“And, has anyone in particular caught your eye this evening?”

Phillip, the Marquess of Withington, sighed heavily and rolled his eyes at his friend.

“No, Kinsley, they have not. As much as you dance your pretty acquaintances before my eyes, I confess that not one of them has made any impact on my heart whatsoever.”

Lord Kinsley snorted. “You are much too particular, Withington.”

“That, I will admit to!” Phillip agreed at once, thinking that marriage was much too important a prospect to be taken lightly. “I cannot find myself interested in any lady simply because of her looks or status. They are all far too grasping anyway.”

Lord Kinsley shook his head in despair. “You are impossible, Withington.”

Phillip could not help but laugh at the despondent expression on his friend’s face. “I think you will find that I am wise, Kinsley. A man should not allow himself to be taken in by a pair of pretty eyes or a bright smile—as I ought to know.”

“You are not being taken in!” Kinsley spluttered, waving his arms wildly. “You are simply showing some kind of interest in them. I cannot recall the last time you danced with anyone of note, and practically the entire assembly is waiting for you to do so.”

Grimacing, Phillip sighed inwardly. “I am aware of that, Kinsley. That, in fact, is the entire problem.”

Seeing the frustration ebb away in his friend’s eyes, Phillip shrugged one shoulder, hoping Kinsley would understand. “I am a marquess, and that means I must marry well. And, whilst I am well aware of that, there are a great number of mothers who are aware of it also. Their daughters are paraded before me, hoping that I might settle on one of them to be my bride, and as you well know, they often go to ridiculous lengths in order to try and secure my hand. They do not care as to whether or not we would be a good match, rather they think only of the status and wealth that will come with a union to me.”

“And is that such a bad thing?”

Phillip grunted, aware that his friend did not see things in the same light as he did. “Yes, I rather think it is, Kinsley. Although I do not think we shall readily agree on this.”

“No, we shall not,” Kinsley retorted, with a chuckle. “I, for one, do not understand why you do not simply take your pick of the ladies and enjoy their company for a time. There is no need to take things any further than that. One bad experience does not mean that all eligible young ladies are the same. All this talk of matrimony makes you much too serious.”

Phillip grinned, his dark blue eyes alive with good humor. “Much too serious, eh? Then I can only pray that these young misses will see me in much the same light and find me singularly disinteresting. Mayhap I can encourage them to place their gaze on you for a time instead. Perhaps then you will find the idea of matrimony a little more appealing.”

He saw Kinsley grimace and could not help but laugh aloud, knowing that Kinsley did not intend to wed any time soon. That did not stop him from attempting to charm the very many eligible young ladies that they met at almost every social event they attended.

“Speaking of young misses, I had best go in search of Miss Laura Folkstone,” Kinsley muttered, his eyes roving across the ballroom. “It is to be our dance next, I believe.” He raised one eyebrow at Phillip, his dark eyes gleaming. “Are you sure I cannot tempt you to dance? I would be able to find you a partner in a minute, I am quite sure of it.”

“And yet, I find no inclination to do so,” Phillip replied with a heavy sigh, as he put on an almost sad expression. “Go and enjoy yourself, Kinsley. I shall be quite all right here, avoiding those grasping mothers and their doe-eyed daughters.”

Chuckling to himself, Phillip moved towards the staircase that led up to the balcony, thinking to excuse himself from company for a time. As much as he laughed about it with Kinsley, the truth was that Phillip did find these milk-and-water misses to be something of a trial. They all came to him because of his title and wealth and certainly not because of who he truly was. His character was never truly considered, and, in fact, Phillip had once overheard a remark that, even if he were a drunkard and a rogue, the mother would still press her daughter onto him.

It was not a comment he had appreciated.

Sighing heavily, Phillip sat down on a small bench and leaned back against the wall. The noise of the guests clamored in his ears, his head buzzing with sounds. Was he never to find what he wished? A woman who might care for him without too particular an interest in wealth or title? The last thing he wanted was to marry a lady who would practically ignore him for the rest of their married life once the heir and the spare were produced. He had seen that kind of marriage between his parents, and it had neither been a happy nor a fulfilling one.

And yet, he mused, Kinsley was probably correct in saying that he would never find the right woman, the kind who would live up to his expectations. It was every young lady’s dream to marry well, and, after all, he had a duty to marry well also.

