enough for her to see his face in the candlelight that spilled from the ballroom. "I've a message for Chase." He was all seriousness. She stilled, disappointment rocketing through her. She thought he'd come for her, but he hadn't. He'd come for Chase.

It occurred, vaguely, that they were one and the same, but she could not think too much on that.

"Chase is not there," she snapped before she'd thought about it.

His brows snapped together. "How do you know that?"

She hesitated, then said, "I don't."

He watched her for a long moment. "You do, but now is not the time to discuss how. It is time for us to leave."

"It is ten o'clock. The ball has just begun."

"The ball is half over, and we have an arrangement."

"We did not have an arrangement that involves my carrying messages to Chase." She heard the peevishness in the words. Did not particularly care. "I am not ready to leave. I am dancing."

"You've danced with six men, nine if you count Cross, Bourne, and the Marquess of Ralston."

She smiled. "You've been watching."

"Of course I've been watching." The information was pleasing indeed. As was that "of course." "And I allowed you a quarter of an hour here with Langley."

"You allowed me?"

"I did. And nine dances is plenty for one evening."

"It's only six. Married men don't count."

"They count for me."

She did move closer then, unable to resist the words, dark and filled with irritation. "Be careful, sir, or I shall think you're jealous."

His eyes were liquid, the color of mahogany. And tremendously compelling. "Have you forgotten? Me, and no one else?"

"No, the arrangement was you, and not Chase."

Mahogany turned black. "There's a new arrangement, then." This Duncan West was like none she'd ever seen – utterly focused, filled with power and might. And desire.

A desire that would be mutual if she allowed it to be. If he weren't so unnerving.

"You could have danced with me," she said softly, stepping closer.

He met her halfway, closing the distance between them and whispering, "No, I couldn't have."

"Good God."

Georgiana spun around at the words to find Temple standing a few feet away, his wife on his arm.

"Christ, Temple, you have terrible timing," Duncan grumbled before bowing. "Your Grace."

Mara, Duchess of Lamont, smiled, and Georgiana did not like the knowledge in the smile, as though she knew everything that had transpired between the others on the balcony. And she likely did. "Mr. West. Lady Georgiana."

"The two of you need a chaperone," Temple said.

"We're in full view of half of London," Georgiana snapped.

"You're on a dark balcony in full view of half of London," Temple replied, coming closer. "That's why you need a chaperone. Look at him."

She did as she was told. Not that it was a challenge. "He's very handsome."

West's brows rose.

"I..." Temple paused and gave her a strange look. "All right. Well. I'm not talking about that bit – though I assume a chaperone wouldn't care much for such a statement – I'm talking about the fact that he looks as though he's planning to steal you away."

"You look that way as well," she pointed out.

"Yes. But that's because I am planning to steal my wife away. As we are married, we are allowed to do the things that people do on dark balconies."

"William," the duchess said. "You'll embarrass them. And me."

He looked to his wife. "I shall make it up to you." The words were filled with dark promise, and Georgiana rolled her eyes before he continued, "Tell me he doesn't look as though he's planning to steal her away."

Mara considered them, and Georgiana resisted the urge to smooth her skirts. "He does, rather."

"As it turns out," Georgiana said, "he is planning that very thing."

"Good Lord," Temple said.

"It wasn't going to be quite so overt," Duncan said.

"Well, she's not going anywhere now," Temple replied. He turned to her and cocked his head in the direction of the dancing. "Let's go."

She blinked. "Let's go where?"

"I'm going to dance with you."

"I don't wish to dance with you." She heard the petulance in her tone and couldn't summon the energy to change it. She waved a hand at the duke and duchess. "Besides, don't you have other plans?"

"I did, and we shall discuss later how irritated I am that you are forcing me to change them."

"I don't need you to dance with me," she whispered. "West can dance with me."

"I'm not sure that will solve the issue of him looking like he'd like to steal you away," Mara said, altogether too thoughtfully.

Duncan's reply was more forthright. "No."

"No?" she asked, taken aback by his quick refusal.

"I'm not titled," he said. "You can't be seen dancing with me."

How silly. "But you're the man who is restoring my reputation."

"Among others," Temple interjected.

"You mean others like you?"

"Your Grace," Temple and Duncan prompted in unison.

