She should have declined. Any respectfully affianced lady would have. Not that a betrothed woman wasn’t allowed to dance with a man who wasn’t her intended, but she certainly shouldn’t be so near to a man whose hands, although properly placed—­one on her back and the other providing a haven for her fingers—­caused her to long for them to be improperly placed, caressing the nape of her neck, stroking her bared shoulders, cradling her face as he leaned in—­

Oh, dear Lord. She wanted that deliciously wicked mouth of his doing all the things she dreamed of his hands doing. It was wrong, so wrong.

And he was incorrect. She did experience passion where Kip was concerned, and it was more than the childish desires of small things like a butterfly landing on her outstretched hand or a day without lessons. She had womanly passions. How often had she thought about Kip kissing her? A thousand at least, although not nearly as often as she’d envisioned Mick kissing her during the short time she’d known him.

Mick. She couldn’t call him that to his face. It was far too intimate, but in the hidden recesses of her mind where she held on to dreams that would never see reality, she could be less formal. Mick.

“Is it short for Michael?” she asked.

He arched a dark brow. “Pardon?”

“Your name. Is it short for Michael? Is that the name that was registered at your birth?”

“My birth wasn’t registered. My mum just called me Mick.”

She’d never given any thought to the fact that there were those for whom records were not kept. Her ancestry as well as Kip’s were charted back generations, their births heralded, applauded, blessed. While his had come about in secret and in disgrace. Suddenly it seemed wrong that any child should be looked upon with shame, as though it were responsible for its existence. “It’s a strong name.”

“I think it was Ettie Trewlove’s husband’s.”

“She’s a widow, then.”

“She is.”

“I’m sorry. It’s sad for a woman to lose her man.”

He nodded. “She didn’t marry him for property, title, position, or wealth, as he possessed none of those things. But he did possess her heart.”

She was touched by his words. She’d not expected such sentiments from him. “You’re a romantic, deep down.”

“No. A realist.”

“A realist who waltzes like a dream.” She couldn’t have spoken truer words. As he swept her over the floor, his movements were smooth, confident, poised. Never before had she been treated to such exceptional dancing. She had no fear he would step on her slippered feet. “Where did you learn?”

“From my first lover.”

A bubble of self-­conscious laughter burst forth. She could scarcely believe he’d tossed out the words so matter-­of-­factly, as though discussing one’s paramours was not scandalous in the extreme. “Ah, I suppose I should appreciate the honesty.” Even if she didn’t want to think about him in the arms of another woman. “She liked to waltz, did she?”

“Not particularly. She was the widow of a duke, liked a bit of the rough, and I suited her purposes. The first time we came together, afterward, she offered me a quid, like I was a bloody whore.”

She fought not to look appalled, and yet she was. Not so much by his crude words, although no one had ever spoken to her so bluntly before, but that his actions had been viewed as a service by a lady of the nobility. She was equally appalled a lady of high standing would seek such services. Men had carnal needs. That was understood, accepted. But ladies were above all that. Or so she’d always thought. Perhaps her latest wanton musings were not without merit. “It must have hurt your pride.”

The words seem trite and stupid when voiced aloud. “I mean—­”

“Don’t make a fuss over it. I told you, a woman’s passions are different from a child’s. She was a young widow with a great deal of pent-­up appetites. She wanted things from me in the bed. I wanted things from her out of it. So we struck a deal. She taught me how to dress for the position I wanted in the world—­not the one I held. How to address my betters—­”

She couldn’t quite envision him thinking anyone was his better.

“—­drink tea in a nobleman’s parlor, dine with a queen, waltz. In essence how to be a gentleman. I’ve yet to drink tea in a nobleman’s parlor or dine with the queen, but perhaps an opportunity will yet present itself. Just as tonight, this moment is the first time I’ve put her dancing tutelage into practice.”

He made her feel special in ways she hadn’t since her own introduction to the queen. “I’m honored. Why wait so long?”

“Because there was no one with whom I wished to dance.”

She nearly stumbled, might have, but his hold on her tightened fractionally, his gaze never wavering from hers. “A proper gentleman doesn’t say something like that to a lady who is betrothed,” she chastised.

