When the dance came to an end, he wasn't sure whether he was sorry or relieved.
"I have someone I'd like you to meet," she said.
He didn't want to meet anyone. He wanted to go home to Stafford House. Without his mother. Maybe she'd sleep at her sisters' town house tonight, the three of them giggling like young girls discussing their latest conquests. A man could hope.
But no, she'd come home as always, probably vexed with him for making her dance with a man who wasn't her husband. That had been the whole idea, hadn't it? To make her realize grieving spouses didn't belong on the marriage mart?
"You don't mind, do you?" Juliana's enthusiastic voice snapped him back to attention. "Lady Amanda is really quite lovely."
Oh, yes, she wanted him to meet someone. Lady Amanda. Right. "I don't mind at all," he lied. "Where is this lovely lady?"
She shot him an unreadable glance before heading across the ballroom. "Follow me, Lord Stafford."
"James."
"Pardon?"
He watched her shapely, swaying bottom as he followed her. "My given name is James."
She slowed down until he caught up. "We scarcely know each other, Lord Stafford."
True. But he'd been thinking of her as Juliana practically since the moment they'd met. Not Lady Juliana, just Juliana.
Odd, that.
"We've danced together twice," he pointed out.
"That hardly makes us intimates."
Intimates. The word caused a vision to swim through his head. A very inappropriate vision, even though he'd already decided she was entirely too frivolous. "Just call me James," he snapped.
"Very well." She huffed out an impatient sigh and came to a stop before a clutch of men. "Come along," she said and pushed in.
A blond woman was in the center. A lovely blond woman. A lovely blond woman who caused no visions to swim through his head.
Juliana smiled. "Lord Stafford—James—this is Lady Amanda Wolverston. Amanda, Lord Stafford."
"Lady Amanda," he said with a proper bow. He wasn't tempted to call her just Amanda. Or even think of her as just Amanda. She was Lady Amanda through and through.
But Juliana was just Juliana.
This entire evening was proving most disconcerting.
"Lord Stafford," Lady Amanda returned formally. "I'm delighted to meet you."
She was lovely and delighted. Being a gentleman, he had to do the polite thing. "May I have the honor of the next dance?"
Lady Amanda smiled a lovely smile, though it looked a tad forced. "With pleasure, my lord," she said, sounding much less delighted than she claimed.
Juliana shot them both a grin.
At least someone was happy.
Lady Amanda was a fine dancer. But she didn't feel particularly good in James's arms. Although she wasn't nearly as animated as Juliana, she chatted amiably enough, and she was quite lovely, but when the dance ended he wasn't sorry; he was only relieved.
Another man claimed her immediately. James's mother sidled near, breathless. "What a lovely girl."
"Yes. Did you enjoy your dance?" he asked, expecting to hear she hadn't. Expecting to hear she wasn't ready to think of men other than her departed husband. Expecting to hear her apologize for encouraging him to court women when he clearly wasn't ready, either.
"They were delightful," she said instead.
"They?"
"The dances. All three of them. And all three men. Aurelia and Bedelia thought one dance quite enough, so I danced with their men, too." She took both his hands in hers. "Thank you, my dear. I'll admit I thought the very idea was daft, but it's high time I resumed a social life, and I appreciate your little push."
He groaned. Silently, of course.
"I'm going to spend the night with Aurelia and Bedelia," she added, looking happier than he'd seen her in ages. "Good evening, dear. I'll see you tomorrow."
He certainly wanted her to be happy, he thought as she walked off, and he'd been wishing for a night at home alone.
So why did her news make him grit his teeth?
"Well, Stafford, you've certainly danced with your share of the ladies."
He turned to see Cainewood. "I'm finished," he said, relieved to be out from under Cornelia's watchful eye. But he wasn't ready to go home yet—suddenly home alone sounded lonely. "Can I interest you in a game of chess?"
"Chess? Haven't touched a board since I left the army." Cainewood sipped some of the concoction in his half-empty glass. "Sure. For how much?"
"You want to wager?"
"Afraid you're going to lose?" Grinning, he sipped again. "Ten guineas."
"Deal." The stake was steep—certainly much more than they'd ever bet in their schooldays—but James grinned in return. "Follow me," he said, leading his friend toward the card room.
He wasn't going to lose. Cainewood was looking a bit foxed.
"I SAY, Cainewood. You're looking a little foxed."
Griffin looked up from the chessboard where he and Stafford were playing, to find Castleton standing over them. "I'm quite sober, I assure you," he told the duke, fascinated to hear a slur in his own voice. But just a bit of a slur, because he was just a bit foxed. Which was perfectly understandable, since he'd had much to celebrate this evening.
Juliana had finally—finally—found a man she wanted.
This man right here.
He took a sip of the Regent's Punch in his glass, an inspired mix of six different spirits. "What do you think of my sister, Castleton?"
The duke shrugged. "She's a little lively."
"Yes, isn't that nice? Nothing like a lively young lady." Griffin blinked his eyes. Castleton looked a bit blurred. And a bit stiff.
He wondered what his sister saw in the man.
Castleton was a keen judge of horseflesh—a fine recommendation, to Griffin's mind—but surely Juliana cared little about that. She sat a mount well and certainly enjoyed riding up and down Rotten Row in Hyde Park, the fashionable place to see and be seen, but she'd never been a particularly horsey sort of girl.
Griffin supposed, however, that a lady might think Castleton handsome in a pale,
