“I hope you all receive proposals very soon, but only from gentlemen you love.”

The ladies giggled and waved as Matthew offered their excuses before leading her onto the dance floor, taking her in his arms, and sweeping her over the polished parquet.

“I don’t know if I’ll get used to hearing you referred to as Rosemont,” she told him.

“I love you, Fancy. Call me anything you like.”

“Whenever I attended a ball, I imagined you being there, waltzing with me. You’re everything I ever dreamed of wanting.”

“Don’t stop dreaming, Fancy. For I intend to help you realize all your dreams.”

She had an entire list, although she suspected he knew most of them and would guess the rest. They’d always been so attuned to each other.

She wished her mum had been here tonight, but she would tell her all about it in the morning. For now, she became lost in the music, the movement, the eyes of the man she loved.

Beresford studied his cards, fighting not to groan and alert everyone that his luck continued to be ghastly. He was still struggling with the fact that Fancy Trewlove had preferred scandal to marriage. The moment he’d heard of her incredible dowry, he’d set his sights on acquiring her as a wife. He hadn’t cared about her lack of a pedigree. He’d cared only about the coins she’d put in his coffers. Year after year. That she was interesting, gracious, and comely had been a boon. Even more so was the fact that he enjoyed her company. He didn’t know if he would have ever come to love her—his mistress had held his heart for years now—but he’d already developed a bit of affection for her. He certainly would have worked to ensure she never regretted marrying him.

He shouldn’t have arranged to be caught in a compromising situation, but he’d panicked when he saw how much attention she was garnering from other lords. And then when Rosemont—a man presently outside of social events—had implied a knowledge of her, Beresford had decided action was needed. Because if or when Rosemont returned to Society, he couldn’t compete with the man, not when half the ladies of London were going on and on about the damned letter his wife had written. It had been bad enough listening to his sisters wax on about it, hearing them sighing over the earl.

So he’d made an error in judgment, tried to force Miss Trewlove into accepting him. The devil of it was that her rejection had only served to make him respect and want her all the more. He wondered if he would stand any chance at all with her if he courted her properly. Of course, now she was not only tainted by her birth, but by scandal. Even if he was the reason behind the scandal—