Hope swelled in Caroline as she took the duke’s elbow, despite a firm reprimand to herself. Her wayward emotions refused to listen. Surely, tonight would be the night her prayers would be answered and the duke would propose.

Wayfair singled her out at nearly every social engagement he attended, not that he made an appearance at many. She knew that was a clear signal he was interested in her. However, she also knew acting needy wouldn’t aid her. It might even have the opposite effect and chase him away.

Her gaze caught on the Earl of Aberland as they walked past him toward the dance floor. The lord was handsome with dark hair and brown eyes the color of melted chocolate, but the cynical twist to his lips made him unapproachable, as did his reputation as a rogue with no fortune. The intensity with which he studied her did nothing to ease her nerves, and she was grateful when he moved out of her range of vision.

She smiled at the duke, her pulse skittering with a terrible desperation she couldn’t keep at bay. She shifted her focus to breathing more deeply to push away a sudden light-headedness. Fainting wouldn’t help her case either.

At the age of three and twenty, she was no young debutante. She’d been previously engaged. That practically made her a woman of the world.

Funny but she didn’t feel like one.

She was all too aware of how little money was left to see them through the week, let alone the Season. Her father’s cough had improved marginally, so a visit from the doctor wasn’t as urgent as they’d first thought, but his condition could change again. A proposal from the duke would solve many problems.

“I hope you’re having a splendid evening,” Wayfair said, tugging her from her reeling thoughts.

“I am.” Caroline did her best to smile as though she hadn’t a care in the world, determined to focus on the moment. “And you?”

“Thus far, it’s faring well.” His pale blue eyes glittered in the candlelight as he smiled. His brown hair was shorn close to his head with a nose too narrow to be considered Roman. Though taller than her, he didn’t appear nearly as tall or broad of shoulder as Aberland. The earl was far more handsome as well.

She gave herself a mental shake. Wayfair’s appearance was of little importance. Not when his wealth was known far and wide. Though Caroline had difficulty imagining carrying on a lengthy conversation with the duke, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t suit. She knew he was the right man for her.

He was never rude, never flirtatious, always polite. He knew the Prince Regent, along with many other influential members of the nobility. Becoming the Duchess of Wayfair would not only allow her family to pay their overdue accounts, but would ensure her sisters made excellent matches. What more could she ask for in a husband?

The unsettling part was that none of this was in her control. She had yet to think of anything she might say or do that would cause the duke to propose. All she could do was be patient. She’d never realized how difficult wanting something just beyond her reach was, especially something so important.

“How is your sister?”

“She is well. Thank you. She sends her regards but has remained in the country.”

She curtsied as the duke bowed, then the music swelled, and the movements of the quadrille held her attention rather than her worries. Conversation was limited beyond the basics.

But while she normally enjoyed dancing, soon not even the dance steps served to keep her mind from racing ahead.

The duke didn’t act any differently than he had at other balls and parties. Did that mean tonight wasn’t the night after all?

Should she somehow make it clear she was interested in a proposal? How? She’d always been friendly and danced with him each time he asked. Surely, he already knew of her feelings.

“Fine weather we’ve been having for May,” he said as they passed each other.

“Indeed, it has been,” she replied when they met in the middle of the floor again. Whoever had invented this dance hadn’t been concerned with people wanting to speak with each other. Not when mere seconds passed before one moved past one’s partner.

If only she could think of an exciting topic of conversation. Something that might truly catch the duke’s interest.

But her mind remained stubbornly blank.

The sight of her mother smiling at the edge of the dance floor as she watched them only increased her nerves. Caroline wanted to warn her not to raise her hopes as she feared the duke would not be offering tonight.

If he were going to propose, wouldn’t he be more anxious than he appeared to be? His attention seemed to be on the crowd as much as on her. Was he already searching out his next dance partner?

Before she had an answer, the music drew to a stop, he bowed as she curtsied then he escorted her back to where he’d found her.

“Thank you,” she said, berating herself for not having anything clever to add, but the pressure she felt made it difficult to breathe let alone think.

“Thank you, Miss Gold. I enjoy dancing with you.”

Her heart raced when his gaze held hers a moment longer than normal.

Was this it?

Was this the moment?

Her stomach dipped with anticipation.

“Wayfair. Haven’t seen you in an age.”

The interruption had the duke glancing toward the speaker. Caroline wanted to stomp her foot in protest, anything to draw his attention back to her.

“It’s been some time, Stanford.” After a final bow in Caroline’s direction and bidding her good evening, the duke continued his conversation with the other man several steps away.

Annabelle drew near. “Did anything exciting occur?” she asked under her breath.

“No. Just a dance.” Disappointment numbed her.

Her sister put her arm through Caroline’s. “You must say that with the proper respect and excitement. No one simply dances with a duke, because so few do.”

Caroline had to smile. Trust Annabelle to brighten her mood. “I danced with the duke.” This time she whispered it with greater animation, causing Annabelle to laugh.