“But they are all so dull,” he muttered to himself, passing a hand over his eyes to blank out the sight of the twirling skirts for a moment. He wanted someone with a little spirit, a little fire within her. Someone who had enough intelligence to hold a good conversation, someone whom he would look forward to seeing on his return home.

“Hopeless,” he sighed, shaking his head to himself. “It is quite hopeless.”

Sitting back, he heaved a sigh of relief as the music slowly came to a close, allowing him a brief respite from the noise. There was no urgency to return to the ballroom, although the thought of the card room sparked a flicker of interest in his mind.

Getting to his feet, Phillip chose to wander along the balcony, studiously ignoring the whispers emanating from the shadows at various points. He had no wish to intrude on the privacy of the couples hiding there, although they did intrude a little on his own precious solitude.

The music started once more, and Phillip continued his slow stroll around the ballroom, his gaze on the paintings adorning the walls rather than on the dancing couples below him.

Suddenly, a strange noise caught his ears. Frowning, he tried his best to locate where the thump had come from, quite certain he had heard some kind of rattle and bump coming from somewhere.

There! It came again!

His brows furrowing, Phillip slowly moved forward—only to see a door handle being turned repeatedly, followed by a loud thump and a shout of frustration. His heart picked up speed at once, as he moved closer, suddenly afraid that a gentleman was pressing his attentions onto a lady who did not welcome them.

The key was still in the lock, although the handle continued to be turned repeatedly. Over the sound of the music and laughter from the guests below, Phillip knocked once on the door and tried to speak clearly.

“Stand back from the door, madam. I am just about to unlock it for you.”

The last thing he wanted was to push the door open suddenly and find that he had knocked whoever was within clean off her feet. Pausing for a moment, he turned the key and pushed open the door—only to be confronted by a very angry-looking young lady, who clearly had been crying. Her hair was a little unkempt, her cheeks red and blotchy, and her dark hazel eyes filled with tears, although her mouth remained a tight, thin line.

“I say!” he exclaimed, stepping inside. “Are you quite all right? What are you doing in here?”

“There is not a gentleman in here with me, if that is what you are implying!” the lady exclaimed, her cheeks bright red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, as she quickly wiped at her eyes.

“No, I was not implying that in the least,” Phillip replied calmly. “However, you do look quite out of sorts. Whatever happened here?”

The young lady cleared her throat and lifted one delicate shoulder, an inscrutable expression on her face. “I must have locked myself in, somehow,” she murmured, not looking at him. “I am sorry; I should not have shouted at you so.”

Phillip found himself suddenly intrigued by the lady, wondering what the truth of her trouble really was. It was quite clear that she had not locked herself in, for that simply could not have occurred. Someone had turned the key and left her inside—although whether that was deliberate or not, he could not say for certain. A niggle of worry bit at him. Had she been in here with a gentlemen and then argued or something? Had the gentleman locked her in the room alone, in the hope of making his escape?

“I was in here alone,” the lady said firmly, evidently aware of the questioning look on his face. “No gentleman has been here and left me behind in a fit of anger.”

“No, no, of course not,” Phillip heard himself stammer, a river of heat creeping up his spine. “I did not even think such a thing.”

The young woman looked at him with one eyebrow arched, clearly disbelieving. Letting out a long sigh, she shook her head and tried to smile. “I suppose I should thank you for unlocking the door,” she continued, looking a little more composed. “I have already missed two dances; I am quite sure of it.”

Phillip’s eyes strayed to the dance card twirling on a ribbon tied around her wrist and found, much to his surprise, that a spiraling disappointment filled his chest on seeing that it looked nearly full. It was only when he looked up into her eyes that he saw her looking at him with expectation, realizing that he had not yet said anything in response.

“Not in the least,” he said, holding the door open wide for her to step out into the balcony. “I was walking along here and heard you shout, that was all. Nothing particularly heroic.”

He gave her a lopsided smile, but she did not return it.

“This has all been a little embarrassing,” she said quietly, her gaze already drifting away from him and back down towards the ballroom. “I must thank you, truly, for helping me. I must beg you not to speak to anyone of this, although I know it would make a fine story.”

Phillip shook his head, stepping a little closer to her so that he might assuage the worry in her eyes. “No, I shall not breathe a word, I promise you. Although might I know your name? I am the Marquess of Withington—if you please.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, goodness,” she murmured, dropping into a curtsy. “I thank you very much, my lord. And pray, do excuse me. I must return to the ballroom.”