Callie alighted from the Rivington coach at the front of Somerset House and turned back to meet Mariana’s smile as her sister followed her down from the carriage. The sisters were immediately surrounded by throngs of people, all scrambling for entrance to the private viewing of the Royal Academy of Art Exhibition, one of the most sought-after invitations of the season.
She watched as Mariana took Rivington’s arm with a loving look, allowing the duke to guide her up the wide marble steps to the entrance of Somerset House, where the exhibition was already under way. Callie suppressed a little sigh at the obvious adoration between the two.
“My lady?”
Callie started at the words, turning to her own companion, Baron Oxford.
“Shall we?”
Callie pasted a bright smile on her face and took his offered arm. “Indeed, my lord.”
They followed Mariana and Rivington up the wide entryway to the gallery, refusing to allow Oxford’s odd behavior to mar the events of the afternoon. The Royal Exhibition had always been one of Callie’s favorite activities of the season, as it gave Londoners a rare look at the work of the country’s most revered contemporary artists. Callie loved art, and made it a point never to miss an exhibition.
“I have heard that we might see the most recent Blake etchings today, my lord,” she offered as she climbed the steps.
Oxford gave her a strange look before asking disbelievingly, “You aren’t really here to see the art, are you?”
Callie’s confusion showed. “Certainly. I very much enjoy the fine arts. You do not?”
“I like a pretty painting as much as the next chap,” Oxford said. “But no one really comes to the private viewing to see the art, Lady Calpurnia. It’s about proving you are able to secure a ticket.”
Callie dipped her head to keep the baron from seeing her roll her eyes. “Oh, yes. Well that is an impressive feat as well.”
“Have you ever been here before?” Oxford asked, a boast already in his voice.
Callie hedged, uncertain of whether she should answer truthfully. She didn’t have to.
Mariana, who had been waiting with Rivington for Callie and Oxford to catch up to them, stepped in and answered for her. “Our father was a trustee of the Royal Academy, Baron Oxford. This is one of Callie’s favorite days of the year.”
“Truly? I hadn’t thought you would be such an…academic.” The word sounded foreign on his tongue.
“Oh, Callie’s quite brilliant when it comes to art. You should hear her speak about the Renaissance.” Mariana turned a bright smile on the baron before continuing, “You don’t mind if I steal my darling sister away, do you? I see a Pearce that we’ve been longing to have a look at.”
With that, Mariana clasped Callie’s arm and whisked her through the crush of people, away from their escorts. “Ugh. He’s insufferable! What on earth possessed you to accept his invitation?”
“He extended an invitation, Mari. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not in a position to refuse them.” She paused. “Besides, he’s not as bad as all that.”
“He’s an imbecile. And a drunk,” Mariana said frankly before smiling broadly in acknowledgment of the Viscountess Longwell, who tipped her head in response as they passed her. “For goodness sake, you’re willing to dress as a man and sneak into Benedick’s fencing club, but you won’t turn down Oxford?”
“Shh!” Callie looked around to be certain that Mariana hadn’t been heard. “Are you addled, mentioning that here? The fact is that I accepted Oxford’s invitation. And now we’re being rather rude.”
“Pshaw. Rivington will entertain him,” Mariana was distracted, standing on her toes, craning to see above the crowds. “You don’t see Juliana, do you?”
Callie froze. “Juliana Fiori?”
Mariana gave Callie an odd look. “Yes, Calpurnia. Juliana Fiori. Which other Juliana would I be looking for?”
“I didn’t know she was going to be here.”
“Mmm,” Mariana said, looking about. “Apparently Ralston offered to bring her. I promised her we wouldn’t see Blake’s Jerusalem without her.”
Callie opened her mouth to speak, uncertain of what to say, only sure that she would have no choice but to leave the exhibition before she ran into Ralston. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t be in the same room with him. It didn’t matter that half of London would be there as well. Callie began to feel panicked.
“Ah…here are the ladies for whom we’ve been searching.” Callie and Mariana whirled to face Oxford and Rivington. Oxford captured Callie’s gaze and flashed a brilliant smile. “You left us, but we are excellent at tracking our prey.”
“Indeed, it appears so, my lord.” This afternoon was growing more and more odd. She should have remained home. That much was clear.
“Lady Calpurnia, may I escort you to see some of the paintings in the North Gallery?”
“I—” For a fleeting moment, Callie considered refusing before realizing that an afternoon with Oxford would be infinitely less awkward than an afternoon spent avoiding Ralston. “I would enjoy that very much, my lord.”
