Cooper was intrigued. Lady Emmaline maintained the appearance of a veritable wallflower. She leaned toward more subtle gowns, often in subdued tones of blues, browns, and greens. Tonight, however, her gown was a dark green material contrasted by a pale green trimming about the neckline. With her golden-brown hair swept back into a sedate set of rolls that framed her face, she looked every inch the self-effacing spinster.

But with a keen eye trained on her as he approached, he did not miss the flicker of annoyance that danced within her hazel eyes upon spying him. Not for the first time, he wondered what truly lay beneath the milksop façade of Lady Emmaline. During the Harringtons’ ball, he had no doubt sensed something more beneath the surface, particularly when his lips had met hers. Despite being a relatively chaste kiss when compared to others he’d experienced over the years, something about it remained with him. In fact, he had been unable to cease thinking about having Lady Emmaline in his arms once more.

He stopped before Lady Vardy, her chaperone, first. Then he turned to the woman who had unexpectedly dominated his thoughts of late and bowed, all the while enjoying the view of her breasts his courtesy provided. “Lady Emmaline, you look lovely. If I may, I should like to claim a dance or two from you this evening.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She studied him for a moment. Suspicion turned her gaze hard and assessing before she nodded and ever so slowly produced her dance card.

For a moment, he swore she would pull it back before he could take it. Then he selected his dances—two waltzes, of course—and handed it back to her.

She looked down at her card and frowned slightly. “You are too kind.”

Satisfied with having achieved his immediate goal, he retreated until his first dance. Of course, he had not missed the dearth of other dances filled in on her card. There was merely one other name beyond his. It made him wonder what had occurred to cause her to be so lacking in attention. She’d mentioned the incident with Lord Wilton. Could that cad’s actions have so damaged her prospects? He had vaguely remembered Lord Wilton paying her some notice a few years before, and his investigation had mentioned the occurrence as well, but since that time, she’d slipped into obscurity. Was that by happenstance, or by design?

The next two dances plodded along, particularly considering the young ladies he was forced by etiquette to partner with. Upon delivering his last debutante to her beaming mother, he was able to head off to collect Lady Emmaline. He found her just as he had left her earlier, standing by Lady Vardy.

“I believe this dance is mine.” He bowed over her hand.

She curtsied. “You are correct, my lord.”

He led her onto the floor, and they took their place. The music commenced, and he swept her into the close-hold rotation of a waltz. Determined to get to know her better—after all, he intended to offer for her once they were well enough acquainted—he ventured conversation. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

Emily offered a guarded smile. “I suppose I am. And you, my lord, are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am now.” He offered her a conspiratorial smile that she did not return. “At my age, I find the young chits rather overeager.”

She neither smiled nor frowned at his comment. “Do you? I have come to understand a man of this set”—she lifted her hand in indication of the crowded ballroom—“enjoys such fawning attention.”

Aghast at such a notion, Cooper blurted, “Good God! What would make you think such a thing?”

His companion’s cheeks became dusted with a fetching light pink. It was strange to find himself growing more physically attracted to the woman he had selected for his bride. Mostly because he’d chosen her based on the fact she specifically did not fire his lust. She was a reserved, all but overlooked prospect, who, in theory, would jump at the opportunity he offered in the form of marriage. Or, at least, that had been his initial perspective. As he got to know Lady Emmaline, he was discovering that his perceptions might have been more than a little wrong.

“As I spend a great amount of time at balls watching you and your contemporaries swirling those very chits around the dance floor in lieu of older specimens such as myself, I should think it an obvious conclusion.” She dared a glance up at his face, but then quickly returned to staring at his bow tie.

The woman had a valid point that he found difficult to refute, so he decided to switch topics. “I understand that supper will be served soon. It would be a great honor if I could escort you in.”

To Cooper’s surprise, that skeptical hardness returned to her lovely green-and-brown gaze.

“My lord, you seem to be paying particular attention to me. If I were a younger woman, I would think you were courting me. But as we both know I am well on the shelf, I can’t imagine what might be behind such attention.” She paused as her cheeks colored an even darker pink. With a careful glance about, as if to ensure their conversation was private, she asked, “Are you perchance trying to lure me astray, like some merry widow? Let me be clear: I am neither merry nor a widow.”

He burst out laughing as he spun her about the floor in time to the music. Her question had both surprised and delighted him. A refreshing candor that he had only recently discovered lurked within the sedate woman he had chosen to pursue. Once he reined in his mirth, he realized the rather cagey lady in question was not at all amused. “Forgive me, it was not that you are not worthy of luring astray, but merely that you asked me outright if that were my intention.”

Brow creased in doubt, she frowned at him even as she continued to follow his lead. “And is it? You have yet to answer the question, my lord. And do not pretend I do not know of your reputation.”

He sobered at her pointed reference to his membership in the Lustful Lords. It seemed he might have underestimated a spinster’s willingness to overlook his less socially acceptable entertainments—particularly this spinster. She was proving to be a mistrustful sort.

