Lanora was inexplicably miffed when Lord William never returned to claim his waltz. Not that she’d agreed to one, but she expected him to insist. His hazel eyes were a stormy blue-green as they talked, giving her the impression his interest was more than passing. But, that was the way of a rogue, making a woman feel he meant more than he said. Still, each time a waltz began, a breathless anticipation touched her, but she never saw his tall form again.

Until she went to sleep. Then they waltzed endlessly through her dreams. They also spoke of Mr. Darington and her father, though Lanora couldn’t remember what was said. In her dreams, she took Lord William to see the home for women Mr. Darington was building, only to find an empty square of land.

She woke early and gave up on the pretense of rest. She didn’t know what her mind was trying to tell her, with the mix of dancing and talking. Obviously, Lord William was handsome. More so than the average gentleman, being taller, with a physique that bespoke strength, but that shouldn’t warrant a restless night. Perhaps it was her failure to inquire about Mr. Darington? Lord William represented an opportunity to pass along her concern about the lack of progress on the home for women. Lanora, too caught up in his charms, had squandered that chance.

She slipped from bed and began to ready for the day, her brows puckered in a frown. She’d spent the previous evening thinking about Lord William. Then the entire night. Now, he filled her morning thoughts. If she didn’t know better, she’d worry she was developing some sort of infatuation with the man.

That, of course, was impossible. Impeccable tailoring and good looks aside, he was a rake. He was one step above a highwayman. She’d rather have an absurd infatuation with the unknown Lord Lefthook, like all the other ladies of London.

Still, she found she couldn’t put Lord William from her mind, especially the strain in his voice when he spoke of the poorest part of London. It was an odd tone for a future marquess. Then there was her aunt’s tacit approval of him.

Perhaps that was the trouble. Her aunt’s words in the carriage had wheedled their way into Lanora’s mind. Aunt Edith knew precisely where to strike; the people who would someday be beholden to Lanora. She loved her home and the people there. She would never leave them to the uncertainty of who-knew-what remote relation, or have the land reverted to the crown to be overseen from afar. The only way to stop that was to have a child, and the only way for that to happen was to marry.

Give up her freedom. Have someone there to tell her Grace was her maid, not her friend. That she couldn’t celebrate Christmas with the staff, or attend country dances. Could she give up her life to ensure the future of those she cared for? What if she bore a son and he grew up to be a rake, like his father?

Lanora gave her head a vigorous shake. Why would her son’s father be a rake? She would not marry a rake, especially not Lord William. She’d spoken with the man once. He hadn’t even returned to dance with her. Likely, he’d already forgotten their exchange. She was being ridiculous.

Lanora made her way to the breakfast parlor, a silly affectation. At home, she ate in the kitchen with the staff. Why force Cook and her helpers to rise early, devote the morning to creating a cornucopia of items, then carry them all into a parlor, employing a ludicrous number of platters and plates, so that Lanora could pick out the two items she wanted and eat alone at a giant table?

Here, though, that was how it must be. Her aunt seemed to enjoy the breakfast parlor, and the selection, as did her terriers. Much of Cook’s work went into dogs’ bellies. Grace also assured Lanora that word would get out if she behaved in so odd a manner, for staff gossiped. On top of that, much of the food was repurposed to serve with tea in the event of callers, and everything that was left was consumed by the staff, who would be dismayed not to receive it. So, with the entire household arrayed against her, Lanora must dine alone in the breakfast parlor, while her aunt and the pups snored the morning away in their rooms and Grace ate in the kitchen in the company of friends.

Lanora nibbled on toast and sipped her tea, the Times open before her. Another joy a husband would undoubtedly take from her. He would claim the paper first, likely not deeming her mind capable of understanding it.

“Why are you making that face?” Grace said as she entered the room. She carried her gloves and hat. “Who has angered you?”

Lanora set her teacup down. “No one.” She shrugged. “Rather, men. My aunt says I must have one.”