“Wonderful.” He offered Callie his arm. She took it, and they were off across the main gallery toward the northern exit. As they walked, he said, “We shall have to seek out the Renaissance artists here today, shan’t we?”
She bit her tongue, keeping herself from explaining that, as a contemporary exhibition, there were no Renaissance artists represented at the event. Instead, she smiled mutely and allowed the baron to guide her along. When they arrived at the slightly less crowded North Gallery, Oxford turned a bright smile on her, and, with a broad gesture, said, “What do you think?”
Callie smiled up at the baron, and said, politely, “It is an excellent exhibition this year, my lord. Thank you very much for escorting me.”
He leaned closer. “Come now, Lady Calpurnia. Surely you have more to say than that.” Pointing to a large portrait, he asked, “What of that one?”
Callie considered the painting, a rather forgiving likeness of the king, before saying, “I think that King George must have been very happy with it.”
Oxford laughed. “How very diplomatic of you.”
Callie laughed as well, considering the baron. Certainly, he was a dandy and rather vapid, but he seemed in possession of a good humor and a not-unpleasant countenance. She was surprised to find that she was rather enjoying herself.
Oxford leaned in to speak close to her ear. “I had hoped we would get a chance to be apart from your sister and Rivington.”
Her eyebrows shot up at the words. “My lord?”
“I know,” he said, misunderstanding her reticence. “It’s hard to believe that this is happening.” He ran a single finger discreetly down the length of her forearm, and his smile broadened as he leaned in once more. “But indeed it is happening to you, Lady Calpurnia.”
“Baron Oxford,” she said, quickly, searching for a distraction to save them both from embarrassment. “I thought we were going to seek out the Renaissance paintings? I do not see them here.”
“Perhaps we should look for them in a quieter, more secluded locale?” he said, his voice low. Was that whiskey on his breath?
Callie hedged. “I wonder if they might be back in the main gallery?”
He paused, considering her words. “I understand. You are concerned that we might be observed.”
She clung to the words. “Indeed, that is precisely my concern.”
He flashed his white teeth in understanding. “Of course. Let’s return to the main gallery and have a better look.”
Who would have thought Oxford would be so understanding?
Callie was so surprised by his change in tack that she couldn’t help her own brilliant smile. They made their way back to the main gallery and passed into the throng of people inside. Once in the crush, Callie was unable to keep from pressing up against Oxford, and as she did so, she felt one of his hands running down the back of her gown, dangerously familiar. Leaping away from his touch, Callie turned to him, hand to her throat, and said, “I am quite parched. I wonder if you would fetch me some lemonade while I find my sister?”
Oxford’s eyes narrowed on her in a manner she could only assume was meant to appear concerned, and he said, “Of course.”
“Oh, thank you, my lord,” she said, attempting coquettishness.
She watched as he turned and disappeared into the crowd, the throngs of people swallowing him up as she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This entire afternoon had been a mistake.
“I see you have Oxford eating from the palm of your hand.” The dry words startled her, so close to her ear, and she stiffened in immediate recognition.
Willing herself to remain calm, she turned to face the speaker. “Lord Ralston. What a surprise,” she said, her tone in direct opposition to her words. She was, all of a sudden, very tired. Tired of sparring with Ralston, tired of outsmarting Oxford, tired of being there amidst London’s most beautiful people. She wanted to go home.
“Lady Calpurnia,” Ralston executed a short bow, “I had hoped that you would be here.”
The words, and the implication that he’d sought her out, would have elated her months ago. Today, however, she wanted nothing more than to turn on her heel and run from him. Meeting his blue eyes served only to remind her of the embarrassment and pain that he had delivered her at their last meeting. Her heart constricted at the thought of having another conversation with him, knowing that she was little more than a pawn in some game she did not understand.
She could not summon graciousness. “While I’m certain that’s not entirely true, you knew I would be here. You were there when Oxford extended the invitation.”
“So I was.” He inclined his head as if to give her a point in their verbal game. “Nevertheless, I had hoped to see you this afternoon. Although I confess I was rather disheartened to see you smiling up at Oxford as though he were the only man in attendance.”
She refused to give him the pleasure of knowing the truth. “The baron has been most accommodating.”
“Accommodating,” Ralston tested the word. “Makes him sound rather like furniture, doesn’t it?”
She did not hide her exasperation. “Is there something you wanted, my lord?”
