Offering his arm, he led her to the edge of the dance floor. “We’ll wait for the waltz to end, shall we?”

“Would you mind signing my card whilst we wait? I thought to keep it as a souvenir.”

“Certainly.”

As she watched him scrawl his name, she couldn’t help but think of a man with larger hands, longer fingers, more elegance in his movements. She really needed to rid herself of thoughts of Mr. Sommersby. “Are you enjoying the ball thus far?”

“Oh yes, especially now that you’ll be dancing with me.”

She felt the heat of a blush rushing up from her décolletage into her hairline at the flattering words that were spoken with such sincerity. “That’s exceedingly kind of you to say, my lord.”

“Not at all. I owed your brother a bloody fortune.”

Everything within her stilled. “I beg your pardon?”

His wide grin reminded her of one she’d seen on a chimpanzee at the zoological gardens. “He’s canceling my gambling hell debt.”

She couldn’t stop her voice from going flat. “If you dance with me.”

“Precisely.” He nodded toward the floor that was clearing of couples, as others moved into place. “Shall we?”

“With all due haste.”

It was an odd thing to be held by someone she’d only just met, and she was grateful the quadrille limited how long and how often he touched her. The other couples who served as partners in this particular square were a somber lot, and she wondered if they wished she wasn’t there, although she did catch a few side glances as though they were curious but didn’t want anyone to know they were. Although perhaps they knew the truth of the situation and were as uncomfortable as she was with the fact that a bribe was required to get a bloke to dance with her.

Chapter 13

It was difficult to concentrate on reading when Matthew’s gaze kept wandering to the darkened window across the way. He had shoved a chair in front of his and taken up position after returning from the reading lessons. Ever since Fancy had bid them a good night, he’d been tormented envisioning her at the ball dancing with one lord after another.

While the decent part of him hoped her dance card would have a scrawled signature beside every dance, the selfish part hoped she took no pleasure from the attention.

Damn it all to hell, he felt like a rotten cur.

After returning to his terrace, he’d considered going to the ball. He even had evening attire on hand. God alone knew why his valet had decided to pack it. He’d certainly had no plans to attend any formal functions, although it was always possible an obligation he couldn’t escape would arise.