Sitting in the library, drinking his whiskey, waiting on the ladies to finish preparing themselves for the ball, Westcliffe became lost in thought. He’d never considered what effect his carousing would have on Claire if she ever returned to London. Out of sight, out of mind. But he’d seen the distress quickly cross over her face when Beth had mentioned going to the park. And he’d recognized his responsibility in causing it. In hindsight, stupid of him not to realize his actions would have an impact on her.

Three years ago, like her, he’d been young, lacking judgment, and controlled by fears, but unlike her, he’d also been controlled by ambitions. His fear was that he was lacking in what was required to hold on to a woman. His manhood had been threatened, his very sense of himself. He’d strived to become so deeply buried in pleasure in all its forms that he’d forget the betrayal, that he’d no longer think of the wife he’d left at his estate. That whatever faults might reside in him would become insignificant.

Instead, they’d only been magnified.

His pride would never allow him to set it aside for another’s happiness. Yet Claire had done exactly that. He’d seen it when she’d agreed to the jaunt in the park, and he expected to see it on display again this evening. She knew of his wicked reputation, and yet tonight she would stand beside him—no doubt with her head held high—so her sister might avoid marriage to a man she had not chosen.

His wife was remarkable. Tonight would not be easy for her. While those who gossiped were not favored at the Duchess of Greystone’s affairs, it would still flourish in darkened corners and balconies. He didn’t envy his wife what she would endure for her sister’s sake. It humbled him to wonder if he’d ever do the same for his brothers.

Knowing that the ladies would soon be joining him, he’d dispensed with his usual ritual of closing the door, so their light laughter, tittering, and footsteps traveled to him shortly before they entered. Setting his whiskey aside and rising to his feet to welcome them, he found himself without words at the sight of them.

Beth was lovely in a white gown with a spray of white roses adorning her upswept hair. But Claire was stunning in a lavender silk gown with a décolletage baring her shoulders and allowing the merest hint of her breasts. A pearl comb and loops of pearls adorned her hair.

“You don’t like them,” Beth blurted.

He worked to regain his faculties. “Pardon?”

“Our gowns. Do you hate them? Do they make us look so awful?”

“Quite the contrary. You’re both exceedingly lovely.”

“Then we must be off, or we’ll be late.”

“I’ve told you, Beth, that it’s fashionable to be late,” Claire said, giving her sister an indulgent smile.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Why issue an invitation with a time on it if you don’t want people to be there on time?”

“I fear we will be a tad late,” Westcliffe said, “as I have a matter to which I must attend.”

“Oh, Lord,” Beth whined rolling her eyes.

No matter how young Claire had been when they married, he couldn’t imagine her throwing such tantrums at the smallest of inconveniences. He couldn’t imagine her throwing a tantrum at all. He walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and withdrew a black velvet box. “I thought a lady about to embark on her first ball of her first Season should have something by which to remember it.”

He extended it toward Beth.

Her eyes widened, and she smiled brightly. “Oh! For me! Oh! Thank you.” She hurried across the short distance separating them and eagerly snatched the box from him. Opening it, she gasped. “Oh, it’s lovely! Oh, Claire, look. A pearl bracelet. Help me put it on, will you, please?”

She smiled at him softly, and in her blue eyes, he saw the gratitude for what he considered a small gesture—and what she obviously considered so much more. It gave him a sense of accomplishment such as he’d never before experienced.

“Of course, I’ll assist you,” she said, coming to stand between him and Beth, near enough that her rose fragrance wafted toward him. He could see the pearl loops in her hair swaying gently with her movements as she bent her head to see to her sister’s needs. What of her own?

When Claire was finished, Beth continued to exclaim about the beauty of the gift and walked over to a lamp, turning her wrist one way and another to better admire it in the light. Claire looked at him, and mouthed, “Thank you.”

“It’s your first ball of your first Season as well, isn’t it?” he asked, reaching back into the drawer and withdrawing another velvet box.

Tears welled in her eyes, and he watched as her delicate throat worked while she swallowed. “I wasn’t expecting …”

And he realized that made it all the more enjoyable to give it. Every other woman in his life had expected the trinkets and baubles.

“Well, open it, Claire, for pity’s sake, and let’s see what it is,” Beth demanded.