“You know she’s correct.” Grace’s look was sympathetic.

“You don’t have one. She doesn’t have one. Cook doesn’t have one.”

“None of us have your responsibilities.” Grace smiled. “Besides, how can I become your cook if you stay in your father’s country house and dine in the kitchen? You’re to have a home of your own, and proper meals, and entertain.”

She took in Grace’s dreamy tone and sighed. “Yes, well, at least one of us shall be happy.”

“We will find you a gentleman who makes you happy. We’ll simply investigate them, like we do at home before dispensing charity.”

“There’s no village to ask around, and we can hardly walk over and survey each man’s holdings, as we would a farm.”

“This is London.” Grace’s smile turned sly. “It’s easier. We simply bribe a man’s servants and we shall know all. When I return from the paper, you shall tell me if there are any gentlemen in particular who make you go all calf-eyed, and we’ll send out footmen to bribe their staff.”

“Wonderful.” Lanora didn’t hide her lack of enthusiasm.

“It will be, as will bargaining the best price for this Lefthook story.” Grace donned her hat and tied the ribbon under her chin.

“You’re not to give your name, or Mrs. Banke’s.”

“I know. I won’t be long.” She pulled on her gloves and, with a jaunty wave, left the parlor.

Lanora sighed, envious of Grace’s freedom. Lady Lanora Hadler could never go to the paper with a story about Lord Lefthook. She would become the story. Grace could go. She could give a false name, or none at all, and no one would press her. They wouldn’t care who she was in view of what she had to tell.

Grace could be a cook and eat in the kitchen if she liked, and not marry if she didn’t find a man she wished to wed. Lanora knew many lady’s maids didn’t live as happily as Grace. They were put upon, demeaned, made to endure uncertainty and, sometimes, unwanted attention from the men of the house. Still, in that moment, being Grace seemed more preferable than being the only child of a duke.

Irritated with her petulance, Lanora gave up on her toast and went to the library to browse her grandfather’s collection. She preferred her father’s books in their country home. Still, searching through those assembled by her more distant ancestors, who preferred London, was interesting. She liked to imagine her father there as a child, and tried to pick out the books he would have been drawn to. That strategy soon found her in the front parlor, where the light was best, reading the Iliad in archaic Greek.

Much of it was tricky, for the Greek she’d learned was modern, but that made it all the more entertaining. After all, she already knew the story. She’d read it several times, in several languages. She sat curled in an armchair near the window, engrossed, when someone cleared their throat.

Lanora looked up to find a wild-eyed maid standing in the parlor doorway. Behind her loomed the darkly clad form of Lord William. She stared, feeling as bereft as the maid obviously was. No one visited their home, not after her cold treatment of the first handful of guests, and certainly not men. Definitely not rakes.

“I came to see if you’re in, my lady.” The maid rolled her eyes and grimaced. Obviously, she wanted Lanora to know she’d tried to dissuade Lord William from following her to the parlor.

Lanora brought her feet to the floor and stood. “Apparently I am.” Over the girl’s head, she took in Lord William’s lazy smile. “Could you see if my aunt is about? I’m sure she’d like to greet Lord William.”

“Yes, my lady.” The girl curtsied and hurried away.

He entered, shrinking the room with his presence. Lanora inclined her head in response to his bow. Marking her place, she set the Iliad in her chair and moved to the sofa before the low table where refreshments would be served, if he accepted any.

“Would you care to sit, my lord? Shall I call for refreshments?”

“No, thank you. I’ve recently dined.” Two long strides took him to the chair. He scooped up her book. His eyebrows swooped upward as he paged through it. “You read Greek? This Greek?”

Of course, he didn’t think her, a mere woman, capable of reading the manuscript. She shrugged. She didn’t miss the way his gaze dropped from her face to take in the motion. “It passes the time. Do sit, please.”

He snapped the book closed, a sly glint in his eyes. “I’m not here to socialize.”

“That seems highly unreasonable, my lord, as this is the hour for socializing, and you have come to my parlor.”

