Days later, Michael strode through the flower garden at the rear of his property and wondered how it might fare in the eyes of Lady X.

He had been mooning over her for the better part of a week. It had become such a normal part of his daily routine that could scarcely remember what life had been like before she had overtaken his every waking thought.

Nor did he wish to return to those whirlwind but meaningless days. He wanted more of his nights with Lady X. He wanted her here, at his home. In his arms. At his breakfast table. The hours they spent together at each masquerade were delightful beyond compare, but he wanted… more.

He wished he were not strolling through the twisting paths of his garden alone. But what could he do?

The next time he saw Lady X, should he ask for her name? Or was the wisest path to continue as things were, for as long as she’d let him?

Uncertainty itched beneath his skin. He didn’t want to push too hard and send her running. But he also didn’t want to wait too long and lose her anyway.

There was no right answer. Only two risky choices with unknowable outcomes.

Frustrated with his mad obsession over a woman whose name he didn’t know, he had spent the past several days trying to distract himself from the mystery of Lady X.

Since the last masquerade, Michael had visited Bullock’s Museum for the carriage exhibit and Cribb’s Parlour in Haymarket the next day for bare-knuckle boxing. Then half a bottle of Blue Ruin at the Daffy Club. After regretting that decision intensely the following morning, he had shoved down the brim of his hat to block the sun from his bloodshot eyes and met a few friends at the Peerless Pool. He took daily walks just like this one hoping to queer his blue devils.

Nothing worked. He was positively smitten. Nothing could quit Lady X from his mind.

Frustrated, he turned away from his garden and headed toward the mews at the rear. His pace increased in determination. Friends would be a good distraction. He summoned his coach and set out for the Cloven Hoof.

As Mayfair slowly disappeared from the carriage’s side windows, Michael did his very best not to imagine himself en route to Lady X’s London domicile, wherever it might be, with flowers or imported chocolates in hand. This was not the right time.

Before he did anything rash, he had to win his wager.

The fact that Lady X had let slip that she must take great care to guard her reputation hinted at her social standing… and her priorities. Michael had to win this bet not just to prove himself to his friends, as he’d first intended, but to prove himself to society at large. Especially Lady X.

If he could not manage forty days without scandal, she would never think of him as anything more than a rakehell. A temporary lover with whom a lady might pass a few pleasurable hours before finding a serious gentleman more worthy of her time.

He wanted to be worthy of her time. More than that, he wanted to be worthy of her heart. Or at least to hope for the possibility of winning it. He didn’t want to offer her a future filled with caricatures and whispered gossip. He wanted to offer a life she could enjoy. A home she could relax in. A man she could trust.

He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her.

As soon as the carriage ceased moving, he leapt from the cab to the paved stone below and strode into the dimly lit interior of the Cloven Hoof.

Clumps of men with intense expressions and half full glasses of brandy crowded the gaming tables. The bar was empty save for a serving girl arranging drinks on a tray. Michael glanced up toward the ceiling.

The caricatures those blackguards Gideon and Hawkridge had so helpfully strung up like Christmas decorations rustled in the breeze from the closing door. Although sun and soot now rendered the printed etchings illegible, Michael’s friends had likely left them up just to needle him.

It worked, damn them.

He found both scoundrels at a rear table. From their shadowed corner, they had an excellent view of the bar, the gaming tables, and the front door.

By size of their grins, they had both witnessed him glance up at the ceiling the moment he crossed the threshold. He allowed his irritation to show on his face. The rotters were enjoying this wager entirely too much.

He slid into the seat opposite Gideon, viciously pleased the strung etchings had since faded to blurs. He hoped his past soon would, too.

Some of the drawings Michael supposed he had deserved. He was indeed a shameless flirt. He did, in fact, love wine, music, and people of all walks of life. Perhaps he was the “Lord of Pleasure.”

But the other caricatures, the truly hurtful ones, had not been earned. He had never cuckolded a friend—or anyone at all. There was no secret chamber of debauchery hidden within his house. His thoughts while in the House of Lords were not on women, as the artists depicted, but rather the very real problems of the day.

There was a time and a place for being derelict. Parliament was not that place. Michael’s vote carried the same weight as any other, and he did his best to ensure he used it wisely.

Perhaps now that his name wasn’t splashed across every scandal column in England, he might finally develop a reputation he could be proud of.