“But I am not a proper gentleman.”

“Yet you claim to want to be one, and that involves more than tea, dining and dancing. It involves knowing what is proper to say to a lady and what is not.”

He bowed his head slightly. “I’ve made you uncomfortable. That was not my intent. It seems my lessons are lacking to some extent.”

She suspected he knew precisely what he was about, what was acceptable conversation and what was not. Still with no wish to insult him, she shook her head. “I may have overreacted. I’m not accustomed to harmless flirtation. From the moment I had my coming out, gentlemen knew I was spoken for, even if it wasn’t formally announced yet. When they danced with me, we usually discussed the weather.”

“They were idiots.”

“They were behaving as gentlemen. Did your lady friend not teach you the acceptable topics of conversations?”

“I could make you blush if I shared with you the topics we discussed.”

She should cease the discussion, yet she found herself intrigued by it. Kip never spoke to her about unsuitable subjects; he never spoke with her passionately, never made her blush with little more than an intense look, a smile, an innuendo. “I do hope you won’t try. I don’t blush prettily.”

“You’re blushing right now, and I’ve never been so mesmerized.”

“Mr. Trewlove—­”

“Mick.”

“Mick.”

“I like the way my name sounds on your lips.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what precisely, Lady Aslyn?”

Make me wish I wasn’t yet betrothed, make me question the passion I feel for Kip—­or the lack of it. They were friends. They’d always been friends. How often had the duchess told her that a fortunate woman married her dearest friend? That a deep and binding love might not be there in the beginning but it would arrive with time. “We’re moving into inappropriate waters.”

“If you were offended, you’d move out of my arms.”

“I was taught not to bring embarrassment to my host.”

“Is that only reason?”

“No. I’m indebted to the widowed duchess. You are a marvelous partner. You make me feel as though I’m waltzing on clouds.”

His eyes darkened with his pleasure, even as their intensity increased. She had the fleeting thought that if the music never ceased its playing, she wouldn’t object. And yet it did end, the final strains of the melody drifting away.

Releasing his hand, stepping back, she fought not to have a sense of loss as the distance between them grew. “Thank you for the dance.” She said it as kindly, yet as dismissively as she could. For her own sake and as a reminder to herself regarding where her loyalties resided.

“It was my pleasure.”

“I daresay I really have kept you too long from your other guests. I’m certain there are numerous ladies who will seek you out for a dance now that they’ve witnessed the grace with which you command the dance floor.”

“Then they will face disappointment.”

She didn’t know how to respond. He said things she longed for Kip to utter. What a beastly fiancée she was, to compare her betrothed with a man she barely knew and certainly could never marry. After giving him a small smile, she made her way off the dance floor, grateful he didn’t attempt to accompany or follow her.

She needed to find Kip. Where the devil was he? He’d been gone far too long, and she suspected he’d gotten up to some mischief. She was grateful when she spied Fancy talking with a slender man who possessed the most vibrant red hair she’d ever seen.

The girl’s face brightened. “Lady Aslyn, allow me to introduce Mr. Tittlefitz.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she said.

His cheeks flushed so deep a red that his freckles nearly disappeared. “My lady.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Fancy asked.

“I am indeed, but I seem to have lost my escort. I wondered if you’d seen him about.”

“Not since he wandered off to the card room with my brothers. Although I have seen them here and there, as cards never seem to hold their interest for very long. I suspect because they probably lose their hard-­earned coins too rapidly. I daresay if Lord Kipwick is still playing, he must be frightfully skilled at winning.”

“Would you mind directing me to the card room, then?” If Kip was still there, perhaps she could convince him to set aside the cards in favor of a dance with her.

“I’ll escort you,” Mr. Tittlefitz said.

“Thank you.”

Unlike Mick, he didn’t offer his arm or stand so near to her that she could inhale his fragrance. “I’m to understand you’re Mr. Trewlove’s secretary.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“That must involve an inordinate amount of work.”

“I’d do anything the man asked of me without complaint. I’m alive only because of him.”

His words stopped her in her tracks. “How so?”