“I am here to teach you to waltz.”

Lanora swallowed, her treacherous pulse quickening at the thought of his arms about her. “That is not necessary, my lord.”

“But it is. You’ve too fine a form not to be waltzed about every ballroom in London. Think of the grace you’re depriving us all of.”

“I agree,” Aunt Edith said. She entered the room amidst a sea of terriers.

Lanora relaxed at the sight of them. In her experience, city folk baulked when confronted with a swarm of scruffy country dogs. Some of the ladies who’d visited when Lanora and Aunt Edith first arrived in town had even screamed. Lanora smiled at the memory.

Her anticipation turned to surprise as Lord William tossed the book to the table and dropped to a knee in the middle of the parlor. He pulled off his gloves then rubbed unkempt ears and patted shaggy heads. Stubby terrier tails thumped. There wasn’t a single growl. The pups were entranced. Only Aunt Edith’s Skye Terrier, always reserved, remained at her side.

“I heard you’ve prize stock, Lady Edith,” he said. “They don’t disappoint. Irish, Scottish, Welsh and, of course, some fine English lads.”

Wonderful. He liked terriers, and they apparently adored him. Her aunt would take that as a sign.

“And lasses.” Aunt Edith smiled benignly down at her pups. “You are correct, Lord William, Lanora should learn to waltz. I hear it’s all the thing with you young folks. I believe she’s been teaching several of the girls to play. I’m sure one of them can manage a waltz. Come, the pianoforte is in the large parlor.”

“Splendid,” Lord William said, a hint of surprised flickered across his face. With a few more pats for the pups, he stood, then grinned down at her.

“Fine,” Lanora snapped. She frowned at his smile. He thought by winning over her aunt and the pups he could win her, did he? But…why? What on earth possessed a man like Lord William to wish to win her over?

He gestured for Lanora to precede him as Aunt Edith led the way to the large parlor. Not bothering with London manners, Aunt Edith raised her voice as they walked and called for the maid who was most accomplished on the piano. Lanora squared her shoulders, refusing to be embarrassed by her aunt’s behavior.

The maid came scurrying as they entered the parlor.

“Ah, there’s a dear girl,” Aunt Edith said. She settled into a highbacked chair. The ancient fabric of her riding habit rustled as her terriers arrayed themselves at her feet, several laying on her hem. “Be a good girl and play a waltz. Lord William is here to teach Lanora to dance.”

“Yes, my lady.” The girl curtsied, hardly able to drag her eyes from Lord William as she crossed to the piano.

He looked about the cream and blue parlor, his gaze skimming across the furniture. “May I reposition the chairs?”

“As you see fit,” Aunt Edith said.

“I can call a footman,” Lanora offered, watching him approach a sturdy armchair.

The look he cast her was amused. “That won’t be necessary.”

Lanora couldn’t help but watch as he easily lifted the chair and carried it to the side of the room. Several more followed. His shoulders bunched under his well-fitted coat, but he showed no strain. He cut an impressive figure, but then a rake must, for his charms were his weapon.

He turned back to her, the emerald color of his vest glinting under his coat, and held out a hand. “My lady.”

Lanora pressed her lips closed. There was no winning an argument against her aunt, the terriers and Lord William. She crossed to him, then she took his hand, belatedly realizing neither of them wore gloves. The warmth of his palm, skin slightly rougher than her own, sent a heat through her that threatened to reach her face.

“I’m afraid I’m not dressed for dancing,” she said, relieved her tone held steady.

“Nor am I. We must make do.”

Did he have to speak in that low, rumbling tone, his gaze locked on hers as if they shared some secret? He took her other hand, raising it to his shoulder. He dropped his hand to her waist. Her heart beat at an unacceptable rate, making her lightheaded.

“You begin with your right leg,” he continued. “I shall step forward with my left and you shall retreat.”

He pressed his leg to hers. Lanora stepped back quickly. His hands braced her.

