George looked down at the ballroom miserably.

This was his own ball, his very own event, and here he was, filled with melancholy.

She had not come.

Cursing under his breath, Georg threw back the rest of his champagne and set the glass down on the small table to his left. By rights, he ought to be down there, filing up as many dance cards as he could and making as much of the night as he could.

And yet, all he had hoped for was for Lady Ellen to appear.

Passing one hand over his eyes, George tried not to berate himself for his foolishness, reminding himself that this was all to achieve his aim of being proven right and so that he would not have to pay for Lord Morton’s tab at White’s, which, he was sure, was quite substantial. The money, of course, mattered not a jot to him, but it was his name, his standing, his reputation as a man who could have any lady he wished, that he desired to secure.

Or was it?

Hating the sudden question in his mind, George tried to find pleasure in the things he usually did – the beautiful, innocent debutantes, the shy smiles, the fluttering of their fans – but nothing made him smile. All he wanted was to see Lady Ellen.

She had not come to his ball.

Why did that bring him such a degree of pain? He felt almost hurt by her absence, as though she had not yet forgiven him even though she had promised him she had. But given that his apology and all of his actions since then had merely been a ruse in order to get her into his arms, why should he mind if her acceptance of his apology had been nothing more than a lie of her own?

Groaning, George leaned heavily on the rail and drew in a few long breaths. It was as though he were changing from the outside in, although his mind was unwilling to accept such a change. His fine clothes, cut and styled to the latest fashions, had merely been an attempt to show that he was now much more serious, much less ridiculous, but it appeared to have had more of an influence on him than he had expected. He did not want to change and certainly did not want to have any kind of sentiment for Lady Ellen. Once he had kissed her, once the bet had been won, then George had planned to return to his former life. He had no intention of continuing with this façade of a sensible, boring gentleman.

The way Lady Ellen had looked at him, as he had handed her his invitation came to his mind. She was tremendously beautiful, with a gentle vibrancy that had caught his eye. The stunned look in her eyes, the tremor of her mouth, as she had struggled to think of what to say in response to his invitation, had made her appear vulnerable and soft. Not the hard-hearted, brutally spoken Lady Ellen he had once known. George had often found himself thinking of her in a tender light, as he had made the final preparations for the ball, but each time he had shaken his head and tried to rid her from his thoughts.

Mayhap it would be best to admit to Lord Morton that he could not do as he had said. The bet would be lost, his money due to White’s, and Lord Morton would, of course, laugh himself silly before telling anyone he could what had passed between them. It would mean a little embarrassment for a time, but at least then he would not have to continue thinking of Lady Ellen. His mind would be emptied of her, his thoughts entirely fixed on where he might find his next card game or which lady he hoped to press his attentions on. He could return to things as he liked them, with no concern for his foolish heart any longer.

Lifting his chin, George stared out across the ballroom, his eyes lifting above the guests to linger on the candles lit all across the room. Could he bring himself to be that kind of man? To lose the bet, to have his reputation spoiled, his friends and acquaintances laughing at his inability to steal a single kiss from a young lady?

“I shall tell Lord Morton tonight,” he muttered to himself, his hands loosening on the rail as his resolve grew. “Once the ball is over, I shall find him out and speak plainly.” Hurrying toward the staircase that would lead him to the ballroom, George descended quickly, his jaw firm. Tonight would be an end to all of his games. His old life beckoned him, and he was not about to ignore its call any longer.

And then, she was there.

George stood still on the steps, his hand frozen on the handrail. She was descending carefully with her mother by her side, a pale green gown adorning her figure. Her hair had been piled up onto the top of her head, with her deep red curls cascading down her shoulders. Her long, white gloves added to the perfect picture she made, every inch the proper, correct young woman.

George felt his heart turn over.

Unaccustomed to any kind of feeling entering his heart, George remained exactly where he was for a moment, his mouth going dry, as his eyes followed her into the ballroom. She was, of course, immediately accosted by a few gentlemen all seeking a dance with her – and it was this that had George moving with a sudden, quick pace.

He came to stand beside them both, bowing carefully to the Countess of Fancot. He wanted to appear every inch the gentleman.

“Lady Fancot, Lady Ellen,” he said, with a warm smile. “I am delighted that you were both able to attend this evening.”

“But of course,” the countess replied, with no smile touching her lips. “We would not have ignored your invitation, Lord Hartley.”

