“She may have already refused me.”

Wexford winced, and Lucien moved to clap Tobias on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Lucien said. “Why did she say no?”

“Probably because she’d just learned that she’s to inherit Horethorne if I don’t marry.”

Lucien nodded, his eyes alight with understanding. “Like Wexford, she assumed you wanted to wed her to obtain the estate.”

“Can you blame her?” Wexford asked.

“Not at all. In fact, if I’m honest with myself, that was part of the reason I asked. That, and we were half-naked at the time.”

Wexford shook his head. “Christ, Deane, you’re supposed to have rehabilitated your behavior. Have you no shame?”

Lucien took his hand from Tobias’s shoulder and turned his head toward Wexford. “Leave him be.” He returned his attention to Tobias. “What is your plan?”

“I don’t really have one. She just rejected me last night. I can’t imagine she’ll change her mind today.”

“Have you mentioned the love part?” Wexford asked. “I suspect that might help your cause.”

“No, but what if it doesn’t?” Tobias hoped they shared something beyond the physical attraction that had bloomed between them. They were friends, perhaps even confidantes. But more than that? He didn’t know. And given that he’d completely misread his relationship with Priscilla, he didn’t entirely trust himself to get this right.

“There is only one way to find out.” Lucien regarded him with determination. “Just vow to us you won’t devolve into an even bigger degenerate if she refuses you again.”

Tobias couldn’t promise that at all.

At the midpoint of the main staircase, there was a landing with a doorway that led to another staircase, which in turn led to a gallery that ran along one side of the men’s ballroom. Emerging onto the gallery with Lucien and Wexford, Tobias had a bird’s eye view of the ballroom below.

“What is she wearing?” Wexford asked, peering down into the throng.

“Purple, I think? At least that was her plan a couple of days ago.” Tobias looked until he had to blink to regain some moisture in his eyes.

“Let’s move to the ladies’ side,” Wexford suggested before moving along the gallery and opening a door to an identical gallery that overlooked the other side of the ballroom.

“Over there?” Lucien pointed to the opposite side of the ballroom near the doors that led out to the garden.

Yes, that was her. Even from this distance, she was unmistakable, and not because of the purple of her gown. It was the vivid red of her hair, the graceful slope of her neck and shoulders, the poise with which she held herself—a solitary, gleaming pearl amidst a stretch of unremarkable sand.

“Is that Lord Gregory with her?” Wexford scowled.

Tobias tensed. “Yes.” They stood rather close to one another, and she was smiling up at him.

“You need to get down there.” Lucien started toward the other door that would take them to the ladies’ staircase, and Wexford followed.