“Now across, then together,” he said, moving them through the steps. “The basic step is despairingly simple. The key is to move in harmony. This is aided by music.” He looked toward the pianoforte.

With a start, the maid turned from them. She began to play.

Lord William returned his attention to Lanora, his smile warm. “Now, on my count, we’ll begin.”

Lanora was stiff at first, more because of how disconcerting it was to have him clasping her hand, his other pressed firmly to her waist, than because of the dance steps. She hadn’t properly realized how thin the material of her cream-colored day dress was. She could feel the heat of him through the fabric.

She attempted to concentrate on the steps, but his nearness flooded her senses. The scent of . The intensity of his blue-green eyes. His crooked smile under artfully disarrayed curls. How could she learn a dance in such conditions?

“I read that the gentleman must look over the lady’s shoulder except during a turn,” she said. She suppressed a grimace at her breathless tone.

“You mean, if I’m to look at you, we must turn?” He swung her about, her feet skimming the floor as a strong arm pulled her against his body to make the turn.

Lanora’s face heated. She firmed her arms, opening space between them. “I most certainly do not mean that, and I do not believe that’s how I’ve seen other couples dance.”

His smile widened. “So we are a couple?”

“What is it you want from me?” she whispered. He couldn’t possibly imagine she would dally with him, nor could he have honorable intentions toward her. His presence in her home was baffling.

“I want you to agree to a ride in the park tomorrow.”

“My lord, I can’t imagine—”

“Where we may speak with more discretion.”

His eyes darkened with entreaty. Lanora was dismayed by how moved she was to accept. Lord William’s reputation was well earned. He was a dangerous man. That still didn’t explain what he required of her, a duke’s daughter and a virgin.

“Agreeing to a ride will put an end to today’s meeting?”

He winced slightly, but nodded. “My company is so terrible?”

“Your company is confusing and unwarranted.”

“I shall not agree to the second, for you are indeed waltzing.”

Lanora blinked. In her distraction, she’d fallen into easy step with him. They flowed across the room, as if they’d waltzed together many times, as if she knew the dance well.

The music stopped. He stepped away, bowing over her hand. “It has been my pleasure, my lady.”

Lanora curtsied. “Thank you for the instruction, my lord.”

Lord William turned to her aunt with another bow. “Lady Edith.”

“Lord William.” Her aunt offered a nod. “My old eyes appreciated the display. Lanora improved markedly under your tutelage.”

“It was her natural grace, my lady, and little to do with me.” With a final bow, he strode from the room.

Several of the pups rose to follow him. Lanora stood, rooted to the spot. She frowned, then hurried out. She must know more. This was absurd. Why was Lord William giving the impression of a man courting her? She, who all knew didn’t wish to be courted, being pursued by a man all knew didn’t wish to wed. Ridiculous.

Remembering Grace’s earlier mention of spying on gentlemen, Lanora used the servants’ stairs to retrieve a purse of coins from her room. Quick steps brought her to the footman just returning from opening the door to Lord William’s carriage.

“Joseph, did you hear where he instructed his driver to go?” she asked.

“Yes, my lady.”

Lanora held out the purse. “Follow him. Discreetly, of course. I want to know everywhere he goes today.”

Joseph bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

 

Later that day, when Grace returned with Mrs. Banke’s coin, Lanora listened to her tale of bargaining at the Times and then imparted the details of Lord William’s visit. That evening, they both sat up in the parlor, waiting for Joseph’s report on Lord William’s doings. It was late when he finally came in, but not so late as Lanora expected.

“My lady. Grace,” he greeted.

“I hope your day was not too long, Joseph?” Lanora said. “Please sit.”

A London servant, Joseph failed to hide his shock at the offer. “No thank you, my lady. I prefer to stand.”

Lanora doubted that, but didn’t press him. “What have you to report?”

“Lord William went to Whites and another, less savory club. Gambling, I believe.”

She nodded. That was to be expected.