“People think because my father wouldn’t marry my mother that I must have inherited his low morals. Or hers, for being bedded by a man to whom she was not wed. The only work I could find was on the docks.” He looked down on himself. “And as you can see, I’m not built for hauling cargo. I usually got let go before I got paid. I was fourteen, thinking of doing something I ought not, something that would prove I was indeed cut from the same cloth as the man who sired me, something that, if I were caught, would see me on the gallows. Mr. Trewlove heard of my plight somehow. Dunno. Maybe my mum told his mum. We lived in the same squalid area. Anyway, he offered to hire a tutor for me and told me if I could learn everything I needed to learn within a year, I’d never go hungry. He provided for my mum so we had a roof over our head and food in our bellies. Not a lot but enough. I learned everything I needed to learn. Became his secretary. I wanted to pay him back, too. Every penny that it had cost him during that year when he took a chance on me. He instructed me to use my money to help some other lad. If you owe Mick Trewlove, you pay him back by helping someone else. And here I am blathering on and on when I’m supposed to be taking you to the card room.”

“You admire him.”

“No better man as far as I’m concerned.” He ducked his head slightly as though embarrassed by his vehement support of his employer. “Card room’s just up here.”

As impressed as she was with the hotel, she was more impressed with what she’d just learned about Mick Trewlove. A man who had gained so much yet continued to reach back to pull others up after him. In comparison, the frocks no longer in style or with which she’d grown bored that she donated to charity seemed a rather paltry effort at improving the state of the world.

She followed Mr. Tittlefitz down the corridor and into a room that wasn’t nearly as well-­lit as the ballroom. A smoky haze burned her eyes. There were several circular tables around which men and women sat while cards were tossed in front of them.

“Can I help you with anything else?” Mr. Tittlefitz asked.

“No, thank you. I should be able to make my way from here.” If Kip was within these walls, she’d find him and if he wasn’t, well, she wasn’t certain what she’d do then, except perhaps have the carriage brought around and see herself home. She didn’t believe he’d leave without her, but at that moment she didn’t know what to think, except to feel a measure of frustration with him for abandoning her completely for so long.

She wandered around the tables. Coins and paper currency were heaped in the center of some. Footmen hurried about, not carrying trays, but carrying bottles, continually filling glasses as they were emptied. Some men puffed on cigars while others smoked a pipe. She saw two ladies—­although ladies might have been a generous identifier—­holding very thin cheroots between their lips. Amid harsh curses, raucous laughter filled the air, along with the thickening smoke as she journeyed farther into the bowels of lessening refinement.

Earlier, when Mick had told her about those he’d invited to his affair, she’d admired the fact that he didn’t divide people into social classifications, that he welcomed the less well-­to-­do as equals to the affluent. It seemed an open-­minded approach, far different from the narrow one under which she’d been raised. She’d thought him progressive, but now she felt remarkably uncomfortable and out of place in these environs. She didn’t belong here. Not because these people were beneath her—­they weren’t. But they were more worldly, more experienced, more daring. They took risks. The ladies especially, not caring that they remain above reproach. They had freedom while she’d never felt more confined. She needed to leave, was desperate to do so, but she couldn’t desert Kip. She had to find him, which meant moving forward, aware of the stares landing on her, the whispers. Holding her head high, she fought not to give the impression she was uncomfortable here, didn’t want anyone to take offense, to think she considered herself better.

Then she spied Kip at a corner table, looking vastly different from the stylish gentleman who had walked through the front door with her. His disheveled hair stuck up on the ends as though he’d plowed his fingers through it repeatedly. His eyes were red and held a desperation she’d never seen. He lifted his gaze from the table, caught sight of her, and relief washed over his features, giving him the appearance of a much younger man, the teasing, playful one she’d come to love. Shoving back his chair, he stood and waved her over. She couldn’t deny the gladness that swept through her at his enthusiasm for having her near.

When she was close enough, he snaked his arm around her waist, drew her against his side and whispered in her ear, “I need your pearls.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have an incredible hand. I know no one can best me, but the blighter who is playing me has raised the stakes, well aware I no longer have the means to cover it. If I can’t match his wager, I’ll lose by default. Your pearls will ensure I don’t.”

