He kissed my hand and excused himself, heading off in the direction of the dashing—but unavailable—Viscount Taylor.

How did I know he was unavailable?

Because after my father tried to set us up, it’d become desperately clear that he was still completely in love with his ex, and I’d fixed that little problem for him.

I had an invite to their wedding next spring.

“You are attracting all the attention tonight.”

I jolted at the sound of Miles’ voice, then turned to face him. “Oh, yes. Lord Nelson is a real catch for the twenty-something aristocrat.”

Miles raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sure his wife might have a thing or two to say about it, though.”

He laughed and leaned on the bar next to me. “Well played. I thought I saw your cousin here.”

“I believe he arrived late,” I replied. “Alex was invited to dinner but just got back from Italy.”

“Must be nice.”

“Not really. There was a fire in the property he inherited out there.”

“Oh, no. However will he cope?”

I swatted at him. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m only messing with you.” He scanned the bar. “How does one go about inheriting a property in Italy, then? Especially as an English duke.”

Ah. This I did know. “One of the uncles on his father’s side was an Italian noble and his father was the only viable heir, so he has some obscure Italian title. There was a fire in the mountains.”

“The only male heir.”

“Viable. Male. It’s all the same to me.” I dragged my gaze away from him and onto the dancefloor.

I simply couldn’t look at him in that bloody suit anymore. My heart was pitter-pattering as it was with his closeness. I didn’t need to think about how surprisingly well-tailored the jacket was, or how the white of the shirt contrasted against his tanned skin, or how the stubble on his jaw made me want to rub my thighs against it.

Oh.

Good Lord.

Perhaps that was enough wine for tonight…

I caught the eye of Eva as she danced with a young and very single Baron Oxbridge. I wiggled my eyebrows, and she bit back a laugh, glancing knowingly at Miles.

If we weren’t surrounded by nobility and the upper echelons of British society, I’d have shown her a fantastic view of my middle finger.

She could do worse than Baron William Oxbridge.

“What are you looking at?”

I spun on my stool so I could watch everyone dance. This was an actual dance—a waltz—but more than a few people were a little drunk, so it quite resembled a toddler ballroom dancing lesson. “Evangeline and William. Considering how I can meddle and give her a taste of her own medicine.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Not particularly.”

“Do I already know?”

“I have no idea, Miles. I daresay I cannot read your mind.”

He chuckled and picked up his pint glass. “And thank goodness for that.”

I turned to look at him. “And what does that mean?”