Abigail was the epitome of serene feminine composure, but for a hint of worry in her eyes. “You won’t let me fall on my bum?”

“Not unless I get to land atop you.”

She turned toward the dance floor, her hand over Stephen’s. “Well, then. The pleasure is mine, my lord. Shall we dance?”

Stephen led her out, passing his cane to a footman at the last opportunity. The instant the music concluded, his cane would be returned to him. The entire occasion was to celebrate Stephen’s marriage to Abigail, months after the fact. The bride and groom thus had the dance floor to themselves. The Wentworth siblings and their spouses would join in eventually, but shortly thereafter the music would conclude.

Stephen and Abigail would thus never have to navigate amid a crowd of dancers, and Stephen would be without his cane only for those moments when he and Abigail were in each other’s arms.

The introduction began, a slow triple meter. Abigail curtsied, Stephen effected a minimal bow, and they assumed waltz position. The German waltz was stately compared to its more vigorous English cousin, but it was a waltz, and the melody a lilting benevolence over the hushed crowd of guests.

“We are waltzing,” Abigail said, softly. “Stephen, we are waltzing.”

He managed the steps, though on the turns he had to rely on Abigail for balance. His brace did its job, the maestro resisted any temptation to increase the tempo, and soon, Stephen was waltzing—actually waltzing—too.

“We are indeed waltzing,” he said, when they’d managed another turn. “Nothing in all the world could prepare me for the joy of being your husband at this moment, Abigail.”

“Or the joy of being your wife.”

The other Wentworth couples drifted onto the floor, a pair of nieces giggled from the minstrels’ gallery, and before all of Mayfair, Lord Stephen Wentworth waltzed with his wife, and without his cane. When the final strains died away, and Abigail had again sunk into a curtsy, he drew her to her feet and kissed her soundly.

And she kissed him right back.

Acknowledgments

I have had such wonderful fun writing the Rogues to Riches stories. When Leah Hultenschmidt, my editor, said to come up with a series completely unconnected to any of my previous efforts, I was at first stumped. Then I bethought myself, “What is the absolute opposite of a polished, privileged duke? I know: a convicted murderer from the slums!” Then I smacked myself, because that’ll never work…except it did. My heartfelt thanks to all the readers who’ve enjoyed the Rogues to Riches series right along with me, and to Leah, and the great team at Grand Central Forever who took that’ll never work and turned it into a half dozen happily-ever-afters. Thanks, from me—and the Wentworths!

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