“Then you must go. Once a gentleman calls on you in London, it’s a signal that the courtship is progressing. If he calls on you again, and you continue to dance together and otherwise spend time in each other’s company, a betrothal will be expected.”

Fiona swallowed. “And if it doesn’t happen?”

“It depends on the situation, but in many cases, the woman will be seen as somehow wanting.”

“The woman, not the man?”

His lips stretched into a brief, humorless smile. “It’s not particularly fair.”

“It’s a wonder anyone is able to make a match. How can you determine if you will suit without spending a great deal of time together? And it seems if you do that, you’re committed. Whether you suit or not.”

“That can happen, I suppose. My mother thought she and my father were suited, but after they married, she realized that was not the case.”

Fiona thought of her own parents and exhaled. “This doesn’t just happen in London, of course. Things might be more relaxed in the country, but there are still expectations. I believe my parents did not suit.” She offered a small, commiserative smile. “Perhaps our parents’ failures have made us more cautious. How are things progressing between you and Miss Goodfellow?”

He looked away from her again. “A bit stalled at the moment.” He pivoted so that his hip was against the edge of the table. “It occurs to me that there will be a waltz at the assembly on Friday—it is always the third dance. You should dance it with Lord Gregory. Do you think you can?”

She wanted to ask why things had stalled with Miss Goodfellow but suspected it was her fault because of what had happened at the club in the garden. Because of what she’d done to affect his reputation.

Instead, she answered his question about dancing. “My only waltzing experience has been with you.”

His brows rose slightly. “Then you need another lesson, I think.” He offered her his hand. “I promise I won’t hum.”

She put her fingers against his palm. His hand closed around hers, sending a rush of heat up her arm. As she stood, her entire body tingled with awareness, and she found herself looking at his mouth, recalling their kiss.

Best not to think about that.

Leading her away from the table, he kept hold of her hand. “Do you remember how to position yourself?”

She nodded, facing him and putting her hand on his shoulder. Their clasped hands shifted, and he put his hand on her waist. There were several inches between their chests, but Fiona was intensely aware of their proximity and that enduring magnetism that continued to draw her to him.

“Ready?” he murmured, his pewter gaze locked with hers.

“Yes.”

He began to move, gently steering her about the room, gliding with masculine grace as he avoided the furniture. And he did so without looking, for his attention was focused wholly on her. She could not have taken her eyes from him, even if she wanted to. Did he feel the same?