She attracted him more than he liked.

—JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

Hart slammed the conservatory door behind him. Worse than Lord Towsett indeed!

The whole point of coming to this ball had been to discuss—in a civilized manner—the sale of her horse. Instead he’d had to put up with impertinent queries, blatant invitations and suggestive remarks—and that was before he’d even spoken to Lady Georgiana.

He’d noticed her surreptitious entry of the conservatory and been simultaneously annoyed and intrigued. It was no business of his with whom she chose to have assignations—but it irritated him that she’d turned out to be yet another light-skirt. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did.

He’d waited a few moments and when nobody seemed to have followed her in, he did. If her lover was already there, serve them right for being indiscreet.

Instead he’d found her alone, hiding in a dark corner of the conservatory, and that had surprised him. She hadn’t struck him as either shy or timid.

And then he’d realized that she was hiding from Lord Towsett, avoiding yet another proposal from the self-important little tick, because she’d promised her aunt that she wouldn’t make a scene—and that he could believe.

Breathing in the fresh, cool air of the night, so welcome after the humid mustiness of the conservatory, he glanced up and saw Towsett leaning on the balustrade of the balcony that led from the ballroom to the garden and the conservatory. He was sipping champagne, and glancing back and forth between the ballroom and the garden. Towsett noticed Hart, raised his glass in greeting, then returned to his surveillance.

Each of you is so puffed up in your own consequence that you can’t possibly conceive of anyone refusing you anything. I’m fed up with men who can’t take no for an answer.

The sight of Lord Towsett standing so smug and self-assured, drinking champagne while Lady Georgiana lurked in a fern-filled conservatory instead of dancing with her friends, kicked Hart’s mood from irritation into anger. He marched across the garden and mounted the steps to the balcony.

Towsett greeted him with a broad smile. “Ah, Everingham, old man, don’t suppose you’ve seen that little filly of mine. She’s provin’ demmed elusive this evenin’.” The cheery man-to-man greeting darkened Hart’s mood further.

“A word with you, Towsett.” Without waiting for a reply, he seized Towsett’s elbow in a hard grip and steered him through the ballroom, ignoring the various greetings and salutations as he passed.

Towsett trotted along beside him, trying to wriggle out of Hart’s grip, while at the same time trying to hide that he was being unceremoniously marched from the room. “I say, Everingham—what the devil— Ouch! You’re hurting me. What the—? Where are you taking—? Ow!”