Georgiana shook her head, confused. "You needn't call me that; I am not a duchess."

The trio looked at her as though she were mad. And that's when they all realized what was happening.

"Christ," said Duncan.

"Are you drunk?" asked Temple.

She put her fingers to her lips. "It's possible."

The men looked at each other, then back to her. "How in hell are you drunk?"

"I imagine it happened when I consumed too much alcohol," she said smartly.

Mara snickered.

"Why?" Temple asked.

"I enjoy champagne."

"You loathe champagne," Temple said.

She nodded. "Was it Marie Antoinette with the champagne?" These three would know.

Temple looked as though he might murder her. Duncan watched her carefully, as though she might turn into some sort of animal. "She's responsible for the champagne glass."

"Yes! The glass is the shape of her breast!" It was all coming back, if a touch too loudly.

"Christ." Temple said.

"Perhaps we should limit the use of the word breast in public," Duncan said, dryly. "Why don't you tell us why you felt the need to drink in excess?"

"I was nervous!" she said in her own defense, then realized what she'd admitted. She looked to Duncan, whose expression had gone from surprised to smug. Damn. "Not because of you."

"Of course not," he said, meaning the opposite.

Temple looked about. "I don't want to know anything about that. Stop talking."

"There's nothing to worry about, Your Grace." She emphasized the title. She returned her attention to Duncan. "There are any number of men who make me nervous."

"Jesus, Anna, stop talking."

"Don't call her that," Duncan said, and the warning in his voice was enough to draw the attention of both her and Temple.

"It's her name."

"Not here, it's not. And not really, it's not." Duncan and Temple stared each other down, and something happened between them. Finally, Temple nodded.

"William," Mara said quietly. "We are making it worse. You are not supposed to be so..."

"Boorish with me," Georgiana said.

Mara tilted her head. "I was going to say 'familiar.'"

She was not incorrect. The Duke of Lamont was not supposed to know her well enough to scold her on a balcony.

Temple was quiet for a long moment before he acquiesced to his wife. It was something that never failed to impress Georgiana – the massive man entirely engrossed in his wife. He looked to Duncan. "You're supposed to keep her reputation intact."

"All of Society knows I have a vested interest in her. They won't be surprised in the slightest by our conversing," he said. "They shall think she's thanking me for my hand in her blossoming acceptance."

"I am standing right here," she said, supremely irritated by the way the group seemed to have forgotten that fact.

Temple thought for a long moment, and then nodded. "If you do anything to hurt her reputation —"

"I know, I shall answer to Chase."

Temple's gaze flickered from Duncan to Georgiana. "Forget Chase. You shall answer to me. You get her home."

She smirked at Duncan. "No messages for Chase tonight. You'll have to deal with me, only."

Duncan ignored her, extending his arm. "My lady?"

She warmed at the words, hating the way they brought her such keen pleasure. She set her hand on his arm, letting him guide her a few steps down the balustrade before she pulled back. "Wait." She turned back. "Your Grace." He raised his brows in question. She returned on Duncan's arm, spoke softly. "The Earl of Wight's daughter. Sophie."

"What of her?"

"She is dancing with Langley, but deserves a dance with someone tremendous." She mentally cataloged the single men in attendance. "The Marquess of Eversley." Eversley was a long-standing member of the Angel, rich as Croesus and handsome as sin – a rake to end all rakes. But he'd do as Temple asked. And Sophie would have a lovely memory of the evening.

Temple nodded. "Done." He and Mara were gone, returned to the ball, leaving no trace of their time on the balcony.

Her good work for the evening complete, she returned her attention to Duncan, who asked, "Lady Sophie?"

She lifted a shoulder in a little shrug. "She was kind to Georgiana."

Understanding lit in his eyes. "And so Anna rewards her."

She smiled. "There are times when it is useful to be two people."

"I can see how that might be true," he said.

"I don't need a caretaker, you know," she said, the words soft enough that only he could hear them.

"No, but apparently you needed someone to tell you when to stop drinking."

She cut him a look. "If you hadn't made me nervous, I wouldn't have done it."

"Ah, so it was because of me." He smiled, full of pride, and it occurred to her that to the rest of those assembled on the balcony, their conversation seemed perfectly ordinary.