“Oh, yes, of course.” She’d managed to blink back the tears, but her hand was trembling when she took the box. Inside on a bed of velvet was a circlet of sapphires. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she whispered, in awe.

“You’d mentioned that you favored blue,” he said.

Smiling warmly, she nodded. “Yes.”

“It is lovely,” Beth said. “Pity you can’t wear it tonight, unless you change your gown.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Something this exquisite can be worn with anything.”

She began to lift it out.

“Allow me,” he said, taking it from her and draping it around her wrist. Although she wore gloves that rode up her arms and curled around her elbows, he could have sworn he felt her pulse thumping as he secured the clasp. Then he found himself looking down into her eyes, could sense her studying him. He didn’t know what had possessed him to purchase the pieces. He’d been shopping for something for Anne—a reward for her patience—when he’d spied the piece and thought of Claire. He didn’t want her to make more of it than she should, so he’d purchased a bracelet for her sister as well. “Just something to remember the night by.”

She stepped back, nodding once more. “Again, thank you.”

“May we leave now?” Beth asked, her impatience obvious.

He gave a low chuckle as he reached into his pocket for his gloves. “Without further ado.”

During the carriage ride, Claire couldn’t stop touching the bracelet. He’d given her a gift on their wedding day, but she was fairly certain it had been an obligation. This gift—what did it signify?

He’d taken her breath when she’d walked into the library and seen him in his tight black trousers, gray waistcoat, and blue double-breasted tailcoat. He looked magnificent. Even with his black hair styled, he still exuded a roughness that was appealing on a primal level. She couldn’t imagine that there was a woman in all of England who wouldn’t want him. She certainly did. But it was more than his good looks that appealed to her. She’d not expected the care and attention he took with Beth. She’d certainly not expected this slow shifting in their relationship.

She again touched the bracelet. In all honesty, she’d dreaded what tonight might bring for her. Pity, shame, gossip. But his simple gesture had laid all her worries to rest. She would make it through tonight. Beth would have her ball, her Season, and she would find someone to replace Hester.

Carriages were lined up in the drive leading to the Greystones’ residence, and it was several long minutes—during which Beth repeatedly suggested that they simply leave the carriage and walk—before they arrived at the front. A liveried footman opened the door and handed them down. Claire couldn’t deny the tautening of her stomach as she climbed the steps to the entrance. Her heart steadied when Westcliffe placed his hand on the small of her back. It was only a brief touch, but it was enough.

They left their wraps in the parlor before proceeding on to the grand room where the dancing was taking place.

Claire knew it was rude to gape, yet at her first sight of the room she seemed unable to help herself. The ballroom was far more magnificent than anything she’d imagined. The crystal chandeliers were alight with what must have been a thousand candles. So many flowers scented the room that Claire was fairly certain not a single bloom remained anywhere else in London. But it was more than the gilded mirrors, the orchestra playing from a balcony, the beautiful gowns, the glittering diamonds. It was the atmosphere of joy and gaiety. Here there were no worries. Nothing except fun.

She was startled to hear, “Lord and Lady Westcliffe and Lady Beth Michaels!”

Where before devastation at the reality of her position had engulfed her, tonight she felt an almost unheralded sense of pride as she descended the stairs with Westcliffe’s hand laying lightly, almost possessively, against her back. If the years continued to be as kind to him as they’d been so far, as he grew older, ladies would swoon from the mere mentioning of his name.

At the foot of the stairs, he formally introduced her and Beth to their host and hostess: the Duke and Duchess of Greystone. They were a handsome couple, and she had no doubt they adored each other—it was clearly telegraphed in each glance, every touch.

Westcliffe then led them over to an arrangement of chairs near some potted fronds. “I’ll return in a bit,” he said, and before she could respond, he’d walked away.

The reality of their situation began to take hold as no one approached.

“Do you know anyone to whom you can introduce me?” Beth asked after a while, and Claire heard the rising panic in the high pitch of her voice.

“I’m looking.”

“No one is going to ask me for a dance.”

“Be patient, Beth.”

But even she had begun to lose hope when the Duchess of Greystone walked over with a young gentleman in tow. “Lady Westcliffe, Lady Beth, Lord Bentley has asked for an introduction.”