“I would never pretend to be other than what I am. I have never hidden my more prurient leanings, nor do I intend to start now. But the answer to your query is no, Lady Emmaline. I do not intend to ravish you.”

Though if they continued this line of conversation, he might find the suggestion had more merit than he’d first suspected. Nevertheless, the conversation was taking a turn into territory best addressed in a more private setting than the ballroom floor.

“Whyever not?” She followed his lead easily enough in dancing, but less so in the conversation.

“I am not prone to despoiling innocents, even those set upon the shelf.” He hoped she would accept his response and leave the subject alone.

“That is not what people say about you and your friends. But it’s neither here nor there, since I will not allow you to despoil me, in any event.”

Her haughty dismissal of his intentions, real or otherwise, disturbed him considering his recent warning to her about shadowed terraces and kissing. But before he could retort, she continued on.

“Well, I daresay I would not have allowed you any such liberties that would lead to ravishment.”

Her innocent insistence rankled.

“I suggest you may wish to rethink such boastfulness, my lady. If you will recall the Harringtons’ ball, I neatly steered you into the shadows and stole a kiss, despite your best intentions. Most young ladies do not intend to be ravished, but merely find themselves as such.”

Something dangerous deep inside him had been piqued by her defiance.

And suddenly, his thoughts shifted from stolen kisses to images of a bound Lady Emmaline with her backside pink from his spankings. His cock twitched eagerly in his trousers, hinting at a soon-to-be uncomfortable situation. For the moment, all was manageable with the assistance of his partner’s skirts, but it would soon be outright embarrassing if he could not regain control of himself.

Emily gasped at his pointed reminder of their kiss. But before she could muster a response, the waltz ended. As she regained her wits, Lord Brougham led her back in the direction of Lady Vardy.

“Were I you, I would not assume any such future opportunities, my lord. I am not a woman to be trifled with.” They arrived back at Lady Vardy’s side. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.”

“My pleasure, Lady Emmaline. I look forward to escorting you in to supper later.”

With a smile and a wink, Cooper left his adversary with her chaperone and repressed the urge to whistle a tune at having outmaneuvered her so neatly.

Emily remained where she was, standing mutely next to Lady Vardy. She was far more preoccupied with the wild tumble of emotions that rolled through her than with whatever platitudes her deceased mother’s best friend was speaking at the moment. Indignation that Lord Brougham would manhandle her in such a fashion. And, oddly enough, frustration that he had not, in fact, attempted to kiss her again. As they had swept about the ballroom sparring verbally, she’d wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers. It had come as quite a shock.

Of course, despite walking a fine line with Society, he had proven to be mostly a gentleman. Although the fact he had claimed her as a supper partner without her actual agreement was awfully high-handed, but short of explaining to Lady Vardy why she had no desire to dine with the man, she had no choice but to join him for supper.

Still preoccupied with thoughts of the very distracting Lord Brougham, she tried to calm her thoughts and focus on the real reason she had attended the ball—and it definitely was not related to strong arms or sandalwood and leather scents. Lord Brougham and his second dance—let alone supper—could go hang. Determined to accomplish her true purpose and forget the man who messed with that kernel of hope that she kept buried deep down inside, she turned to her chaperone. “Lady Vardy, I believe I require a visit to the ladies’ retiring room.”

To Emily’s relief—and immense good luck—Lord Vardy appeared by his wife’s side. “Madam, I was wondering if you might enjoy a turn about the dance floor.”

Her chaperone cast a glance at her, then looked back at her husband. “I am—”

“My lady, please do not hesitate on my behalf. I am certain I shall muddle through just fine for one dance.”

Emily smiled and nodded as she slipped away from Lord and Lady Vardy.

As usual, it was easy enough to skirt the mass of bodies and make her way past the retiring rooms and up the stairs to the private living quarters. Ever cautious, she quietly crept down the hall, peeking into the various rooms until she discovered the chamber she sought. With a lamp burning low on a nearby table allowing enough light to determine it was the correct room, she let herself inside Lady Kilpatrick’s chamber. Since the lady in question wore a very potent perfume, Fleurs de Bulgarie, originally created for Queen Victoria, Emily’s nose offered further confirmation she had the correct room.

The heady scent of rose and bergamot hung heavy in the air as she looked about for some trinket or bauble to liberate. Finally, she found a stash of jewels in a dresser drawer. A particularly lovely choker studded with diamonds and rubies caught her eye. Determined to acquire more valuable pieces now that her brother’s debt had reached outrageous proportions, she pushed away the misgivings that prodded her to put the necklace back.

Voices carried down the hallway, making her close the drawer and place the lamp back on the table it had been sitting on when she entered. Then the voices came closer, growing louder, and Emily’s heart pounded. With no time to fiddle with her secret seam, she jammed the jewelry down her cleavage, making sure to tuck it deep between her breasts.

