The next afternoon found Jenny staring out the sitting room windows, impatient for Kevin’s arrival. She’d spent a restless night wondering whether Mr. Jackson’s plan would be effective. There was no doubt in her mind that Kevin was infinitely more talented and intelligent than the odious Mr. Safton, but, until Gentleman Jackson had pointed out the potential for foul play, she had never truly considered that Kevin might not win. Worse, that Kevin might be hurt. She refused to consider the chance that he might be killed. Life without him was simply too empty.

She might as well admit it. She had fallen in love with the man Kevin Whattling portrayed. It was a logical choice. He was everything she had ever thought a man should be—intelligent, witty, handsome, caring, gentle. What woman would have not fallen in love with such a paragon?

Regardless of her feelings, she couldn’t watch him be hurt. The prize money seemed like a far cry from stopping the fight. She needed to construct an argument that would keep him from setting foot in the ring. She was so agitated that she could barely contain herself when Fiching announced his arrival.

He must have noticed the change in her, for he came to take her hands as Fiching went to stand outside the open door.

“What’s happened?” he asked. “Your face is as white as the lace on your gown, and you’ve left your guardian dragon behind.”

He must mean Martha. How her companion would preen to hear herself described as so strong and valiant. But the look in his blue eyes was so concerned that once more her flawless arguments failed her.

“You must call off this fight,” she burst out, hands shaking in his. “I cannot bear the thought that you might be hurt.”

“Why, Jenny,” he murmured. He let go of her hands and brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Don’t worry. Safton will finally get his comeuppance.”

She jerked away from his touch. “I don’t care about George Safton! I care about you. Gentleman Jackson says you might be killed.”

“I heard a rumor you were seeing him.” He quirked a smile. “Should I be jealous?”

Jenny waved a hand, too agitated to counter the ridiculous statement. “Is he correct?” she demanded.

He had the audacity to shrug. “Much as I value the Gentleman’s opinion, he is mistaken in this case.”

“Can you be so confident of victory?” Jenny asked with a frown, unwilling to be convinced too easily.

“I can be confident of beating George Safton to a bloody pulp.”

Even though he grinned as he said it, the thought chilled her to the core. She wrung her hands. “I wish I’d never started this study of boxing!”

“That would hardly change this fight,” he reminded her.

“But why must you fight?” she begged. “He insulted me, not you. And I assure you I could care less what George Safton thinks of me.”

He attempted to capture her hands again, but she turned from him quickly.

“Safton and I have other differences that have nothing to do with you,” he assured her.

“Surely there is another way to resolve them,” Jenny protested.

He lunged and managed to catch hold of her fingers. “I have tried, believe me. Let it go, Jenny. It will all turn out in the end, I promise. We have more important matters to discuss.”

“What could possibly be more important than your life?”

He grinned. “Your debut at Almack’s, of course.”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Will you never believe me? That is inconsequential under the circumstances!”

“On the contrary. Your attendance with me is now critical. Would you have me branded a coward?”

Surely that was an overstatement. Yet, her logical mind seized on the issue as if desperate to think of anything other than the approaching fight.

“Who would dare utter such a ridiculous statement, and what has that to do with my attendance at Almack’s?” she asked with a frown.

“It is well known I am courting you. As you observed earlier, they will expect you to show up on my arm. If we stay away, what will they think?”

That was an easy answer. She had feared it all along. “They will think I am too much the bluestocking to appreciate the honor of their company.”

He shook his head. “Not necessarily. Given the advent of this fight, they are more likely to think I am too craven to face them.”

Her spine stiffened. “Never!”

“Then we are agreed we must attend together?”

She sighed. “I still cannot agree to your reasoning, but I concede that you know Society’s whims far better than I do. If we must, we must.”

He smiled down at her. “Excellent. Then shall we continue our tutoring?”

She sighed again, thwarted on all sides. “I suppose you will insist on that as well.”

“Am I such a tyrant?” he teased.

“Yes,” she snapped, but, as always, it was impossible not to smile in response to his grin. “No. As I said, if we must, we must. Have your toes quite recovered from yesterday?”

“You are as light as a feather, and I never felt a single pain.” He turned and limped convincingly toward the doorway. “Shall we?”

Laughing, she followed him into the hall.

Fiching obligingly fetched Martha, who was pressed into service at the pianoforte again. They practiced for some time, but although Jenny acquitted herself far better than on the previous day, her mind was elsewhere. He seemed to be having trouble concentrating as well, for more than once he bumped into one of the music stands. When Martha stopped to shuffle the sheet music, he drew Jenny to his side.

“Do you truly have no ballroom, in all this huge house?” he asked.

“Of course we do,” Jenny answered. “I saw no need to use it, so I told the staff not to clean there. I’m sure it’s quite dusty.”

“I’ll settle for a little dust if it gives us more room.”