His introduction seemed to signal a mad dash, because Beth was suddenly catching the attention of every eligible young buck in the room. Within half an hour, so many introductions had been made that her dance card was completely filled.

“Lady Beth, have I arrived too late to snag a dance?” The question was asked smoothly, as though an answer in the affirmative would be equivalent to receiving Cupid’s arrow through the heart.

Beth beamed up at Ainsley. “Your Grace, I fear you have indeed.” She waved her dance card in front of his face. “Can you believe it?”

Claire grabbed her sister’s wrist and pulled her hand down to her side. “Beth, don’t be obnoxious.”

“But I cannot believe how popular I am. Oh, listen!” Dramatically, she set her hand to her ear. “The first waltz. Lord Bentley.”

As though she’d summoned him with her excitement, Lord Bentley appeared and escorted her sister to the dance floor. After all of her worrying, Claire couldn’t believe that the night would go so well.

“And what of you?” Ainsley asked.

Claire shook her head lightly. “I’m not the one having the Season.” She touched his arm and held his green gaze. “Thank you so much. I know your promise to attend has helped matters where Beth is concerned. I didn’t expect you to appear.”

“My mother may not hold with the value of promises, but I do. And if my brother is too daft to ask his wife for a dance, allow me the honor.” Bowing slightly, he extended his arm.

She shook her head more vigorously. “Oh, no, that would not be wise.”

“Afraid he might get jealous?”

“More afraid, I think, that he won’t.” She lifted a shoulder. “I’m not even sure what I meant by that. But in either case, I believe one of us would get hurt.”

“By that logic, he should be storming over here now simply because I’m talking with you.” Leaning near, he winked. “I promised our hostess I’d dance once before I left. I’d rather it be a married woman. Don’t want to give any unmarried young misses hope. And if you don’t dance with me, I’m doomed to spend a rather boring evening here, and if word gets around that I’ve stopped attending—”

“Oh, all right,” she said, laughing. “Although in truth, Westcliffe receives invitations to balls.”

“But not as many as I garner.”

Unfortunately, the music ceased. Beth returned to her side, where the charming Earl of Greenwood made his appearance and whisked her away.

“He’ll be a marquess someday,” Ainsley said as he gallantly escorted Claire to the dance floor. “I suppose you know that already.”

With a proper distance between them, he took her into his arms, and they began to circle the dance floor.

“Actually, I’m acquainted with very few of the nobility—only those I met when we visited your estate and a few on my wedding day.”

“Old men, then.”

She smiled. “For the most part, yes.”

“Lynnie’s friends mostly.”

Lynnie. The Earl of Lynnford. Their guardian.

“Should you refer to him so informally?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve taken my place in the House of Lords. He would expect it.”

“What of Westcliffe? I suppose he’s sitting there now.” She’d never given it any thought before.

“He’s been there for some time. Takes his duties very seriously. It’s the reason he married you, isn’t it?”

She lifted a shoulder.

“Do you ever wonder if perhaps there was another reason?” he asked.

“Such as?”

“Perhaps he liked you.”

“He had a funny way of showing it. He never spoke to me.”

“He’s really quite timid, you know.”

Nearly bursting out with laughter, she caught the glimmer of teasing in his eyes. “Oh, yes, I’m sure at this very moment he’s hiding beyond a potted frond.”

“On the contrary, he’s in the corner, quite visible, glaring.”

She nearly lost her footing and stumbled over her feet.

“Don’t look,” he ordered, just as she began to turn her head.

“We should end the dance now,” she said.

“Don’t be silly. I’m enjoying it far too much.”

“You’re enjoying antagonizing him.”

“That, too.”

“Please.”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “I don’t need you to protect me. I’m quite capable of looking out for myself.”

“He has a rather nasty punch.”

“Which he’d never use on you.”

“But he would on you.”

“Not if I stand up to him. That’s the thing about Westcliffe. Never takes his anger out on those who stand up to him. You should give it a try sometime.”

Thankfully, two beats later, the music ceased. With a great deal of relief, she allowed Ainsley to escort her back to the area where she would meet with Beth. Surreptitiously, she searched for Westcliffe, but she wasn’t as tall as Ainsley, and so many people were in attendance that it was difficult to see around them.

When they arrived at their spot, Ainsley took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Thank you for allowing me to fulfill my obligations here. I know a lady who will very much appreciate my ability to arrive earlier than planned.”