“An intriguing question,” he said, enigmatically, before adding, “I should like to speak with you.”
All of a sudden, Oxford seemed rather the lesser of two evils. “Now is not an ideal time. Perhaps another day? I am here with an escort.” She turned purposefully, eager to make a quick exit.
“It appears that your escort has left you to your own defenses,” Ralston pointed out wryly. “I couldn’t very well allow you to navigate this crush alone. It wouldn’t be at all gentlemanly.”
Frustration flared. Could he not just leave her alone? Callie narrowed her gaze. “Yes, well, certainly you wouldn’t want to appear less than gentlemanly.” The slight emphasis on the word spoke volumes. “You needn’t worry, my lord. I am certain that the baron will return presently.”
“In this crowd? I wouldn’t wager good money on it,” he said, his tone dry.
The man was thoroughly exasperating. Callie made to escape him only to find herself unable to escape for the crush of people around them. She stamped her foot, irritated, and turned back to him. “You did this on purpose,” she said, peevishly.
“You think I orchestrated these throngs to ensnare you?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“You entirely misjudge my power over the ton, Empress.”
She flushed at the nickname, so intimate, before whispering. “Don’t call me that.”
He took hold of her elbow and guided her into the West Gallery. She protested his forcing her to follow him briefly, before she realized that removing herself from his grasp was liable to get them both noticed and set tongues wagging.
Once within the side gallery, he released her elbow but guided her to the far end of the room, through the clusters of people viewing the paintings hanging on every inch of wall to a large screen that cordoned off a piece of the enormous room.
“Where are you taking me?” she whispered, darting glances at the crowds of people surrounding them—all of whom seemed oblivious to her abduction.
He pushed her behind the screen, following her into the quiet alcove, and they were alone again. Callie was once more consumed by emotion, equal parts excitement and fear. The enormous mahogany screen had been set several feet from the wall of west-facing windows to block the sun from obstructing the views of the paintings. The screen reached far above their heads, creating a pool of brilliant sunlight and muffling the sound of the exhibition beyond.
The perfect place for a lovers’ tryst. Callie pushed the thought from her head and summoned the anger and hurt that she’d been feeling in the days since her last interaction with Ralston. She could not let him have the upper hand. Not here. “Are you mad?” she whispered, irritated.
“No one saw,” Ralston said.
“How could you know that?”
“Because I know.” He reached out a hand to touch her face.
She flinched from his touch. “Don’t touch me.”
Emotion flashed in his eyes at her movement, there, then gone before she could define it. “I would never do anything to damage your reputation, Callie.” The words were honest.
“Forgive me, my lord, but it rather seems that everything you do near me is a risk to my reputation.” She lashed out, desperate to hurt him, eager for him to feel the pain that she had felt for the days since she’d seen him last.
One side of Ralston’s mouth lifted. “I deserved that.”
“And much more.” She met his eyes boldly. “I told you that afternoon in your ballroom, my lord, I’m through with these interludes. And with you. You have quite extraordinarily misinterpreted my interest. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Baron Oxford will be searching for me.”
“You can’t really be serious about Oxford.”
She ignored him, instead moving to pass him and escape around the edge of the screen into the room beyond. He captured her hand as she pushed past, and the touch stopped her. He did not hold her firmly enough that she couldn’t extricate herself from his grasp, but the heat of his gloved hand against her own made her look back at him, forced her to meet his eyes.
In that moment, the only thing he wanted was for her to stay with him. For her to forgive him. He’d arrived with Juliana, ready to find Callie and apologize for his boorish behavior—ready to do whatever it took to repair the obvious hurt that he had caused. And he’d located her almost immediately, beaming up at Oxford, clearly having a lovely time, as the pair had reentered the main gallery. The sight had infuriated him—Callie so lovely and happy, Oxford so foppish and simple.
She’d never smiled so openly at Ralston. And if she were to do so, he certainly wouldn’t respond as Oxford had, the fool, walking away from her. No. If she ever looked at him in such a way, he’d sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Hang the Royal Art Exhibition.
Hell. He wanted to kiss her senseless right then, and she certainly wasn’t smiling at him.
He’d find a way to repair the damage he’d caused. But first, he had to eliminate Oxford from the equation. The stupid wager that he’d made with the ridiculous baron, was just that—stupid. Ralston now understood that he’d done nothing but taunt Oxford into proving his ability to win Callie; he was not going to give up the chase for Callie. Particularly not with one thousand pounds riding on its outcome.