She slapped her hand to the necklace at her throat. “These belonged to my mother and her mother before her.”

“You’re not going to lose the necklace. I just need it as a sign of good faith to cover my wager. You don’t even have to take it off. Please, Aslyn. It’s a small thing to ask, and the rewards will be beyond compare.”

She assumed the rewards would be the money piled in the center of the table. There were five other gents sitting around it, but only one was still holding cards.

“I have a plan,” he said. “I promise you will walk out of here wearing them.”

She hesitated. The best laid plans . . .

“If you love me . . .” he said, his voice low.

“You know I do.”

“Splendid.” He retook his seat, met the gaze of the man sitting opposite him, the one wearing an ill-­fitting brown jacket and tapping his cards on the table. “Her pearls should cover it.”

The man opened his mouth, ran his tongue over his teeth, one of them very nearly all black. She fought not to shudder at the sight. “They real?”

“Of course they are,” Kip said. “What use would she have for fake ones?”

The man lifted his burly shoulders until they nearly touched extremely large ears that reminded her of an elephant’s. “All right, then. Since you called—­”

“Actually, now that it’s settled we’re even, I’m going to raise you—­her hair comb. Pearls and diamonds.”

“Kip—­” she began.

He held up a hand to silence her objection. “Not to worry. I have the situation well in hand.”

“What’s it worth?” Brown Coat asked.

“A hundred quid.”

Brown Coat laughed, a mocking sound that grated on Aslyn’s nerves. She didn’t know this game, didn’t understand quite what was happening. Would Kip win if the man didn’t pay that amount? Was that his plan? To reverse the tables and win by default?

“All right, mate. In for a penny, in for a pound.” He picked up a handful of coins and tossed them negligently into the pile as though they were worth nothing. “Let’s see what ye got.”

Aslyn held her breath even though she had no idea what a winning hand might look like. Kip set down three cards and announced, “Three aces.”

“Not bad,” Brown Coat said.

He laid down the rest of his cards. “And two threes.”

Brown Coat’s eyes widened and he grinned. “Not bad at all.”

Did that mean Kip had won? His theatrics at displaying his cards made her think he did indeed have a very good hand.

“I can see why you was willing to risk so much,” Brown Coat said. “Unfortunately, for the lady, I’m holding . . .” He flipped his cards one at a time onto the table. “Four eights.”

Kip didn’t laugh or shout with joy. Instead he seemed to shrink before her, his shoulders rounding.

“Kip?”

With a shaking hand, he reached for his glass and tossed back the amber contents.

“Spud, take me winnin’s from the lady.”

Spud was much thinner than his friend, and she wondered if his motley face had anything to do with his name. While he looked regretful approaching her, she still didn’t want him touching her. “I’ll do it,” she announced, and, without hesitation, reached back and unlatched her necklace. Carefully she pulled the comb from her hair. With the reverence they deserved, she placed them gently on the table.

Kip twisted his head up. “Have you anything else on you?”

He could not be serious. And yet he appeared to be deadly so. “No. I believe it’s time we went home.”

He shook his head. “Aslyn, all I need is one more chance. I was so close. All I need is one more hand.”

Was this the future he was planning for them? What about the investors he’d been so keen to meet? This creature to whom she’d handed over her pearls and comb could not be a successful businessman. He’d never be allowed in the duke’s parlor to discuss investments.

“It’s time for you to leave, my friend,” Mick said, as he wrapped his hand around Kip’s arm. Although the words may have come across as a suggestion, there was a steeliness in his tone that indicated they were a command. She wondered how long he’d been standing there, if he’d witnessed her humiliation. If so, he gave no indication, seemed merely intent on the task at hand, getting Kip to his feet.

Kip didn’t object, but he did stagger back once he was standing. “I lost to a bloody bricklayer. He probably can’t even read.”

There was a slurring to his words she hadn’t noticed before. “You’re foxed.”

“No, but the room is spinning. What an odd thing to put in a hotel. A spinning room.”

