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this wasn’t a momentous event, as if this was something one did every day. And, of course, for most people that would be true. For Melissa, who couldn’t remember the last time she’d voluntarily touched another person, it was disconcerting indeed. He then placed her hand in the crook of his arm rather forcibly, and began walking, practically dragging her along, his arm holding her hand like a vise while she tried to tug it free.
    “Can we please try that again,” Miss Stanhope said. “And this time, please do try not to look at your cousin’s hand as if it is holding something offensive.”
    Melissa pressed her lips together and sat.
    “Miss Atwell,” her cousin said, holding out his hand. This time, there was only the slightest hesitation before she placed her hand in his. She was lifting herself when Miss Stanhope said, “Again please.”
    Something passed through Lord Willington’s expression, something that looked too much like the pity she’d seen in the Bamburgh servants’ eyes far too many times. Lifting her chin, she slapped her hand into his extended one, rose, then grabbed his arm almost defiantly. She could feel his muscle flex beneath her glove, could feel his heat, and she fought the impulse to pull away again.
    “Again. And this time without the violence,” Miss Stanhope said, her voice tinged with humor.
    Melissa turned toward her chaperone in a quick, angry movement. “Really, Miss Stanhope, I do understand why you are insisting on this exercise, but I can assure you that I will be fine tonight when Lord Willington escorts me to my seat. I feel rather ridiculous,” she said, but she sat anyway, her posture rigid with anger.
    “Miss Atwell, may I escort you to the door.” He stood before her, one eyebrow raised in challenge, and held his hand out to her.
    She gave him the full effect of her smile and rather enjoyed the stunned look on his face when she did so. “It would be my pleasure,” she said in her calmest tone. She took his hand and rose gracefully, then allowed him to place her hand in the crook of his arm.
    “Much better,” Miss Stanhope declared, as if Melissa had done something truly remarkable. “You mustn’t hesitate, else gentlemen will either think you unpardonably rude or themselves offensive in some way.”
    “And we wouldn’t want that,” John quipped with a grin.
    “No, we wouldn’t,” the older woman agreed. “Now.” She took a bracing breath. “Would you please stand next to me, my lord, and face your cousin.” He did so, giving Melissa a wink. She couldn’t help but smile again.
    “Miss Atwell, I would like to present you with Lord Willington. Lord Willington, Miss Atwell, Lord Braddock’s niece, who is here for her first season.”
    Again, John held out his hand, and Melissa, without even a smidgeon of hesitation, placed her hand into his, wincing only when it appeared he was about to kiss her. Instead, he simply bowed over her hand, released it, and stepped back.
    “You flinched,” he said, and Melissa pursed her lips.
    “I thought you were about to . . .”
    “I was. Until you flinched.”
    “I did not flinch. And a gentleman should not kiss a young woman’s hand during an initial introduction. Isn’t that right, Miss Stanhope?”
    “That is true,” her chaperone agreed, “but there are some cheeky young men who do not follow such rules, and you must be prepared. As long as you are wearing your gloves, you may allow it, but you are perfectly in your rights to glare at any young man who is so forward.” To show her the look, Miss Stanhope glared at John.
    John stepped back in mock fear. “If you could master such a look, dear cousin, no man would ever attempt such a kiss again.”
    To Melissa’s surprise, Miss Stanhope laughed.
    “Miss Stanhope?” A young footman stood at the entrance. “Lord Braddock would like to see you in his study.”
    “If you will excuse me,” she said. She looked from one to the other as if uncertain