“Don’t get attached to Oxford,” Ralston said.
“Whyever not?” Her words taunted him.
“He’s a gold digger with the intelligence of a goat.”
“Of course he is,” she said, simply, as though he had just proclaimed the sky blue.
His brow furrowed. “Then why come here with him?”
“Because he asked.”
The answer, so obvious, frustrated him. He ran a hand through his hair before pointing out, “That shouldn’t be enough, Callie. For God’s sake.”
She smiled then, a sad, small smile that set him on edge. “You’re right. It shouldn’t be enough.”
He felt a strange pressure in his chest at the words and, in that moment, the decision was made. Oxford couldn’t have her. Ralston wouldn’t allow it.
Their gazes locked for several long moments before she moved to pull her hand from his, and he found that he could not let her go. His fingers tightened around hers, unyielding. She looked to him with surprise.
“Let me take you somewhere,” he said.
“My lord?”
“Where would you like to go? Surely you’ll afford me the same opportunity you’ve given Oxford.”
“It’s not a competition.” The words were quiet, and he sensed an underlying meaning in them that he didn’t entirely understand.
Ignoring that for a moment, he repeated, “Let me take you somewhere. You choose. The theater again. A picnic with Mariana and Rivington. A damn carriage ride.”
She thought for a moment. “I don’t want your escort to any of those places.”
“Why not?”
“I am turning over a new leaf. Nowhere plain. Nowhere missish.”
He felt the words like a blow, immediately recognizing the hurtful words as his own. Damn it. What could he say to make it right? He ran another hand through his dark hair, setting several thick locks loose. Suddenly, the conversation seemed one of the most important he’d ever had.
“God, Callie, I’m sorry. Give me a chance to prove that I’m not entirely a cad and an imbecile.”
“I don’t think you are an imbecile.”
“I note you did not refute the other claim,” he said, with a crooked smile. “Anything you want.”
She gave a frustrated sigh, looking anywhere but directly at him. Her eyes settled on their entwined hands before she met his gaze again. “Anything?”
His eyes narrowed as understanding dawned. “You’re thinking about your damned list, aren’t you?”
“Well, you did request I refrain from completing any other items on the list without your escort.”
“Indeed, I did.”
“I could always ask Oxford…” She trailed off deliberately, coaxing a half laugh from him.
“You are learning to play me quite well, Minx. Fine. We shall complete another item on your list. Which shall it be?”
She thought for a moment, worrying her lower lip. The action served to draw Ralston’s attention away from the conversation for a brief moment, as he considered kissing her to stop the nervous habit. For a moment, he was lost in the memory of the sweetness of her mouth, the softness of her lips, the wild abandon with which she met him at every turn. He felt himself harden at the thought, and was mere seconds from taking her mouth again when her lips formed a single word.
“Gambling.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he shook his head as though to clear it. Surely she hadn’t just said—“Gambling?”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes. Gambling. In a gentleman’s club.”
He laughed. “You can’t be serious.”
“Indeed, I am, my lord.”
“You just asked me to smuggle you into Brooks’s, Callie. I think we’re rather past the point where you need stand on titular ceremony.”
She offered a small smile. “Very well, Gabriel. I should like you to take me gambling. At your club.”
“No woman has ever breached the defenses of Brooks’s, Callie—”
She interrupted him dryly, “I find that rather difficult to believe.”
“Very well, no gentlewoman has ever breached the club’s defenses. I would be exiled from its ranks if we were discovered.” He shook his head firmly before continuing. “May I talk you into a game of vingt-et-un at Ralston House instead? We shall play for money. I can assure you the experience will be quite the same.”
“I don’t think it would be the same at all, actually,” Callie speculated. “Part of the draw of this item is the experience of the club itself.”
“Whatever for?” He was genuinely baffled.
She paused, changing tack. “Have you ever wondered what it is that women do behind closed doors at teas and after dinners? What we talk about, how we live without you?”
“No.”
“Of course not. Because our lives are out in the open. We may be alone in a room, sequestered from men, but you own the houses in which we congregate, you’ve been in the rooms in which we cloister ourselves. There is always the possibility that you might enter, and so we set ourselves to needlepoint or idle gossip and never allow ourselves to say or do too much beyond the bounds of propriety, for fear that you might see.