His voice was loud enough that Martha eyed him. He merely smiled innocently. She bent her grey head once more.

He lowered his head to speak in Jenny’s ear. “Let’s leave Miss Tindale to her devices. Show me this ballroom.”

He was doing it again, using his charm to convince her to do something on the edge of propriety. Well, she had certainly broken a few rules in the last day or so. She was within her rights to refuse him, but she didn’t want to. She took his hand and tiptoed out of the room.

She led him upstairs to the back of the house to a set of double doors recessed in the paneled wall. Pushing one side open, she glanced in the shadowy room beyond and grimaced. “Just as I suspected. No one has been in here in ages.”

He peered over her head at the long and narrow room, arched windows running along one side and massive gilt-framed mirrors the other. The light coming through the open door, anointed the dark credenzas under the mirrors, the silver candelabra scattered along their dusty tops.

“Can we open the drapes?” he asked.

Jenny raised her skirts and walked across the parquet floor, her steps leaving a trail, her passing echoing to the frescoed ceiling high above. She pulled back the first of the rose velvet drapes, and dust danced in the sunlight, shimmering like fairy magic about her.

“How’s that?” she asked, looking back at him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

Jenny blushed under his regard. He crossed the space to her side and gazed down at her.

“I thought we were going to dance,” she tried when he made no further move. Her heart was beating as if she had already danced a full evening of lively country dances, and her breath came just as quickly.

“Ah, yes, dancing,” he replied, gaze on her lips.

She felt herself standing on tiptoe and dropped back down. What, was she that desperate for a kiss?

As if he hadn’t noticed her all but begging, he raised his head to glance about the room. “Can you waltz, my dear Jenny?”

She raised her brows. “Waltz? I don’t recall that one. Is it new?”

“Relatively so. I understand it’s all the rage in Vienna right now. Would you like to try it?”

She frowned. “Is it difficult?”

“For my brilliant bluestocking, never. Let me show you.” To her surprise, he took her hand with his right hand and slipped his left about her waist.

“Are you sure this is how it’s done?” she asked suspiciously.

He grinned and tugged her closer to his body, as if enjoying the feel of her. “Very sure. It is quite unlike any other dance you might have been taught. Now, watch my feet.” He released her just enough so she could look down between them. “Like this.”

He moved through the steps slowly, and Jenny stumbled along with him. After a few movements, however, she tromped on his boot. Embarrassed, she shrugged out of his hold. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Nonsense,” he said, pulling her back into his embrace. “You’ll do well if you just remember not to try so hard. For once in your life, don’t think, just react.”

“Don’t think?” Jenny laughed. “Better ask the sun not to shine than to ask a bluestocking not to think.”

“Pretend it’s a rainy day,” he countered. “Or better yet, close your eyes.”

Jenny grimaced. “You aren’t overly fond of your toes, are you?”

“Very well, then, look up, into my eyes.”

She took a deep breath and did as he suggested. Almost immediately, she was drawn into the lapis depths. She felt him start to move and simply let her body follow. They glided down the room, swirling in and out of the dust-glittering sunlight and soft grey shadow. Her skirt belled against his Hessians. Her body swayed to his rhythm.

“Look to the right,” he murmured, and she turned to see a graceful couple dancing against the light. The gentleman was tall and imposing, his lady elegant and curvaceous. They spun back up the room, and she swore she heard her quartet playing in the background.

He slowed his steps, and she returned her gaze to his handsome face. He tightened his grip on her waist, never taking his eyes off hers. She swayed toward him as he lowered his head. With a groan, he pulled her close and kissed her thoroughly, caressing her mouth with his own, hard muscle pressed against breast and thigh. As before, she wanted the kiss to go on forever, pulling him closer, impossibly closer.

After a moment, he raised his head and gazed down at her. “Marry me, Jenny. I think I’ll go mad if you don’t.”

She wanted to say yes, oh, how she wanted to say yes! When he held her like this and gazed down into her eyes, all her doubts vanished like puddles that could not withstand the heat of the sun. Saying yes in his arms was all too easy. Like dancing while looking up into his eyes, the response was reacting, not thinking. And a bluestocking could only hold back the thoughts for a very short time.

So, what would her answer be if she used her mind rather than her heart? The facts on Kevin Whattling were still too few to tell whether the charming manner was real or counterfeit. The way he had declared his supposed love in the park had certainly been a different side of the man. Many people reacted so intensely in difficult situations, she knew, but how could she be sure that she had not seen his true character?

Whichever way she analyzed it, she returned to the matter of her fortune. If he was sincere that he would marry her had he no need for it, then she would find it easier to believe his other claims. The only way to know was to see how he responded when he won the purse she had put up.

“Ask me after the fight,” she murmured.

His shoulders slumped. She had wounded him. Still, he released her and bowed.

“I think perhaps you’ve had enough lessons. I will see you tomorrow night, for the ball.”