She simply nodded.

After a few quick words to Lady Emily’s mother and a few long ones to her frilled companions, Everton strode away from them. His main goal was accomplished for the evening. He had danced only with Lady Emily. After tonight, he suspected a few more gentlemen would notice her. But she was a hard one to figure out. By all rights, men should already be flocking about her. She simply managed to find the most unlikely hiding places. Even if a man came with the express purpose of pursuing her, he would have to find her first.

He shook his head. Lady Emily was so different from the other women he had had scandals with. They all knew what they wanted. Lady Emily wanted to stay home and not face the reality of her future. She didn’t want to marry, nor did she want to be out among people. There wasn’t much he could do to procure that for her. But at least he could stop a marriage with the man who was now addressing Lady Emily’s mother. Lord Silverstone didn’t even look at Lady Emily. What kind of man bartered with parents over a wife without even trying to involve her in the process?

He cursed under his breath. At one point in time, he had been just that sort of man. He had never thought to ask Rachel how she felt about the two of them marrying. He had assumed she had come to the same conclusions as he: they would marry because their parents expected it, and they would make the best of that marriage.

A gentle tap on his shoulder brought him out of his musings.

“Pardon me, Lord Bryant.” It was a servant, one of the temporary ones he’d hired to help with the ball. “There is a gentleman and two ladies here to see you.”

“Here to see me?” He scoured the ballroom. Who would be wanting to speak with him?

“They aren’t in the ballroom, sir. They have been shown to the drawing room.”

The drawing room? He was supposed to meet these three people in his drawing room whilst in the middle of hosting a ball? Who in the world would think of such a thing? Dark-brown hair and scathing eyes flashed into his mind.

“Was one of the ladies young with dark-brown hair?”

“Yes, sir. She had a rather strange message for me to send you.”

“What kind of message?”

“Something about your nose.”

He clenched his jaw. Miss Barton. Why in the world would she be here? This was his one stipulation—they couldn’t meet in ballrooms or anywhere remotely social. Miss Barton was constantly cropping up in his life when she shouldn’t be. First, unchaperoned at his home late at night, and now in the midst of a ball. Why couldn’t she follow simple instructions? Not everyone respected Everton, and he was fine with that. He didn’t deserve or want respect. But he was used to people listening to him, even if for no other reason than that they were intimidated by his position in Society.