She’d barely gathered the last drop on her tongue when a handsome lad—they were all handsome; Lavinia had convinced him the ladies would appreciate fine scenery wandering through the establishment—barely twenty was taking her empty glass and offering her a full one.

“We’re done here,” he told the servant, surprised by the gruffness of his tone, the curtness of it.

Jasper must have been surprised as well because his eyes widened considerably before he gave a quick bob of his head and made a hasty retreat.

Aiden felt her speculating gaze on him, more than he saw it. He had an urge to apologize to her, to the lad, but he was not in the habit of apologizing, and an apology might lead to him having to confess he didn’t much like the idea of any of his lads fawning over her—even though that’s what he paid them to do. Make the ladies feel special so they would return in order to feel special again.

“I’ll need my shoes.” She surprised him by her absence of a comment on his earlier reaction.

“No, you won’t. As I said, the floor is clean. Why close those lovely feet in leather when there is no need?”

Standing, he took her hand and helped her rise to her feet. Without her shoes, the top of her head came to his shoulder, and he didn’t want to consider how much he might like tucking her cheek into the curve there, an odd thought for a man who never tucked women in close. He liked them well enough, enjoyed their company immensely, but wasn’t one for offering hugs when they were in need of them. Tears usually had him searching for the nearest escape. He didn’t simply hold and comfort for the sake of simply holding and comforting. He liked having a jolly good time.

Tonight he was not acting himself: lounging about with a woman, giving her attention, excluding all others. Perhaps it was merely the mystery of her. But others wore masks and he wasn’t slavering to know details about them. He should hand her off to one of the attention-givers but he feared he’d then find fault with how much attention the gent was giving her. If it wasn’t enough, he’d be angry because she was doing without. If too much was lavished upon her, he’d be furious because he wasn’t the one doing the lavishing.

If she was aware of his rioting thoughts, she gave no indication, merely tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as though it belonged there. The wine had done the trick. She was more relaxed, more at ease. Strange how he was suddenly more tense.