“He took a ride in the park. Fine horseflesh he has, handles it well, too, my lady.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Grace said, looking pleased.

“As if riding well makes a man a worthy husband.” Lanora rolled her eyes toward the intricate plaster molding on the ceiling.

“You’ll want to live in the country.” Grace folded her hands in her lap, her words crisp. “You want a man who can ride.”

“Do not marry me to the rogue yet, Grace. Continue, please, Joseph.”

“I returned because Lord William went to, ah, visit a friend, and I don’t think he’ll be out anytime soon.”

“A friend?” Lanora asked sharply, alerted by Joseph’s tone.

Joseph rattled off an address, dropping his gaze.

Lanora went cold. “I see.” The street was so notorious for housing the mistresses of the wealthy, it was colloquially called Mistress’s Row. “And you believe he will remain for some time?”

“I watched for a spell, my lady. He was still inside when I left.”

Lanora nodded.

“It doesn’t have to mean what you think,” Grace said, her tone tentative.

“Doesn’t it?” Lanora shook her head, surprised by the strength of her disappointment. “Was that all, then, Joseph?”

“There was one other thing, my lady. I followed Lord William all day after he left here.” Joseph’s face was perplexed. “Thing is, some other bloke was following him too. I stayed out of his sight. He was still watching that house when I left.”

Lenora hesitated. That was strange. “Thank you, Joseph. You’ve done well. I’m sorry to ask you to make such a long day of it.”

“It’s no trouble, my lady. We all want you to marry well.”

Lanora forced a smile. “Thank you.”

Joseph bowed, then left the parlor.

Grace turned to Lanora. “Who do you suppose was following your Lord William?”

“You know he is not, nor ever will be, my Lord William. Really, Grace, of all the men to pin your hopes on.”

“He did come to teach you to waltz and asked you to ride in the park. That’s romantic.” Grace let out a dreamy sigh.

Lanora shook her head. “As to who else followed him, I’m sure it was the footman of some other poor, besieged lady, or a jealous lover, or an even more jealous husband. Nothing we want to involve ourselves in, certainly.”

Grace’s sigh was more forlorn this time. “I suppose you’re correct. Still, coming here to dance with you was romantic, and I know you, Lanora. You aren’t as disinterested in him as you wish me to believe.”

Lanora pressed her lips together, considering her answer. Grace did know her, and she was correct. “He’s very charming. Too much so. It’s difficult to ascertain if any emotion one feels toward him is real, or if anything he says is.”

“Then there’s nothing for it. Before this gets out of hand, you shall have to kiss him.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lanora stared at Grace, shocked.

“It’s the only way to know for sure. If you kiss him, you will know if you care for him and if he cares for you. I’m certain of it. Then you can plan accordingly. A man can always be separated from his mistress, after all.”

“You’re daft.”

“It’s true. He can be weaned from her, as well as from his gambling. Men are malleable creatures. How do you think women manage? Men have all the power, yes, but we slowly mold them to our will. It’s for our own survival.”

“Grace, that’s so…mercenary.”

“I didn’t shape the world, Lanora.” Grace’s expression softened. “For all your learning, you’re terribly naive about some things.”

“Well, naive or not, I will hold out for a gentleman I actually care for, just the way he is. Your way sounds like an awful lot of trouble, and has the chance of failure.” It also sounded rather unfeeling.

“All the more reason to kiss him. Only once, mind you. Don’t permit it to get out of hand, and don’t forget you’ve hairpins for a reason.”

Lanora shook her head. “I will not kiss Lord William.”

“So you say now, but I know you would rather have questions answered than not.”

“If someone saw, I would be made to wed him.” Grace’s vague promise of an answer seemed hardly worth the risk of being forced to marry him should they be caught.

“He’s a rake. He will arrange for you to be unobserved.”

Lanora shook her head. She turned the topic to other things. Soon, they retired for the night. Try as she might, though, as she lay in bed seeking sleep, she could not dispel from her mind the idea of kissing Lord William.