“It’s different for you,” she pressed on, growing more impassioned as she spoke. “Men have these secret locations…taverns and sporting clubs and men’s clubs. And there you can do and feel and experience anything you’d like. Far from the prying eyes of women.”
“Exactly,” he said, “which is why I cannot take you to Brooks’s.”
“Why should you be the only ones to have that kind of freedom? Why do you think I’ve got the list at all? I want to experience that sense of freedom. I want to see this secret place—this inner sanctum where men really can be men.”
He didn’t answer, not entirely sure how to handle this new, strong-willed stranger. “Callie,” Ralston said quietly, firmly, in an attempt to bring reason to the discussion, “if you were caught, it would be the end of you. Gambling is one thing. But…at Brooks’s?”
“Is the great Marquess of Ralston afraid of what might happen if he takes such a risk? The same man who once compromised a Prussian princess in Hyde Park?”
He blinked. “I did no such thing.”
Callie couldn’t help the little smile that flashed. “Ah, so we finally discover a legend that is not grounded in reality.” His eyes narrowed on her as she pulled herself up to her full height and, with all the pride of a queen, said, “I don’t need you, you know. I can sneak into White’s on my own—using a letter of invitation from Benedick.”
Gabriel gave her a look of disbelief. “He’d never write it.”
“He doesn’t have to,” she said, matter-of-factly, “I sneaked into his fencing club without issue.”
“And you needed me to shepherd you out of there!” he said, a touch louder than was ideal for their clandestine location.
“Are you saying you won’t take me?”
“I am.”
“A pity. I had looked forward to your escort.”
He shook his head, dumbfounded. “You cannot do this.”
“Why? Because I’m a woman?”
“No! Because you’re mad! You will be caught!”
“I haven’t been caught yet.”
“I’ve caught you! Twice!”
“As I’ve said before,” she scoffed, “you’re different.”
“How am I different?” his exasperation was clear.
“Well, it seems you are my partner in crime.” She smiled then, a beaming grin not unlike the one he’d seen her give Oxford earlier.
He lost his bluster at the words, feeling the full force of her pleasure like a blow, and a nonsensical wave of pride coursed through him…pride at being the one she would turn to with such excitement, pride at being the one she would ask to escort her on such an adventure. And, in that sun-filled moment, with all of London mere inches away from their hiding place, he was struck by her beauty—her bright brown eyes and her hair, gleaming auburn in the light and her mouth, wide and welcoming and enough to bring a man to his knees.
She was really quite extraordinary.
The revelation made it difficult to breathe, so intense was the truth of it. “My God. You’re lovely.”
Her eyes widened in shock as she processed the words, then narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t try to throw me off course with your compliments.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Because I’m doing this. I’m gambling. I won’t be distracted from my purpose.”
“Of course not.”
“Certainly telling me that I’m—Well, that I’m—”
“Lovely.”
“Yes. That. It won’t deter me.”
“I didn’t mean it to.”
“I’m not a fool, you know.”
He took a step closer to her. “I know. I shall take you.”
“Even if you won’t take me—” She stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said I would take you.”
“Oh. Well. Then.”
“Yes, I thought it was rather magnanimous of me.” He lifted a finger and tucked an errant lock of hair behind one of her ears.
“I’m not lovely,” she blurted out.
One side of his mouth kicked up. “Now, there,” he said quietly, searching her face as if to memorize this new Callie, whom he’d just discovered, “I shall have to disagree.”
And then he set his lips to hers and she was drugged by his caress and his words, both equally intoxicating. This kiss was different from all that they had shared before—softer, seeking, as though they were both discovering something altogether new. This was a concert of stroking tongue and soft lips. Gabriel lifted his head and waited for her to open her eyes; when she did, he was struck once more by her loveliness. He searched her face, watching as she returned from the sensual place where the kiss had taken her.
“You said I was plain.”
He shook his head slowly, marveling at the clear, brown depths of emotion in her eyes. “There is nothing plain about you.” And then, he kissed her again.
Her mouth was his banquet. He sipped at her lips, savoring their taste, their softness. Her hands found their way around his neck and into his hair—threading through the dark locks. The caress sent a shiver of pleasure through him. He ate at her, nibbling at her lips before gently laving the worried skin there with his tongue. When he pulled away and met her eyes once more, they were both breathing heavily, and Gabriel was wishing that they were anywhere but here, hundreds of Londoners mere feet away.
He had to stop. He was about to do exactly what he had resolved not to do. Had he not promised himself that he would not compromise her again? He owed her more. Better.