The hard stones and bulky gold setting dug into her skin, having managed to slide behind her chemise and corset. But with no time to adjust the piece, she dashed into the adjoining room and shut the door between them. Now in Lord Kilpatrick’s more masculine chamber, she waited. The door to the room she had just vacated opened, and two maids entered.

“Lady Kilpatrick is insisting on having one of her new silk shawls brought down for supper,” one of the maids said.

“I certainly hope she doesn’t spill anything on it. She blamed me for not getting the last stain out of her favorite tea gown. As if any person might be able to remove tea from cream lace. I spent hours removing and replacing the lace trim,” the other woman said.

Terrified of being discovered, Emily stood pressed against the door. Her hands trembled as she listened to the two women continue to ramble on about Lady Kilpatrick. The voice of the woman who’d had to replace the lace grew louder. “Now Lord Kilpatrick, he’s as kind a soul as is possible. Perhaps I should just straighten up his room.”

The woman was standing near the door that separated Emily from discovery. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her stomach twisted as she held her breath. Please God, don’t let her come in here.

The knob started to twist, and Emily swore her heart would break free from her chest. A glance around the room offered no place to quickly hide. The closet and hall door were too far away in the cavernous chamber.

The other maid snorted. “Kind, my fat arse. He’s as many hands as a sea monster has legs! Every time I have to clean his study, the man finds a way to be in there so he can touch me.”

The knob rotated back in place with a snap.

“Polly Bodsworth, you shouldn’t tell such lies!” The maid by the door sounded outraged.

“Don’t you Polly Bodsworth me, Kathleen. I’m not telling lies at all. My wee brother has one of those picture books some rich person gave to charity. It has all kinds of sea monsters in it, and one of them has eight legs that wrap around a ship at sea. I’ll tell you that’s how I feel when Lord Kilpatrick corners me alone. It’s disgusting.” Polly sniffed. “But if you don’t believe me, then that’s your business.”

And then sharp footsteps tapped across the floor, and a door slammed closed. A moment later, Kathleen ran after her friend. “Polly, wait!”

Once both women had departed the room, Emily heaved a huge sigh of relief. Desperate to return to the ball, for she had been gone for far too long, she opened the master’s chamber door and crept down the hall.

Nearly back on the main floor, she slipped through the crowd toward the ladies’ retiring room. But then a firm hand grabbed her upper arm and quickly drew her into the Fitzpatrick’s library.

“Where the devil have you been?” Lord Brougham’s warm baritone held a note of panic as he released her arm.

Determined to brazen out the moment, she blinked as though in surprise. “Why, I have been in the ladies’ retiring room.”

“Last I checked, the ladies’ retiring room is not on the second floor.” He let both brows rise nearly to his hairline.

Concerned now that he might have some suspicion of her, she strove for her placid-spinster countenance. “It was terribly crowded in the retiring room. I needed a moment of peace, so I slipped upstairs and ducked into a guest room for a moment.”

His gaze narrowed, as though he found that story highly suspicious. “You know there have been rumors floating about. It seems more than a few hostesses have discovered missing items of jewelry after their soirees.”

“Have they? Why, I had not heard such rumors, my lord.” She pressed a hand to her chest, causing the diamond-and-ruby necklace to dig cruelly into her flesh.

“I suggest you curtail any wanderings. As we established at the Harringtons’ ball and again here earlier, it can be dangerous for a woman to be gadding about unchaperoned during a ball.” He grunted a bit, as though punctuating his point.

Annoyance overriding her good sense, she rolled her eyes. “As I told you earlier, my lord, I am not a woman to be trifled with. I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

In a fit of pique, she turned and stormed toward the closed library door. But before she could attain the portal, Lord Brougham grabbed her arm once more and spun her about to face him. Trapped with one arm behind her back, her wrist held firmly in his grip and her chest pressed indelicately against his chest, she sucked in a gulp of air.

“Do not be so ridiculous, Lady Emmaline. You are a delicate woman, and no match for some villain who may be prowling about the upper stories of the ton’s balls.”

Anger radiated off his body as he stared down at her. His nostrils flared, and then his lips captured hers in another kiss.

Despite the illicit items digging into her chest, Emily found herself instantly swept up in the moment. Her heart raced—for an entirely different reason—and the warm heat of his mouth overwhelmed her ability to think, let alone speak. All she could do was taste, and revel in the feel of him as he kissed her for the second time.

As though he, too, had lost all reason, Lord Brougham allowed his kisses to trail down her neck and over her collarbones. Tingles danced across her body, causing her core to throb. He then lowered them to the nearby couch.

“Emmaline,” Lord Brougham moaned as he continued to pepper her skin with kisses.

And then he eased the front of her gown down, exposing more of her breasts. He busily followed the material down over the tops of her breasts, still kissing her wherever new flesh was exposed.

Suddenly warning bells sounded in her head: the necklace!

“What the bloody hell?” Lord Brougham was tugging on the item in question when it slid free from between her breasts.