“For a good portion of it, married and raising children.”

“Ah, that would explain it,” Everton replied. Diana made a sound that was half snicker and half snort. Everton slid forward. “Is that a point for me?”

“Did you not hear me say you don’t get points?”

“I am the one helping you out, young lady. Granted, Mrs. Oliver is making my task quite easy and very diverting, but it seems only fair that I should be granted points as well.”

“Fine. You got one point. I shall be careful not to laugh, no matter how ridiculous you are from now on.”

He stepped forward once more. If his calculations were correct, Diana would be only a few feet from him. He reached his hand out but felt only air. “I’m never ridiculous.”

Diana coughed a few steps to his left. The pathway to the back of the room had widened at this spot in the room. “No, you are quite the most serious man in London.”

“Thank you. I’m glad someone has finally noticed. There is only one slightly ridiculous thing about me.” He took two steps in the direction he had heard her voice.

“Dare I ask?” Blast, she had moved again. She must be tiptoeing about the room, walking in silence.

“I truly am afraid of the dark,” he lied.

“If you are trying to make me laugh, you are doing a brilliant job of it. You haven’t done a single thing to illustrate that point up until now.”

“But I’m about to . . .” Everton squinted his eyes. He could just make out the shape of her skirt against some boxes, which meant her fingers should be right . . . about . . . there. He reached forward and, with a few inches of flailing about, caught hold of Diana’s fingers.

Then he waited.

He waited for her to pull away.

He waited for the thrill of her touch he had felt at his ball.

Neither came.

Until she slid her fingers through his and held them tight. “Only because you are frightened.”

He held his breath and closed his eyes slowly. Had anyone ever held his hand in the dark? He didn’t dare speak and break the spell. Everton had often felt there were only two types of women in the world—those who threw themselves at him because of his wealth and title and those who threw themselves at him because of his looks. Every once in a while, he would meet a woman completely indifferent or repulsed by him. He tried not to dwell on those women or every woman would morph into that type of woman. But Diana was different. She thought he was handsome—she had admitted that early on—but she didn’t throw herself at him; she was simply using him. Plenty of women had used him in the past, which he didn’t mind in the least, but none of them were comfortable with him. Not enough to casually hold his hand.