“There’s a chance she won’t?” Wexford also stood, finishing his whisky as he rose and depositing the empty tumbler on the table.
“She may have already refused me.”
Wexford winced, and Lucien moved to clap Tobias on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Lucien said. “Why did she say no?”
“Probably because she’d just learned that she’s to inherit Horethorne if I don’t marry.”
Lucien nodded, his eyes alight with understanding. “Like Wexford, she assumed you wanted to wed her to obtain the estate.”
“Can you blame her?” Wexford asked.
“Not at all. In fact, if I’m honest with myself, that was part of the reason I asked. That, and we were half-naked at the time.”
Wexford shook his head. “Christ, Deane, you’re supposed to have rehabilitated your behavior. Have you no shame?”
Lucien took his hand from Tobias’s shoulder and turned his head toward Wexford. “Leave him be.” He returned his attention to Tobias. “What is your plan?”
“I don’t really have one. She just rejected me last night. I can’t imagine she’ll change her mind today.”
“Have you mentioned the love part?” Wexford asked. “I suspect that might help your cause.”
“No, but what if it doesn’t?” Tobias hoped they shared something beyond the physical attraction that had bloomed between them. They were friends, perhaps even confidantes. But more than that? He didn’t know. And given that he’d completely misread his relationship with Priscilla, he didn’t entirely trust himself to get this right.
“There is only one way to find out.” Lucien regarded him with determination. “Just vow to us you won’t devolve into an even bigger degenerate if she refuses you again.”
Tobias couldn’t promise that at all.
At the midpoint of the main staircase, there was a landing with a doorway that led to another staircase, which in turn led to a gallery that ran along one side of the men’s ballroom. Emerging onto the gallery with Lucien and Wexford, Tobias had a bird’s eye view of the ballroom below.
“What is she wearing?” Wexford asked, peering down into the throng.
“Purple, I think? At least that was her plan a couple of days ago.” Tobias looked until he had to blink to regain some moisture in his eyes.
“Let’s move to the ladies’ side,” Wexford suggested before moving along the gallery and opening a door to an identical gallery that overlooked the other side of the ballroom.
“Over there?” Lucien pointed to the opposite side of the ballroom near the doors that led out to the garden.
Yes, that was her. Even from this distance, she was unmistakable, and not because of the purple of her gown. It was the vivid red of her hair, the graceful slope of her neck and shoulders, the poise with which she held herself—a solitary, gleaming pearl amidst a stretch of unremarkable sand.
“Is that Lord Gregory with her?” Wexford scowled.
Tobias tensed. “Yes.” They stood rather close to one another, and she was smiling up at him.
“You need to get down there.” Lucien started toward the other door that would take them to the ladies’ staircase, and Wexford followed.
Only Tobias couldn’t move. His feet were rooted to the floor and his gaze was fixed on Fiona. And Lord Gregory.
A moment later, he felt a tug on his sleeve. “Come on.”
Tobias didn’t look at Wexford. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Fiona as she laughed at something Lord Gregory said. Tobias’s body went completely rigid as Fiona touched Lord Gregory’s arm.
He finally turned away. “I can’t do it. Yes, I’m a pathetic coward. I had my heart broken once before, and since Fiona has already rejected me, I should expect failure again.”
Lucien scoffed. “Priscilla didn’t break your heart. You said so yourself at the time.”
“Well, it bloody well felt like it. I was humiliated.” Not because she’d chosen someone else over him and everyone knew it, but because he should have known better. He should have realized there was nothing really between them, that Priscilla had only taken their courtship as seriously as her father told her to. And once someone with a higher rank came forward, that was not at all.
What if Tobias had this wrong too? What if the things he imagined Fiona felt for him were only in his mind? “This is different,” he whispered, staring at the painting hanging on the wall opposite but not seeing any of its detail. “I don’t think I can survive a rejection from Fiona.”
“Christ, you’re being melodramatic.” Lucien gave him a gentle shove. “You’d rather let Lord Gregory do his worst and not even try?”
“Come on, Deane, if you love her, she’s worth the risk. And the pain, if it comes to that.” Wexford thumped him on the back. “I wager it’ll hurt even worse if you don’t fight for her.”
They were right. They were more than right. This was nothing like Priscilla because Fiona was, well, Fiona. He knew precisely who she was, and more importantly, she did too. She wasn’t some social-climbing miss looking for the best marriage. In fact, she’d declared her intent not to do that. She was utterly unique, and he loved her unequivocally.
“So much for my attempts to stop being an ass,” he muttered. He started toward the door that led to the stairs. “Do either of you have any idea what set they’re on?”
Lucien consulted his watch fob. “If they are on schedule, they are likely in the second.”
Tobias practically ran down the stairs, which were thankfully not crowded. The hall below was, however, and getting into the ballroom took longer than he’d hoped. By the time he stepped inside, he feared the set would be drawing to a close.
Hurrying between people and ignoring those who tried to speak with him, he arrived at Fiona’s side, breathless, just as the music stopped. “Miss Wingate, it’s time for our dance.”
Fiona stared at him, clearly confused. And why wouldn’t she be? They’d made no plans for dancing or anything else.
“She’s already agreed to partner me,” Lord Gregory said affably.
Angling his head, Tobias smiled at Fiona. “Did you forget?” He narrowed
