Earlier he’d gone to the bother of drawing a bath. Soaking in the steaming water had managed to give him time to put matters into perspective and to debate the disadvantages of attending the ball. At the edge of his mind he recalled promising dances to at least two dozen women, so dance cards would be dangled in front of his nose like carrots to get a horse moving. First and foremost, however, was the matter of explaining himself to Fancy.

“You wanted to meet the Earl of Rosemont. Funny thing. You’ve already met him. He is I.” He imagined delivering the news with a bit of a laugh and a broad smile. Unfortunately, he couldn’t envision her receiving it with equal good humor. She would no doubt be hurt, possibly livid. Revealing himself in such a public arena was such a dreadfully bad idea.

However, if she did manage to overlook his failure to elaborate on his identity when they met, he would no longer be able to discern if what was developing between them—friendship or something more—was influenced by his title. Might she seek to lure him into a conservatory?

All the lengths that are necessary.

She had declared those words, and they’d resounded as a promise, a vow. Although she claimed she would draw the line at deception, he’d learned that a woman’s words couldn’t always be trusted.

He rather liked that she didn’t know his full identity, that when she looked at him, she wasn’t doing it through the lens of his title. So he’d left his bath resolved to stay in and let her have her night. To flirt and be flirted with, to dance the evening away, to have a debut that was all she hoped for. Even if it didn’t include the Earl of Rosemont.

Once more he glanced toward her window. The ball would no doubt go on until two in the morning. For him, the minutes were ticking away into an eternity.

After her fifth dance following the one that she’d shared with Dearwood, she was more than displeased with the additional information she’d gleaned and went in search of her brothers. While they were tall, a good many men were equally so, which made it difficult to spy them in the crush of the crowd. She did wish Beast had attended. He was a good head taller than most, which would have made him easier to spot. Then she caught sight of them on the far side of the room, near one of two fireplaces. Quickening her pace—

“I say, Miss Trewlove.”

She came to an abrupt halt as a tall, narrow-shouldered gentleman stepped in front of her. What was his name? Good Lord, with more important matters weighing on her mind she couldn’t think.

“Will you honor me with a dance?”

Blond. Broad. Blue Eyes. Viking. Fiords. “Not at this moment, Lord Beresford.”