“Your betrothed is correct, my lord,” Mick said. “It’s time you were away.”

It became clear rather quickly, when Kip rammed into a table, that he couldn’t walk a straight line without assistance. Mick provided it once again.

“Lead the way,” he instructed her.

She nodded. Much better to march forward than to follow behind, while Kip stumbled, in spite of the support the hotel owner provided him. Avoiding eye contact with anyone, she charged straight ahead, grateful when she finally burst through into the hallway where there was less smoke and she could at last breathe again, and her eyes weren’t smarting. She blinked back the tears and they didn’t return. She would not think about what she had lost. She would not.

If her parents’ deaths had taught her anything, it was that nothing was to be gained in mourning what could not be changed, in railing against it. Anger, tears, fists did not alter an outcome once it was realized.

When they reached the lobby, she spied Fancy near the stairs where she’d first seen Mick, and spun around, obviously catching him by surprise because he nearly rammed into her, in spite of his sagging burden. “If you’ll give me a moment, I wish to say goodbye to your sister.”

He nodded. “I’ll take him outside, send someone to fetch your carriage.”

“Thank you.” She strolled toward the stairs.

Fancy left the group of people to whom she was speaking and gazed toward the door. “Is his lordship all right?”

“He’s imbibed a bit too much.”

“I don’t understand why men do that. It’s such a silly thing.”

“Yes, well, we’re leaving now, and I just wanted to say that it was a pleasure to see you again.”

“I do hope you’ll come to my bookshop when it opens.”

“I look forward to it. Good night, Fancy.”

“Safe journey home, Aslyn. And sleep well.”

She doubted she was going to do that. When she got outside, she was grateful to see the carriage was already there. Mick Trewlove stood there empty-­handed. She assumed he’d already stuffed Kip inside.

“Thank you for inviting us. You have an extraordinary hotel here, Mr. Trewlove. We wish you great success with it and all your future endeavors.”

“That sounds like a forever sort of goodbye, Lady Aslyn.”

“I think it unlikely our paths will cross much in the future.”

“One never knows what the future might hold.” He held out his hand. She placed hers in it. Such strength there, such warmth, such surety. He handed her up into the carriage, and she settled on the squabs opposite Kip, who was slumped into a corner.

“He’s going to have a devil of a headache in the morning,” Mick said.

“Good.”

He grinned. “You have a vindictive nature, Lady Aslyn.”

“Until this moment, I’d have not thought so. I hope it’s only temporary, as it’s not a very pleasant trait.”

“Sometimes life calls for unpleasantries. Good night.” He closed the door, yelled up to the driver and the carriage took off.

She refrained from looking out the window, looking back to see if he was still watching her. For some unfathomable reason, she didn’t want him to dismiss her and merely go on his merry way. But neither did she want him to know she was indeed vindictive. She kicked Kip in the shin.

“Damnation!” he blurted, stirred, straightened a tad and glared at her through one eye.

“You lost my mother’s pearls and comb.”

“I’ll purchase replacements.”

“They won’t be the same. I treasured them not because of what they were but where they came from. I have so little of her, hardly any memories at all.”

“I’m sorry, Aslyn. I thought I would win. Instead I lost everything I had on me.”

“How much?”

“A thousand pounds.”

She stared disbelievingly at him. “What were you doing with that much money on you?”

“I thought to go to the club afterward. The money is inconsequential.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I lost my pocket watch.”

“The one your father gave you when you reached your majority?”

“Don’t tell him,” he whined and snuggled deeper into the corner.

A timepiece that had been passed down through at least three generations. “I don’t understand how you could gamble everything away.”

“Because you don’t know what it feels like.”

“To lose?”

“To win.” Shoving himself away from his little hovel, he leaned earnestly toward her. “You can’t imagine it. Your heart pounds so hard you can hear the blood rushing through your ears. There is an elation in your mind that makes it seem the entire universe is expanding. Your nerve endings tingle and become incredibly sensitive. Every sensation, every emotion is heightened. It’s like nothing else. It’s like being alive.”

Only she’d felt devastated, dead, handing over her pearls. “You must stop. You can’t continue doing this after we’re married.”