A lady who was not at the ball? She idly wondered how much of a lady she could actually be, then chastised herself for doing exactly what she didn’t want done of her. “Does your mother know of her?”

He gave her a devastating grin. “God, I hope not.”

He left her then, and at that precise moment, across the ballroom, Westcliffe stepped into her line of sight. She did hope that Ainsley walked quickly, because based on her husband’s expression, he was fully capable of committing murder.

Westcliffe grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing footman. He’d only taken a few steps when Ainsley nearly collided with him.

“So, are you going to dance with her?” Ainsley asked.

“Her?” Westcliffe repeated. “First ball of the Season, there are probably more than a hundred women in attendance. Did you have a particular her in mind?”

“Your wife.”

“You danced with her. I’d think that would suffice.”

“She’s quite accomplished.”

“So I noticed.”

Ainsley smiled, blast him. He’d wanted Westcliffe to notice.

“She didn’t want to, you know,” Ainsley murmured.

“What’s that?”

“Dance with me. She was afraid it would anger you.”

“Smart girl.”

“Not a girl. More of a woman I’d say.”

His jaw clenched, and he had to fight to unlock it. “I suppose you’d know, holding her as you were.”

“I was most respectful. Poor thing was afraid you might strike me.”

“I might yet.”

“No, you won’t. Enjoy the evening.”

As his brother strode away, heading for the stairs, Westcliffe regretted that he couldn’t go with him, that he had obligations here. He continued in the direction he’d been heading before Ainsley’s interruption.

As he neared Claire, he was struck once again by her beauty. When they’d first arrived, he’d been caught unawares by her amazement when her blue eyes had widened as they’d walked into the ballroom. Quite honestly, he didn’t understand why a woman would want a Season if she didn’t need one. Claire had been betrothed. Why go through all this nonsense? He’d thought he was saving her from a fate worse than death.

Just as he did, he suspected that many a man considered tossing a rope over a nearby chandelier and hanging himself when attending one of these affairs.

She smiled at him as he came to stand beside her.

“Champagne?” he asked.

“The last time I drank champagne, my judgment was not at its best.” Still, she took the offered flute and sipped delicately.

He was not yet ready to joke or tease about that night. It could still cut him to the quick, so he said instead, “I see your sister is dancing.”

“Yes, can you believe it? Her card is completely filled.”

“And what of yours?”

“Nary a name. Which is fine. I didn’t come here to dance. I just want to see Beth happy.”

The orchestra began to play another tune, one Westcliffe recognized. He’d known there was always a chance that someone would ask Claire for this dance before he did, but he had little doubt that one well-practiced look would have had the blighter scurrying away. His practiced look had even terrified his wife when she was a girl. Terrified everyone, in fact, except for his brothers. Perhaps because Stephen, damn him, had caught Westcliffe practicing in front of a mirror and shared his find with Ainsley. They’d both decided that pretended anger was no anger at all. Unfortunately, they’d yet to learn when he was truly angry and how to avoid bringing forth his wrath.

“Will you honor me with this dance?” he asked.

Her eyes widened considerably. Quickly reclaiming herself, she gave him a nod.

He took her flute, setting it and his aside. He escorted her onto the dance floor, and suddenly she was in the circle of his arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d danced, but he didn’t recall feeling as though the lady matched him perfectly. He wondered if it might have been best to have left her playing the part of wallflower.

“I love ‘Greensleeves,’ ” she said quietly, as though the silence between them began to unsettle her.

“I know.”

Her eyes widened again. He hoped she never took it upon herself to take up cards. She’d lose a fortune.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Whenever you visited, it was the only song I recall your playing on the pianoforte.”

She laughed lightly, and something inside him twisted. Her laughter had always had the strangest effect on him, had always comforted and made him long for things at the same time.

“It’s the only song I’ve ever mastered,” she said. “I think I was born with all thumbs and no fingers.”

He tightened his hand around hers, acutely aware of the fingers splayed on his shoulder. “I assure you, you have lovely fingers even if they do not agree with the keys of the pianoforte.”

“A compliment and a gift. I daresay this is a magical night.”

He frowned. “I’ve complimented you before.”

“Have you?” She arched a brow as though she expected him to provide an example.

