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and a Russian princess, play the pianoforte when Minnie scurried up to her.
    “He is here.”
    This was more enthusiasm than Moira had seen in a long time. It worried her. “Who?”
    “Wynthrope Ryland,” her sister responded, her eyes bright and her color high. “I wonder if he will want to dance with me tonight.”
    Oh, this was not good. Minnie had decided that Wynthrope Ryland was a challenge to overcome. “Do not allow him to affect your evening, Minnie.”
    Her sister shot her a sharp look. “You do not think he will ask me.”
    “I do not know if he will or not.” Was it wrong of her to hope that he wouldn’t? Minnie was no match for Wynthrope Ryland. For that matter, neither was Moira.
    Minnie frowned. “You want him for yourself.”
    “Of course I do not, but what matter if I did? You only seek his attention because he snubbed you.” She took a drink of champagne to still her tongue. Minnie’s temper did not need much encouragement, and the last thing Moira wanted was a scene.
    “That is not true.” The tone of Minnie’s voice told otherwise.
    Moira turned to her sister with a gentle hand on the arm. “Dearest, why not put that energy into finding a man who does not have to be convinced that he likes you?”
    Maybe she was being a bit harsh—and a bit selfish. Maybe she did want Wynthrope Ryland for herself, but she also didn’t want to see her sister injured.
    But Minnie obviously didn’t see things the same way. With her jaw set defiantly, she turned her back on Moira and wandered into the crowd, swallowed up by a whole host of people who no doubt would soothe her ruffled feathers as the dancing began.
    Perhaps there was some truth in Minnie’s hopes. Perhaps Ryland had known what kind of reaction his asking Moira to dance would cause in Minnie. Perhaps that was exactly what he wanted—Moira’s sister.
    Or maybe , a little voice in her head whispered, he really is interested in you, you great foolish article.
    “I think too much,” she mumbled under her breath as pain pulsed in the front of her head.
    “A thoroughly unattractive trait in a woman, I assure you.”
    Oh no. Her cheeks burning, Moira raised her gaze to the dark, mocking blue eyes of Wynthrope Ryland. His mouth lifted slightly to the right—a satiric imitation of a smile if Moira ever saw one.
    “Good evening, Lady Aubourn. Would you care to dance?”
     
    She could not escape him now.
    Her gaze was wary as it met his, her cheeks stained with a becoming blush. She really was a striking woman, if a little on the thin side. She looked especially lovely this evening, as though she had taken particular pains with her toilette.
    Had her efforts been for his benefit? His pride refused to believe otherwise.
    She looked away. “I am afraid I am not much of a dancer, Mr. Ryland.”
    Ah, so it was to be like that, was it? “Very well. Perhaps your sister—”
    “No.” The wary gaze was determined now.
    He smiled. He really shouldn’t find her as amusing as he did. “I thought that might make you change your mind.”
    Some women would have flushed, others would have chuckled flirtatiously. Moira Tyndale stared at him as though they were two dogs after the same bone. “If you are trying to get to my sister through me, it will not work.”
    Wynthrope didn’t bother trying to hide his amusement. “My dear woman, I would rather lay upon a bed of nails than go through you for anything.”
    That brought a darker shade of pink to her cheeks. “Then why are you doing this? Why this sudden interest in me?”
    “By God, but you are a bold baggage.” He wasn’t certain if he liked it or not. Yes, yes he did.
    “I am not bold,” she replied, her gaze not quite so sure now. “I have simply been made a fool of often enough that I have no wish to have it done to me again.”
    “I have no idea what you are talking about. I simply like the look of you and had a mind to make your better acquaintance.”
    Her eyes widened. “You