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her eyes on Mr. Samson, Emily couldn’t fight the pull at her lips. “Nothing, Papa. Nothing at all.”
    “I say, is that Mr. Samson?”
    “I really wouldn’t—” Emily’s words halted.
    Mr. Samson’s gaze locked on hers.
    Her glass trembled. If he approached her, how would she hide her interest? He looked so regal, so handsome.
    “Emily?”
    She glanced at her father and back to Mr. Samson. Her mind was numb but her traitorous body very much alive. “Why, yes, Papa. I think you might be right.”
    She failed to drag her gaze from Mr. Samson’s. He looked so refined in a double-breasted tailcoat and matching trousers. His dark hair groomed, his stature proud. His mouth—that delicious mouth—was lifted into the slightest of smiles. His manner was so evocative, her toes curled inside her slippers. Emily shifted her gaze to the women casting continual glances his way. He was easily the most handsome and powerful-looking man in the room.
    When she met his steady gaze once more, an illicit thrill shot through her very center. He looked only at her.
    He gave an almost indiscernible nod, the intoxicating smile still playing at his lips. Emily snatched her gaze away as panic erupted deep inside her. If Nicholas saw their silent exchange . . .
    She needed to leave. Right away. She turned to her father. “We must go.”
    “What, but why?”
    “I do not feel well . . .” The remainder of her claim died on her lips when the light around her fell into shadow.
    “Miss Darson, how lovely to see you again.”
    Her stomach dropped. Mr. Samson stood so close beside her; she felt his heat. Her heart beat hard but she forced herself to turn. His stunning blue eyes met hers.
    “Mr. Samson, what a surprise.”
    “A nice one, I hope.” His blatant appraisal wandered from her hair, to her lips, and finally her eyes. “I am hoping you will allow me the honor of the next dance?”
    Her father straightened. “Well now, I’m not sure . . .” He stopped and then his eyes took on a wholly different glint. “I think that is a wonderful idea. Don’t you, my dear?”
    Emily stared at him. What in heaven’s name was he thinking? She opened her mouth to refuse when Nicholas stepped between them, huffing and puffing like a raging bull. “That, Mr. Samson, will not be happening.”
    Nicholas’s and Mr. Samson’s eyes locked in silent battle. Emily stared as her future burst to life before her eyes. Who knew what would happen once she and Nicholas were wed? Who knew if she’d manage to change him and build a happy life or if their children would follow her regard or his?
    Careless abandon pumped through her veins. This was her final chance to dance with another man as an unmarried woman. Albeit an engaged one. What if another man never looked at her in the hungry, challenging way Mr. Samson was at that singular moment? Emily drew in a breath through flared nostrils, brushed past Nicholas, and took Mr. Samson’s elbow.
    “Why, thank you, Mr. Samson. I’d love to dance.”
    Mr. Samson’s slow and devilish grin as he led her away threw Emily’s stomach into a frenzied loop-the-loop. The man was so undeniably exciting, she did not care one wit that she’d endure Nicholas’s wrath later. She bit down on her bottom lip to stop her smile from spreading and together, they took their places on the dance floor.

    Will stole a surreptitious glance at Miss Darson. From the moment she walked in the ballroom on Milne’s arm, he wanted to talk to her. He watched them walk around the room, Milne with his nose in the air like a goddamn bloodhound, Miss Darson like the elegant vision she was. They looked like a couple—an engaged couple. Will hated the way the scene made his stomach knot and his head pulse with tension.
    When he left his rented accommodation, he was clear in his mind that he was over his initial shock of Miss Darson’s beauty and confidence. He was focused and knew what to expect from her. He was wrong. She was dressed in