“I never think of you.” She made to move past him, and he stopped her with a gloved hand to her arm, and she was grateful it wasn’t skin to skin. She didn’t know if she’d have had the strength to resist his silken touch.

“You’re not a skillful liar.”

He had the right of that. She thought of him nearly every minute of every day. “Unhand me.”

“You haven’t your reticule filled with books.”

“I’m very good at shoving.”

Slowly he unfurled his fingers. “Come somewhere with me so we can talk.”

“No.” She intended to do little more than walk through the throng, stare them all down, and be on her way. She started her descent and he moved in front of her, barring her way.

“You rejected Beresford. You’re ruined. They’ll turn their backs on you. You’ll receive cuts—”

“I’m well aware of what I’ll be forced to endure, but I shall leave Society on my terms, not theirs. I was invited to this ball, and so I have come.”

“At least let me accompany you.”

He offered his arm, and she merely shook her head. She only possessed so much strength when it came to refusing him, and if she touched him, her resistance was likely to crumble into a heap at her feet. She despised the way her heart pounded and her body strained to be nearer to him as though he were her North Star. “I’d rather you didn’t, Matthew.” Momentarily, she squeezed her eyes shut. “Pardon my slip. I mean, Lord Rosemont.”

She started down, aware of him not following, further noting that music no longer played, that all eyes had been upon the drama playing out on the stairs. She’d wanted to face them all head-on but hadn’t expected to do it all at once.

“I love you, Miss Trewlove.”

In spite of the gasps and tittering, his voice echoed around her, his words slamming into the very fabric of her being. But this time, they seemed more intense, larger, more profound. Staggering to a stop, every muscle tensing, she slowly turned to face him. “Don’t do this, Matthew, not here.” So publicly. She hated that they had an audience, but in the aristocratic world, everything always seemed to be on display. “It will not go well.”

“Because I hurt you. Because we hurt each other.” He went down one step, then another. “If not here, if not now, then where and when?”

“Never. You didn’t tell me who you were.” She’d lowered her voice, but still it seemed to echo up the stairs.

“You know who I am, Fancy. You just didn’t know what I am.” He spread his arms wide. “Now you know. How am I different?”