She grinned as she watched him. Then, gradually, she began to laugh too. A long moment later, they stood together fighting to catch their breath, their hands still clasped.

“You did not call me Miss Wingate,” she managed to say.

He took a deep breath and wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. “And I apparently sound like a dying animal.”

“That is not what I said!”

“Is it wrong?”

She shook her head, another giggle escaping her.

At the precise same moment, they both looked down at their still-joined hands. Their amusement came to an abrupt and rather obvious halt.

They released each other and took a step back.

“Well, that was nearly as disastrous as my presentation to the queen,” she said.

“That bad? I was rather enjoying it, or at least the few seconds I was allowed to.” He rubbed his hands together for he could still feel the heat of her palm against his. He could also smell her lavender scent.

He darted a glance toward the clock and decided it wasn’t too late after all. “I must be on my way to the club. Thank you for the, ah, memorable dance.”

She curtsied, dipping as deep as she had that afternoon. However, this time, she rose with grace and precision. “Haha! I did it. See, it is those infernal gowns.”

“I never doubted it,” he said. “Or you. See you tomorrow, Miss Wingate.” He turned.

“Good night,” she called after him.

A few minutes later, wrapped in his great coat and a hat stuffed on his head, Tobias pulled on gloves as he strode toward Bond Street, where he would still be able to catch a hack. He hadn’t wanted to wait for his coach to be brought round from the mews.

Now that he was going to ease up on matchmaking Miss Wingate, he needed to plan for what could happen. No, what should happen. He would marry in the coming weeks, and Miss Wingate would come under the new countess’s oversight.

And just who would that countess be? Bloody hell, he needed to set his sights on someone and move rapidly to a betrothal. It seemed he was destined for a special license wedding at this point.

Tomorrow at the ball, he must be singularly minded. Hopefully Miss Goodfellow would be there. And who was the other woman Lucien had mentioned? Tobias thought of the young lady he’d met at the drawing room that afternoon—Miss Nethergate. He shuddered. No, she was far too young. He wasn’t going to repeat the errors of the past.

Resolved toward his goal, Tobias inhaled a deep breath of cool night air. Oddly, he could have sworn he smelled lavender.

Chapter 8

“Cassandra!” Fiona greeted her friend as soon as she entered the Basildons’ ballroom with Prudence at her side. It felt good to have Prudence back, as if nothing horrendous would befall Fiona as it had at the queen’s drawing room the day before.

Cassandra stood near the wall. Her aunt, whom Fiona had met briefly at the Edgemont ball, was deep in conversation with another lady nearby.