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his neck, looking for the duke, who ought to be on hand to protect his sister. Windford, however, was nowhere to be seen, and all four of Patience’s creatures had set a direct course for Lady Adele, grinning like hungry cats.
    â€œWhere did you get that gown, Adele?” inquired Violette Delacourte with a smile widely considered dazzling. “Is it another of your own design? It’s quite
amazing
.”
    â€œI am particularly struck by the ruff.” Georgiana tweaked a fold of starched linen. “I’ve
never
seen anything like it. Have you, Mister Valmeyer?”
    Valmeyer raised his quizzing glass. “I can truthfully say I have not. But then, Lady Adele has always been such an original.”
    When James reached them, the girls and Pursewell were agreeing to this, their voices dripping with cold honey. Others nearby had begun to stare, and to laugh. He expected to find Adele to be tearful, or angry, but what he saw was worse. She just looked numb.
    But when their eyes met, her face flushed a brilliant scarlet, and her full mouth opened in a soft, “Oh.”
    â€œAnd the sash . . .” Miss Georgiana began, but she saw the change in Adele’s expression and turned. “Why, Monsieur Beauclaire! How very good it is to see you again.”
    â€œThought you’d already be in the card room, Beauclaire,” said Pursewell. “The dance floor is not your normal hunting ground.”
    â€œPerhaps he’s come to come to admire Lady Adele’s gown as well?” suggested Valmeyer.
    James drew the expected languid, sophisticated expression across his features and made his bows. “Miss Georgiana, Miss Violette, good evening. Pursewell. Valmeyer. If I am to be completely honest,
mes amis
, I am here to apologize.” He locked his gaze with Adele’s, and he smiled, bashfully. “Lady Adele, I offer you my most abject apology. This is our dance, and I am offensively late to come to you. Do say you will forgive your clumsy
chevalier
and grant me the very great favor of your company for this waltz.” He bowed and held out his arm.
    For a moment, Adele stared like she thought he might sprout wings, or perhaps it was his horns she thought he’d show. Whichever it was, she mastered her shock with admirable speed and instead fluttered her lace fan.
    â€œSince you ask so nicely, Monsieur Beauclaire, I will forgive you,” she said. “But only because this is my favorite waltz. Georgiana. Violette. Mister Valmeyer, Mister Pursewell. You will excuse us?”
    James grinned at her nerve and led her, ruff and all, right to the middle of the dance floor. Their eyes met again as he raised his arms to form the proper frame. He let her place her hands on his shoulder and arm, and laid his against her lovely round shoulder and into the small of her back. He caught the swell of the music, and with a nod, he moved them into the dance.
    â€œIs it really your favorite waltz?” he inquired as he turned them. The crowd watched. Some of them gaped. He pretended to ignore them, but he turned her again and made no move to steer her to the edges of the floor as a man might do if he was a little ashamed of his partner. He would not hide her in some corner.
    â€œSir, you . . .”
    â€œI what?” He raised his brows. “I am too bold, perhaps? Unforgivably saucy?”
    She blushed, a pretty rose pink this time. She was smiling, too, just a little. He liked that. He liked how she moved through the dance with a kind of delight that set his thoughts skittering in highly impolite directions.
    So much for the hard-hearted fortune hunter.
    â€œYou saved me,” she said.
    Coming from another girl, this might have been the lightest flirtation, but Lady Adele meant it. Oh, Benedict had been right. She was wounded—wounded by creatures like the Pursewell and the Delacourte sisters for the unforgivable sin of being unfashionable and perhaps