“No one.”
“Liar.”
He pushed himself to his feet and sauntered over to stand next to her. Their proximity instantly generated a powerful surge of energy. If she’d had any sense—and recently, she appeared to have very little—she’d have shoved by him and returned to her bedchamber, but he claimed to be fascinated by her, and she’d never previously been declared fascinating.
His words had stoked her hidden vanity, and it made her eager to linger by his side to hear what other thrilling compliments he might bestow. Her burgeoning interest in him was very, very wrong, but she couldn’t force herself away. He simply tantalized her in a manner she shouldn’t have allowed, but couldn’t seem to prevent.
“You vowed to visit someone,” he said. “Who was it?”
Brashly, she admitted, “Miss Libby Carstairs. I want to see her on the stage.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You are so strange. Of all the names I might have predicted you’d utter, hers was the very last one.”
“You told me she’s very famous and audiences love her. Why shouldn’t I have a chance to see her too? I never travel to the city. Why shouldn’t I be permitted a small adventure?”
“Why indeed?”
She wasn’t about to clarify her fixation with Libby Carstairs, so she changed the subject. “Why are you sitting in here?”
“I couldn’t sleep. When I confessed that I suffer from insomnia, I wasn’t joking.”
“What keeps you awake at night?” she asked.
He countered with, “What keeps you awake? I’ll tell if you will.”
She scoffed with amusement. “A recitation of my worries would sound incredibly dull to you.”
“You should list them for me then. If they’re as tedious as you imagine, it might be the tonic I need to doze off. I’ll be slumbering in two seconds flat.”
She smiled. He really was charming, but he was hazardous to her equilibrium too. His arrival had lit a fire under her discontentment. Suddenly, she was questioning her choices and her path. She was wondering if she should wed Gregory after all, if it was a wise decision.
They shifted toward each other, their shoulders leaned against the window. They were alone, and the most delicious intimacy flared. She felt she could confide any woe, and he would empathize and understand.
“What time do you suppose it is?” he asked.
“The clock chimed four a bit ago, so dawn is about to break. How long have you been loafing on that sofa?”
“Not long. I was gambling, but I got weary of the company, so I quit.”
She scowled. “Who is gambling?”
“Gregory and his friends from town. There is quite a game in progress in a rear salon.”
At the news, she was astonished. Grey’s Corner was her home, was Janet’s home, was her Uncle Samson’s home. They had a house full of impressionable footmen and housemaids. How dare Gregory bring his dissolute habits into their midst!
She suffered a rare burst of fury that was potent in its intensity, but she tamped it down. Usually, her rage rippled just below the surface, and she never unleashed it. She was terrified it might incinerate the whole world.
“Gambling is regrettable,” she tepidly said. “I can’t say I’m glad you told me about it.”
“Gregory is addicted to wagering. It’s obvious you weren’t aware of it, so I’m sorry to have apprised you.”
“I guess it’s better than wallowing in the dark and not knowing.”
“I wouldn’t agree to that. Some secrets should remain buried.”
“Now that you’ve informed me of Gregory’s situation, will you tell me how to deal with it?”
“I’m not smart enough to counsel you on the topic. There are so many men in London who labor under the same failing. It’s an impossible dilemma, and there doesn’t appear to be a cure—except for the fellow involved to simply give it up. It’s the only remedy that seems to work.”
“Does anyone ever stop?” she asked.
“Not that I’ve witnessed.”
She sighed with resignation. There would have to be a stern discussion with her uncle and with Gregory, and she couldn’t picture it. Her life cruised down a smooth road where she never complained or rocked any boats. She’d learned as a girl, through her grandfather’s vicious chastisements, to keep her mouth shut and remember her place.
But she managed the manor for Uncle Samson, and she was about to wed Gregory. Clearly, she had to assume more control, but the notion exhausted her.
At the moment, she didn’t want to fret about Gregory though. She’d stumbled into a private encounter with Mr. Ralston, and she wouldn’t waste it. He’d be gone shortly, and she’d be a wife and bogged down by the domesticity that drove her cousin, Janet, to rail about the unfairness of women’s lives. Caroline would never see him again, but she’d fondly recollect their conversations. For years, she’d mull every word.
“What was your brother’s trouble that got you kicked out of the navy?” she asked.
“If I confess it, will you promise not to call me an idiot?”
“It depends on how idiotically you acted. I will be extremely blunt in my assessment of the debacle, and I shall give you my valid opinion.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. Maybe I can’t bear to hear your valid opinion. Maybe I’d like you to lie and say I conducted myself brilliantly.”
“It’s probably not in the cards.”
“No, probably not.”
“You mentioned that you were protecting your brother. What did he do?”
“It wasn’t him so much as his friends. He was cordial with some aristocrats’ sons, and they were pilfering supplies and pocketing the money.”
“Aristocrats’ sons! Stealing from the navy?”
“A lot of those boys are pinching pennies. They’re all waiting for their noble fathers to cock up their toes so they can inherit the bank accounts. Until then, they often don’t have much in the way of funds. My brother was helping them, but he was young and stupid and didn’t realize the danger.”
“And the two of you are not aristocrats’ sons.”
“No. We’re very, very common.”
“Your brother would have been charged with the theft. The others, who had titled, important
