When the ladies had begun calling after the letter appeared, he’d studied each one, wondering how she planned to entrap him. They’d each been so eager to gain his attention. With so many vying for the role of his countess, the competition was fierce. How many would decide drastic measures were required to gain what they wanted? He knew full well it wasn’t him personally but his title that called to them.

“Speaking of forgiveness, have you forgiven me for carrying out Elise’s wishes?” It was his sister Elise had entrusted with her letter.

“I don’t hold you responsible. You didn’t know the trouble it would cause.”

“Honestly, I don’t understand why you can’t see that she did it with your best interest at heart.”

“May we speak of something else? Are you making the most of the Season, attending balls?”

She brightened. She thrived in a social environment. He suspected Miss Trewlove would as well. He wondered if she’d been pleased by his package when it arrived and had no doubt that it had been delivered because Jenkins was dependable and would see to the task. He wished he’d been in the store browsing when she’d opened it so he could have seen her reaction. Even knowing it was an incredibly valuable item, far too costly for a gentleman to give a lady, he had no regrets for sending it to her. He had little doubt if she knew from whence it came, she’d have not accepted it. Anonymity had been his only course of action.

“Oh yes,” Sylvie enthused, bringing him from his thoughts. “Of course, I’m accosted at every event, mostly by mamas wanting to ensure I alert you that their daughters are available. You could have your pick of the lot, you know.”

Because of the damned letter. He could even have Fancy Trewlove, if he wanted. All he had to do was confess his identity, and she would fall at his feet like all the others. Only he didn’t want her to want him because of the letter or his title or the fact that he could place her on a pedestal within Society. He longed to be wanted for who he was without all the paraphernalia that came with being what he was.

He wanted to feel again the way he’d felt last night. His time with her had been refreshing. No insincere flirtation, no seeking of attention. Simply an enjoyment of each other’s company, an easing into a friendship, without pressure or expectations.

“Will you be attending the Duke and Duchess of Thornley’s ball?” He’d found an invitation to it in the stack he’d taken from his residence in the early hours of the morning. He imagined Fancy clutching the clipping from the Times to her breast. Do, please, invite the Earl of Rosemont.