“Wainwright.” Gideon motioned for one of the serving girls to bring an extra glass. “Haven’t seen you in over three weeks. How is the wager coming?”

“The fact that you have to ask means you know I’m winning,” Michael said as he accepted a glass of brandy.

Gideon laughed. “You’re not winning. You’re twenty-five days into a forty-day wager.”

“Twenty-four days longer than I had him pegged for.” Lord Hawkridge lifted his glass. “A toast to you, Wainwright. Whether you make it to day forty or not.”

Michael tried not to let his irritation show. “I’ll make it far past day forty. I don’t intend for my name to return to the scandal columns at all.”

Gideon arched a dark brow. “Shall I fetch the betting book?”

“Amusing,” Michael said through clenched teeth. “I’m in earnest.”

“I’m in dire straits,” Lord Hawkridge put in. “That’s a wager I would take.”

Michael set down his glass. He loved his friends, but the jests at his expense had lost their humor. He shoved a hand through his hair in frustration.

If he ever had been the dashing but frivolous rake depicted in the caricatures, he was not the same man now. Thanks to the Grenville sisters, he had a new respect for the impact “meaningless” words could have on others.

Thanks to Lady X, words held more than mere meaning. Their long, candid conversations on everything from family to society expectations to dreams of the future connected them on a level he hadn’t realized possible. The best nights of his life had not been hunting conquests on a dance floor, but strolling beneath the stars with Lady X.

“Take your wagers,” he enunciated, “and shove them up your—”

“Ah.” Gideon’s smile was wide. “There’s a woman.”

Michael started in surprise. “How do you know?”

Gideon lifted a shoulder with a knowing expression in his eyes. “What else could make a rakehell wish to be a better man?”

“Fair enough.” Michael didn’t bother trying to deny it. With any luck, his connection with Lady X would not have to remain secret for long. He swirled the brandy in his glass, then looked up at his friends. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Don’t believe in love,” Gideon answered without hesitation. He used his glass to gesture at the gaming tables behind him. “I don’t believe in anything but money.”

“I’m not sure I believe in money,” Lord Hawkridge said drily. “It’s been so long since I saw any. As much as I do believe in love, I cannot afford it. My best hope is an heiress who can stand my company long enough to beget an heir.”

“And a spare,” Gideon reminded him. “It would be dreadful not to have multiple hungry mouths to bequeath your destitute marquessate to.”

Lord Hawkridge cut him a flat look. “Heiress, I said. They tend to come with dowries. Veritable pots of precious gold.”

“If you find one. You say you’ll wed for money,” Gideon granted, “but anyone who believes in something as ephemeral as love cannot be trusted with matters of the heart.”

Hawkridge ignored him and turned his pointed gaze back to Michael. “What about you, Wainwright? Will you wed for love or for the earldom?”

Michael stared back at him wordlessly. Although he had no lack of finances, Michael had always supposed he’d marry for the earldom, not for love.

Not just anyone could be a countess. The position required the right woman. A virginal paragon of excellent breeding, impeccable manners, the right connections. It was an earl’s duty. Michael had always known the title came before personal considerations.

For the first time he wondered not whether Lady X would accept him—but whether he would be able to accept her. What if she were a dressmaker? A courtesan? A performer at the theater? It hadn’t occurred to him to worry about her pedigree. But what type of women attended Lambley’s masquerades? He doubted it was the sort that later went on to become countesses. Upper class women would not risk their future for a masked gala.

Michael rubbed his face. He had let himself obsess for nothing. She was a mystery, and would have to remain one. Lord help him, he could not afford to fall in love with someone he couldn’t wed. It was better to never know her name at all. He would spend as much time with her as the Fates allowed, but he would not push for anything more than the masquerades offered.

Probably.

His fingers clenched inside his pockets. He was already half in love, damn his foolish hide. But it didn’t signify. His obsession with Lady X would stay in the shadows where it belonged.

After the Season was over and the masquerades ceased, they were unlikely to see each other again. A dull disappointment spread through his limbs at the realization. The loss of her company would be a severe blow. He would remember their shared nights for the rest of his life.

But for the rest of his days, he would do well to recall that he was not Lord X, but Lord Wainwright. Guardian of an earldom. Representative in the House of Lords.

He should focus not on fantasies, but on his responsibilities. When the Season ended, it would indeed be time to find a countess worthy of the title.

Lady X would simply have to remain his favorite memory.