“That is more like it,” she declared. “Do you have any idea how many ladies in this room would give their left arm to dance with him?”

“Only their left?”

Annabelle smiled. “Some might like to write as much as I do. I wouldn’t want them to give up their right one for a man, if you see what I mean.”

Caroline could only chuckle. “Trust you to deem writing more important than love. I think that is only because you haven’t yet met a man who swept you off your feet.”

Annabelle shook her head. “While I’m not opposed to marrying, I can’t imagine preferring to spend time with a husband when I could be writing one of my stories.”

“Thank heaven we wear gloves, else those ink stains would give you away.”

“If only we could eat with them on,” Annabelle said with a sigh. “Then no one would know my secret.”

Caroline turned to her in alarm. “Do you believe someone knows?”

“Heavens, no. If their gaze lingers on my ink-stained fingers, I merely say I had a mishap with my ink well.”

Caroline breathed a sigh of relief. The idea of anyone realizing Annabelle was the author of the popular mystery series in the paper was worrying. Many already believed her a bluestocking. Revealing her writing skills would reduce her marriage prospects even more.

“Perhaps the duke will ask you to dance again,” Annabelle suggested.

“Oh, dear. Not if he’s leaving the ball.” Caroline watched as the duke approached the terrace door, speaking with a few people as he went.

Panic filled her and, without a second thought, Caroline hurried after him. The idea of him leaving without even the hint of a proposal pushed her forward. She needed tonight to be the night.

Hadn’t her former fiancé suggested she was too reserved in her behavior? That if she expressed more emotion, others wouldn’t assume her to be so cold?

This was her chance. Perhaps the duke thought her uninterested because of her natural reserve. She blamed her shyness on her unusual eyes. People often stared at her, making her uncomfortable. How was she supposed to strike up a conversation with someone when they stared at her as if she were an oddity suited for Vauxhall Gardens?

If she followed the duke into the garden, he might act. Having this whole situation behind her would relieve her family’s mind as well as her own. That justified her forward behavior, didn’t it?

She reached the door and rushed outside, glancing about to see if anyone was there to witness her recklessness.

The terrace was empty except for the retreating figure of the duke. Her heart pounded. Should she should be relieved or concerned at the idea of being alone with him?

Ignoring the niggle of doubt suggesting caution, she called out, “Wayfair?”

He turned, surprise raising his brows. “Miss Gold. Is something amiss?”

“I-I—” Oh, dear heavens. What was she to say now that she had his attention? Did you mean to propose to me before that man interrupted us? No. That would never do. “I didn’t have the chance to ask if you’d be attending the Carltons’ ball later this week.”

Torches lined the edge of the terrace but did little to penetrate the dark, moonless night. The intimacy of the situation caught Caroline off guard. Doubt shifted from a whisper to a loud voice in her head.

The duke drew nearer. His proximity made her even more nervous, and her pulse fluttered in her throat. He seemed different out here. More...masculine. Silly of her to only now remember he was a man rather than merely a means to an end.

“I haven’t yet decided.” His gaze swept over her, lingering on her breasts.

Perhaps that was because she was practically panting with distress. No doubt he saw her chest heaving and thought something wrong.

He stepped closer still, and it was all she could do not to step back in reaction.

She berated herself. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? An intimate moment that would allow him to propose?

“Will you be there?” His gaze lifted to hold hers, filling her with relief that he no longer stared at her breasts.

“I believe so. Lady Carlton is always so kind that it seems a shame to miss it.” Was it her imagination, or was he easing nearer still? “My mother enjoys visiting with her as well.”

She bit her tongue at the inane comment. Apparently, her intelligence had been smothered by her nerves.

He nodded as he lifted his hand to touch her bare arm where her capped sleeve ended. “I hope you’re not too chilled out here.” His hand lingered on her skin, and the voice in her head practically shouted.

Instead of telling him he was making her uncomfortable, she gritted her teeth and smiled—something she seemed to be doing often of late. “Not at all.”

He ran his hand along her arm, and she couldn’t help but shiver in reaction but not from desire.

When he smiled in response, her unease only increased.

“Will you?” she asked, hoping he didn’t notice the squeak at the end of her question.

“I will make a point to attend if you’ll be there.”

Odd how that didn’t make her feel warm on the inside. What was wrong with her this evening?

“Miss Gold, or perhaps I might call you Caroline?”

“Of course.”

“Caroline, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, I am deeply attracted to you.” He glanced about the terrace. “I must say, I’m touched that you followed me out here. By yourself.”

His comment only made her feel more alone. More vulnerable.

“Yes, well, I should return inside. No doubt my mother is looking for me.” Would the mention of her mother cause him to step back? Did she want him to? Her senses were confused, unable to clarify how she should act, what she might say.

“No doubt.” His easy agreement should’ve reassured her, but it didn’t.

He glanced toward the door leading to the ballroom, making her wonder what caused his distraction. Was he looking for someone?