"Of course it was. You and your 'I am in control.' It's unsettling."

He grew very serious. "It shouldn't be."

She took a deep breath. "Well, it is."

"Are you unsettled now?"

"Yes."

He smiled, looking down at her hands. "I am disappointed in you. I would have thought you'd have been utterly prepared for this situation."

Because of Anna. He thought her a prostitute. Experienced in all matters of the flesh. Except she wasn't. And as if their arrangement weren't nerve-wracking enough, the idea that he would discover her lie – her truth – was thoroughly disquieting.

"I am usually the one in control," she said. It was not a lie.

He looked over her shoulder to confirm that the others on the balcony were far enough away not to hear their conversation.

"And tell me, do you like it? Being in control?"

She'd made a life of it. "I do."

"Does it pleasure you?" The question was low and dark.

"It does."

His lips twitched into a smile, there, then gone. "I don't think so."

She didn't like the way he seemed to know her. The way the words rang true – more true than anyone had ever noticed. Than she had ever admitted.

She didn't like the way he took control for himself, smooth and nearly imperceptibly, until she was bound in his dark voice and his broad shoulders and his tempting gaze. She wanted him, and there was only one way she could have him now, here. "Dance with me," she whispered.

He did not move. "I told you, dancing with me will not help your cause."

She looked into his eyes. "I don't care. I am unclaimed for this dance."

He shook his head. "I don't dance."

"Ever?"

"Ever," he said.

"Why not?"

"I don't know how."

The admission revealed more than she would have expected. He did not know how to dance. Which meant he was not born a gentleman. He was born something else. Something harder. Something baser. Something that had required work to conquer. To leave behind.

Something much more interesting.

"I could teach you," she said.

He raised a brow. "I'd rather you teach me other things."

"Such as?"

"Such as where you like to be kissed."

She smiled. "Be careful, or I shall think you are trying to turn my head."

"I've already turned your head."

It was true, and she couldn't stop herself from going serious at the words. At the hint of sadness that coursed through her at them. At the feeling that he was right, and she was ruined in more ways than she was willing to admit. She hid the thoughts with her best flirt. "You're awfully sure of yourself."

He was quiet for a long moment, and she wondered what he was thinking before he said, "Langley?"

She did not misunderstand. He asked how things proceeded with the viscount. "He likes me," she said, wishing he hadn't returned them to the present. To reality.

"That will make it easier for me. The columns will speed the courtship."

If only she wanted that. She was silent.

He continued. "It's a sound title. Clean. And he's a sound man."

"He is. Clever and charming. Poor, but there is no shame in it."

"You would change that for him."

"So I would." Her lips twisted in a wry smile. "He's infinitely better than me."

"Why do you say that?" The question came like steel. Without quarter.

She took a breath. Let it out. "May I tell you the truth?" she asked, realizing that she must be in her cups to offer him the truth. She dealt too often in lies.

"I wish you would," he said, and she thought perhaps he referred to more than this moment. This place.

Guilt flared, all too familiar that evening. "I only wish her to be happy."

He knew she spoke of Caroline. "Ah. Something far more difficult than well married."

"I'm not certain it is possible, honestly, but respectability will give her the widest opportunity for happiness... whatever that means."

He was watching her. She could feel his dark gaze on her. Knew that he was going to ask her something more than what she was willing to share. Still, his question shocked her. "What happened? To bring you Caroline?"

To bring you Caroline.

What a lovely way of saying it. Over the years, she'd heard Caroline's existence described in a hundred ways, ranging from euphemistic to filthy. But no one had ever said it so well, and so simply. And so aptly. Caroline had been brought to her. Perfect and innocent. Unaware of the havoc that she had wreaked on a woman, a family, a world.

Of course this man, known for his skill with words, described it so well.

And of course, here in the darkness, she wanted to tell him the truth. How she was ruined. By whom, even. Not that it mattered. "A tale as old as time," she said simply. "Unsavory men have a devastating power over rebellious girls."

"Did you love him?"

The words stunned her into silence. There were so many things he could have said in response. She'd heard them all, or so she thought. But that question – so simple, so honest – no one had ever asked it of her.

And so she gave him her simplest, most honest answer. "I wanted to. Quite desperately."