His shoulders heaved and he emitted a strangled noise somewhere in between a snort and a grunt.

Poor duke. He was overcome by emotion. Should she . . . hug him? If he were one of her friends she would gather him into her embrace and offer her bosom for comfort.

Absolutely not.

No offering of bosoms. If promenading with him during a quadrille had filled her head with impossible longings, she most certainly couldn’t throw her arms around him.

“Your Grace.” She patted his shoulder. “I’m here to fetch you home.”

He raised his head, but instead of tears shining in the moonlight, he broke into a mischievous grin. “D-did you see that?” he asked, chortling loudly. He slapped his knee. “‘Oh, you’re all dainty and graceful are you?’” He laughed even harder, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve.

“Are you laughing, Your Grace?”

“I’m experiencing euphoric relief. I’m so very happy that I don’t have to marry that woman or spend any more time with her ambitious mama.”

“Well! This is no laughing matter,” Viola said in her clipped schoolmarm tones. “Let’s get you home. Your sisters have already left with Aunt Miriam and Lord Flanders as escort.”

“You simply can’t invent a moment like that. It was something out of a French farce.”

“You’re clearly hysterical.”

“I’m free again.” He jumped up from the bench, blue eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Didn’t I engage you for a dance, Miss Beaton?” He held out his hand. “Please do me the honor.”

“What, now? Your mind’s addled. I’m not going to dance with you out here in the garden while the assembled arbiters of propriety are dissecting the scandal of the Season. A Season which had only just begun, let me remind you.”

“If you won’t dance with me, come with me to The Devil’s Staircase. I don’t feel like going home. Let’s live a little. We’re young, beautiful, and free as birds.”

Those seriously inappropriate bells began ringing in her mind again. He thinks I’m beautiful, they rang out.

“You’ve gone mad,” she said testily. “I most certainly will not accompany you to that den of iniquity. I’ve been there briefly, with a friend, and it was decadent and depraved, stuffed with red velvet chaises, men with insolent eyes, and buxom barmaids.”

He chuckled. “That’s a first-rate description. Although the clientele has become very nearly respectable since my friend Jax Smith assumed ownership and renovated the place.”

“I’m not going to watch you throw away more of your fortune.”

He grasped her hand. “Maybe you’re my good luck charm.”

She pulled her hand away. “I’m not going with you because I’m going home to see how your sisters are faring. This was quite a blow to their prospects, as you know. Please endeavor to think of them.”