Slowly he blinked, as though having a difficult time processing her words. They should probably wait until liquor wasn’t sloshing through his veins, but the anger and disappointment were roiling through her now, and she was having a difficult time containing them.

“Are you forbidding me?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, I believe I am.”

“Wives do not forbid.”

“Husbands honor their wives’ requests if they want accord in their marriage.”

“Not when they’re unreasonable.”

“You lost your father’s watch. You lost a thousand quid. You lost my pearls, my comb—­all in a single night. I’ll not have the money in my trust frittered away after we’re married.”

“I’m not going to give up my life. I’m not going to become my father, always doting on my mother to the exclusion of all else, including his own son. You can’t expect it of me, and if you do, you’re going to be sadly disappointed.”

“No, I don’t think I shall be disappointed, as I very much doubt I’m going to marry you if you’re not willing to forgo this incessant gambling.” The words came out unbidden, tightening her stomach into a knot, and yet she could not deny the truth of them. She knew beyond any doubt that she would not find happiness with the man—­drunk, disheveled, and demanding—­who was currently sitting across from her.

“You’re being absurd,” he stated. “Overreacting. I enjoy gambling. It’s harmless. It’s not as though I’m going to be beating you.”

The conversation was deteriorating quickly, upsetting her even more. Not once had she considered him capable of this unflattering demeanor. “I never thought you would, but you hurt me tonight. And embarrassed me, as well as yourself. You made a spectacle of us both.”

“To a bunch of commoners whose opinions have no merit. They’re nothing—­oh, dear God.” Bracing his hand on her seat, he lowered his head.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to cast up my accounts.”

“Stop! Stop!” she shouted as she banged on the ceiling.

The carriage came to a halt. Kip flung open the door and staggered out. She heard him retching, felt rather ill herself. The man traveling with her was not one she could admire. She couldn’t even claim to like him, to enjoy his company.

She feared she may have become betrothed to a man she didn’t really know. More, she feared the man she’d witnessed tonight was the true Kip—­and that man she could not marry.

Some hours later, after everyone had left, all the lights had been doused and silence wove itself through all the rooms, Mick stood at the window in his library and gazed out on the night, slowly pulling the pearls on a serpentine path through his fingers. He could well imagine he felt the warmth from her neck still pulsating through the white.

He’d never had much respect for the aristocracy. Bloody toffs who were given so much, didn’t appreciate it and tended to lose it with such ease, as though it were of no consequence and more was to be found with the snap of fingers. In his desk drawer were half a dozen markers attesting to that attitude. Also in that desk drawer now rested a gold pocket watch that bore an intricate engraving of a stag, similar to the one that occupied a corner of the Hedley crest. Perhaps one day he would attach the chain that accompanied it to a button of his waistcoat and tuck the watch into the small pocket where he could easily reach it, gaze down on it and mark the time.

Tonight his focus was on the pearls. He knew the moment she realized they were lost to her. She’d been devastated. He’d seen the shattering in her eyes, then gone, with little more than a blink. If he hadn’t been watching so closely, he’d have missed it. But he had been watching, studying her all night, searching for weaknesses—­and all he’d found were strengths.

He’d wanted to applaud when she reached up and unlatched the pearls from about her neck. Spud didn’t realize how lucky he was that she’d taken the initiative. If he’d touched her, Mick would have broken his fingers or at the very least punched the man. He wouldn’t have been deserving of either treatment. Spud had been following the bricklayer’s orders to gather the winnings, but Mick recognized that where Lady Aslyn was concerned, he seemed to lack the ability to think with any rationality.

When she had walked from the room with her head held high, her shoulders back, her spine straight—­in spite of the mortification that the drunkard Mick had been dragging along had caused her—­he thought he’d never seen anyone with more regal bearing. And the lady—­a true lady, if ever there was one—­despite everything, had taken the time to say a few words of farewell to his sister.

Kipwick was undeserving of her. He wondered if she might realize it before it was too late. Or if it would be left to him to prove it to her.

He’d once thought her crucial to his scheme of bringing about Hedley’s downfall. Now he feared that she might very well lead to his.