“Caroline.”

Her attention returned to him to see him lean forward. Shock swept through her as she realized he intended to kiss her. This should be exactly what she wanted. He’d admitted his attraction and now he was showing her.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to meet him halfway. Instead, she stilled, watching his narrow lips come closer and closer, all too aware of the dread in the pit of her stomach.

Suddenly, he moved back. “I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this another time. Damn Aberland.” His hastily muttered words were barely audible before he was gone.

She stared into the shadows that enveloped him in the darkness at the edge of the garden, confused as to what had just happened.

~*~

Richard strode across the terrace toward Miss Gold, suspicion quickening his pace. Why had the duke left so abruptly unless he had something to hide? The situation mirrored the moment of Maria’s betrayal, causing flashes of the past to mingle with the present. For a brief moment, Maria’s dark hair took the place of Miss Gold’s blonde locks as she’d stood in Le Sournois’s terrible embrace.

How many times had he been shown that women weren’t to be trusted? From his mother’s lies and unfaithfulness, to the woman who had fooled both him and Dumond.

“What did he say to you?” he demanded.

“What?” Even in the dim torchlight, he could see color rise in her cheeks, her pupils dilate. Obvious signs of guilt.

“Did he pass something to you?”

“I don’t know of what you’re speaking.” Miss Gold stepped back but Richard followed.

“Tell me everything he said.”

“My conversation with the duke is no business of yours.” She turned to go, but he reached for her arms to hold her still, determined to have answers despite the distraction of her lilac scent or the appeal of her slim curves.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what he said.” Anger fueled him—from the past as much as from this moment. It was all he could do not to shake her. “I heard what you said earlier. Spying is a lucrative business.”

She stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “I was jesting.”

Before he could force the truth from her as he’d failed to do with Maria, voices penetrated the fog that filled his mind.

Miss Gold’s gasp had him glancing over his shoulder to see several people standing near the garden door.

“Caroline?” The lady in front took a halting step forward.

“Mother. I—” Miss Gold’s attention shifted to him then back to the lady.

The weight of the situation struck Richard with one blow. The accusing stares of the woman and her companions, including the Marchioness of Southby, the hostess of the ball, made it clear what they thought they saw.

He still held Miss Gold by the arms. It no doubt looked like they’d been embracing when that couldn’t be further from the truth. He released her and stepped back, but from the expressions of those staring at them across the terrace, he feared it was too late.

“Aberland, perhaps you’d care to explain.” The Marchioness of Southby stepped forward.

“It was a misunderstanding.” Miss Gold’s voice shook with panic. “The earl seemed to think—” She glowered at him, clearly wanting him to join her in protesting by telling what had truly happened.

But what could he say? That he thought she and the duke were spies and had taken a quiet moment on the terrace to share information? That would ruin far more than Miss Gold’s reputation.

“What I mean to say is, the duke—” She gestured toward the shadows where Wayfair had disappeared.

“Caroline.” The dismay in her mother’s voice was clear even to Richard.

He couldn’t help but grit his teeth at the message. Her daughter being caught with the duke was obviously preferable to her being caught with him.

“I was merely asking the lady a question,” Richard protested at last.

“You had your hands on her,” the marchioness said.

“Tsk. Tsk, Aberland. You were holding her,” another lady added, “alone on the terrace.”

“He’s such a terrible rogue,” one of the other ladies whispered to the marchioness. Did she think he couldn’t hear her?

Jaw clenched, he tried again. “Miss Gold wasn’t feeling well. I was assisting her.”

“Truly, Aberland?” the same lady who’d just spoke asked. “That’s not an original excuse in the least.”

The realization that his reputation as a rogue—the very one that was supposed to protect him from matchmaking mamas and their daughters—had backfired on him only made the situation more painful.

“Are you all right?” Caroline’s mother asked as she came forward with the young lady with whom Miss Gold had spoken earlier.

“Of course.” Miss Gold waved her gloved hand. “This was a moment of confusion.” She glared at him, clearly wanting him to offer more of an explanation. “Nothing untoward occurred.”

“That’s right. Nothing at all.” He stared into the shadows, wondering if the duke watched the chaotic scene he’d left behind.

He wanted to walk away from this ludicrous situation. But a glance at the gathering crowd spilling onto the terrace removed that option.

“I hardly think my speaking to Miss Gold is a cause for concern.” He directed his protest toward the marchioness as she appeared to be the most outraged at the situation.

“You were holding her.” The marchioness’s voice carried across the terrace. “What are we supposed to think?”

A sinking feeling spread through him, for he had no answer. At least not one he could share. Nor could he think of any other excuses they might accept.

“My apologies if I caused you any distress, Miss Gold,” he offered, hoping that would suffice to unravel the preposterous situation.

“Thank you.” She didn’t look at him.

He turned to the marchioness, her determined expression causing the sinking feeling to harden into a tight ball of distress as he realized this was far from over.

Damn Society and the absurd rules by which they played.