“Thank you, you are very kind,” George replied, aware of how much scrutiny he was under from the countess. “And Lady Ellen, might I ask if you have any room left in your dance card?”

Her cheeks filled with color. “My lord, I have not yet been in the ballroom for more than ten minutes. You cannot think that I would have all the dances filled by this point in the evening.”

George inclined his head. “My dear Lady Ellen, I think you much too beautiful and much too delightful a lady to be in any way ignored by the other gentlemen at my ball. It would not surprise me in the least had you already given all your dances away.”

Apparently, he had said something that brought the countess some happiness, for she gave him a warm smile – the first he had received from her.

“You are too kind, Lord Hartley,” Lady Ellen murmured, looking away from him.

George drew in a breath, hoping that Lady Ellen would not refuse him. All thoughts of telling Lord Morton that he conceded defeat had gone from his mind the moment he had laid eyes on her. This was the moment he would know if she had truly forgiven him, and if she had honestly begun to believe that he had changed his character for the better.

“Lady Ellen, might I secure a dance with you?” he asked quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on her. “It would be an honor to have you as my partner.” He did not ask for two dances and certainly did not suggest the waltz, knowing that this was not the time to ask for any kind of intimacy.

She hesitated for a moment, shooting a quick glance up toward her mother, who gave the tiniest of nods.

“I believe I have a few dances that have remained open,” she said, holding out her dance card to him. “You may choose whichever you wish.”

Buoyed by the relief and happiness he felt, George took her dance card and put his name down for the quadrille.

“Thank you, Lady Ellen,” he said, handing her the card back. “You do me a great honor in accepting this.”

She gave him a small smile but did not say another word. Seeing that there were other gentlemen seeking her company for a dance, George gave a short bow and stepped aside, registering the small measure of surprise on her face as he did so. What had she been expecting? Did she think that he would have put his name down for two dances, demanded a waltz, and then held her much too close? He would have done just that, had he not been trying so hard to convince her that he was not the rogue she thought him.

It was difficult, however, for George to avoid the other ladies who sought out his company – particularly those for whom he had made himself available on previous occasions. There were plenty of fluttering fans and warm smiles sent his way, but George did his utmost to ignore them. He nodded but did not pursue, seeing the disappointment, and on occasion, annoyance, that he did not turn toward them as they had expected. He had to do this for Lady Ellen’s sake, to prove to her that he was no longer the rake. That meant pushing away all vices, no longer allowing them to have the same hold over him that they once had.

It was a trial, but one that he declared himself the victor of. As he strode toward Lady Ellen, aware that it was his turn to take her as his dance partner, he saw her eyes linger on him for a moment, as though confused by what she had seen. He hoped she had witnessed how he had turned away from the other ladies, how he had ignored the batting of their eyelashes, the coyness of their smiles.

“Lady Ellen,” he murmured, bowing low. “I believe it is to be our dance.”

“Indeed, it is,” she replied, with no hint of a smile. “Thank you, Lord Hartley.”

Feeling rather confident, George held out his arm to her, and with only a second of hesitation, she took it. The warmth of her gloved hand seeped through and onto his skin, and something in his heart broke open.

Warmth seeped through his veins.

“You look quite beautiful this evening, if I may be so bold as to say,” he murmured, as she dropped his arm and took her place opposite him.

She lifted her chin and held his gaze, seemingly unaffected by his compliment. “Thank you, Lord Hartley.”

He had hoped for a little more, even a smile from her, but it was not to be. With a slight shrug, George waited for the music to begin, and soon, they were dancing together.

The quadrille meant that he did not often have a great deal of time for conversation, nor was there much opportunity to take her hand, but that was precisely as George wanted it. She had to learn to trust him first; she had to believe that he was truly a reformed character before anything more could be done.

As they danced, George saw the way her gaze lingered on him, a slight frown of her brows telling him that there was more to her thoughts than what she gave away. He was succeeding in intriguing her, at least. That had to be a positive sign.

And then he saw Lord Morton standing at the side of the ballroom, his arms folded and a glittering smile on his face. His heart dropped to his boots. There was something in Lord Morton’s face that said he could see just how well George was succeeding in his attempts to have Lady Ellen warm to him – and yet, the thought brought him no pleasure. Instead, he felt guilty, ashamed, embarrassed. There was no triumph, no happiness, no sense of victory.

What was happening to him?