Damnation, his mind had gone blank. “I’m certain I have.”

She gave him an odd smile that was either sad or chastising or perhaps a combination of both. “You seldom spoke to me before we were married and certainly not often afterward.”

If he’d been sitting, he’d have shifted uncomfortably in his chair and reached for his whiskey. “What is there to discuss?”

“The things you favor. Your hopes, your dreams, your plans for the future. I don’t know. What do couples discuss? I’ve heard enough rumors to know that I was not your first lady. What did you discuss with the others?”

“We never talked. Our mouths were busy with other things.”

He took a perverse pleasure in her blush. Leaning near, he said in a low voice, “You shouldn’t ask questions to which you truly don’t want the answers.”

She angled her chin. “Perhaps I do want the answers. Perhaps this simply isn’t the place to ask them.”

“The library at midnight would serve better.”

“Is that an invitation?” she asked, breathlessly.

“More of a dare, I should think.”

She nodded, and he wondered exactly what her answer was. He also realized they’d stopped dancing. Fortunately, the music had ceased to play as well.

They’d nearly reached her little corner of the ballroom when Greenwood intercepted them.

“My lord,” the young man said. Westcliffe felt him slipping something into his hand. “Lady Beth is an intriguing woman.” He turned to Claire. “Countess, I hope you will give me leave to call upon your sister.”

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

“Very good.” He bowed. “M’lord. M’lady.”

He walked away, and Westcliffe made a move to return the item to his pocket, but he wasn’t subtle enough. Claire grabbed his hand, unfurled two of his fingers. A flash of anger ignited her eyes. For some inexplicable reason he relished it.

“He paid you?” she whispered harshly.

“I paid him. A fiver to dance with her.”

“You paid him?”

“I paid them all. A young buck is always in need of a bit of pleasure funds. You wanted her night to be memorable didn’t you?”

Before she could respond, he walked away.

She’d been horrified by his actions. He’d originally planned to stay and talk with her, but he hadn’t wanted to get into an argument.

He watched as a couple of elderly matrons approached her. He suspected they were more interested in her since her dance with Ainsley than in her dance with him. No doubt they wanted to gain an introduction for their daughters. A bachelor duke was always highly sought after. Little wonder Ainsley had made an early exit. Westcliffe did not envy him having to fend off so much unwanted—

Anne nudged him as she came to stand beside him. “I saw you dancing with your wife. You told me you never dance at these affairs.”

With her tone of voice, she didn’t try to hide her displeasure. Her face, however, gave the appearance they were engaged in a delightful conversation. She was much more skilled at deception than Claire.

“She is my wife. It seemed appropriate.”

“I’ve never seen her before. I have to admit to being surprised by her appearance. She’s rather … unimpressive.”

Unimpressive? He thought she was the most fascinating woman in attendance. She was not jaded. She still held on to a certain amount of naïveté. Strong, determined. She stood out because she was unlike anyone else there.

“It is a nice night for a walk in the garden,” Anne murmured, interrupting his thoughts. She snapped her fan closed, lifted it to her mouth, and glided her tongue along its edge. He doubted his wife was familiar with the meaning of that message.

But he was. He could scarcely believe the words he was uttering. “Not tonight.”

She arched a brow at him. “Afraid we might get caught? That makes it all the more fun.”

His gaze never wavered from Claire. The matrons had left, and three other ladies had circled about her.

“Why the interest in her?” Anne snapped when he didn’t respond to her earlier words. “Trying to make sure she doesn’t slip off with someone else?”

Her derisive retort caused his gut to tighten, but strangely he didn’t think Claire would sneak away for a clandestine meeting with another man. Perhaps if Stephen were here … but he wasn’t. He was supposedly with the army somewhere in India.

Anne touched his arm gently, almost hesitantly. So unlike her. He glanced over at her. “I could make a scene,” she threatened.

“Don’t,” he ground out. He’d not have Claire’s first ball ruined.

“Then meet me in the garden. I want to thank you properly for the diamond bracelet you gave me.” She lifted her hand. “It’s beautiful.”

“This is not the place. I’ll come see you later,” he said quietly.

He could read her displeasure as though she’d taken pen and ink to her features. Finally, she gave a barely perceptible nod. “I shall be waiting in anticipation.”