A vision flashed in his mind of Callie naked, spread before him in a pool of sunlight, and he pushed it aside. This was no time to indulge in fantasies that would further arouse him—as it was, his excitement was embarrassingly obvious in his breeches. Reaching up, he unwound Callie’s arms from around his neck, kissing the knuckles on both hands before meeting her gaze once more.
“I owe you an apology.”
Her brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
He set a soft kiss to her forehead, smoothing the lines there, pulling her tightly into his arms before continuing. “An apology. For everything. For the afternoon at Ralston House, for the fencing club, God, Callie, for this afternoon, even. I have treated you quite abominably, nearly compromising you at every turn. And—I should apologize.”
Callie blinked up at him, the sunlight pooling around her, turning her flushed skin the perfect shade of pink. When she did not speak, he said, “I should like to make it all up to you. I think taking you to Brooks’s would be a start.”
A shadow crossed Callie’s face fleetingly—as though she were disappointed—and then it was gone.
Ralston pressed on. “I shall take you tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Unless you have plans to spend the evening with Oxford as well?” he said, coolly.
“No…I was to attend the Cavendish Ball, however. I shall have to beg off.” She avoided his gaze.
“That would be ideal. If we go while the ball is in full cry, it will make the whole procedure much easier.”
“What shall I wear?” she asked quietly.
A memory flashed of Callie dressed in men’s clothing, wearing only tight-fitting fencing breeches, her breasts unbound and pressed against him, her skin flushed with pleasure. Feeling his own breeches tighten, he shifted uncomfortably before saying, “I suppose you’re going to have to dress in men’s clothing. Do you have something appropriate for a club? Or will you be wearing your fencing suit?”
She blushed at his teasing before shaking her head. “No. I have something more appropriate.”
Of course she did. He refrained from asking her when she’d had cause to wear something more appropriate. This was a terrible idea.
Nonetheless, he’d given her his word. It was better that he escort her than someone else. Better him than Oxford. The thought of her clambering about in men’s clothing with Oxford was enough to make him want to put his fist into the baron’s face.
Eager to be rid of the vision of Callie and Oxford, Ralston moved to the edge of the screen, where he darted a quick glance into the room beyond to ensure they would not be seen returning from their hiding place. When he was certain they would remain unnoticed, he deftly guided her around the screen and into the main room, his pace indicating that she should attempt to appear casual as they walked through toward the main gallery. “Shall I meet you at Allendale House at half twelve?” he said, looking away from her but keeping his voice low enough that only she could hear.
She nodded. “That is an ideal time. Late enough that everyone will be at the ball, early enough not to run into them coming home.” She looked up in surprise. “You’re rather good at this.”
He dipped his head as though accepting a compliment. “This isn’t the first time I’ve planned a clandestine outing.”
Her gaze skidded away. “No, I don’t imagine it would be,” she said quietly before she stopped in front of a large painting of a King Charles spaniel. She took a deep breath and continued, “The back entrance.”
He gave a hint of a nod. “I made peace with Juliana.” He did not know why he felt that he had to tell her, but he did.
Surprise flashed across her face, there and gone so quickly, he wasn’t entirely certain it had been there at all. “I am happy to hear it. She is a good girl. And I believe she is coming to care for you deeply.”
The words made him uncomfortable though he could not understand why.
Callie seemed to notice. “I am happy to hear it,” she repeated.
He nodded once. “What do you think of this?” he asked, indicating the painting nearby.
She gave him an odd look. “I think it’s an enormous painting of a dog.”
He made a show of considering the picture and nodded seriously. “An astute observation.” She gave a short laugh before he continued. “The visual arts have never been my specialty. I prefer to consider myself a connoisseur of music. As you know.” The last words were spoken softly near her ear. They were meant to fluster her, to remind her of the evening in his bedchamber…of their first kiss. The strategy worked, and Ralston couldn’t help the pleasure that shot through him at the sound of her breath catching.
“I think it best if I return to my sister,” Callie said, her voice wavering slightly.
“I shall take you.”
“No!” she said, a touch louder than she had planned. She paused, then continued. “I think I should go alone.”
For a moment, he considered pressing the issue—forcing her to accept his escort. But he recognized a battle won when he saw one. “Indeed,” he said, bowing low over her hand, before adding quietly, “Tonight, then?”
She met his gaze and held it for a long moment before she gave a small nod. “Tonight.”
And then she was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.