Chapter Four

"You, my lady, intrigue me." William did not know what was possessing him to speak so boldly—it was so against his nature. But this woman... she drew it from him. "And very few ladies manage to do such a thing."

He watched carefully and was rewarded with the telltale signs he had been seeing, even through the mask, since he had first spoken to her.

Interest.

She was interested in him.

"I... I am honored," the woman said, her voice uneven.

Delight soared through William. He had never expected anything like this: a connection made in such a public place, and with a woman he did not, in any real way, know.

It was the sort of encounter one heard about but never saw. And now it was happening to him.

There was something powerful happening in his stomach, though precisely what, William could not tell. Standing here, mere inches away from a woman whose name he did not even know...

What was happening to him?

This was not like him at all. He was, as his brothers had so often reminded him, far more interested in being stuffy and right than loose and having fun. Yet here he was, contravening almost every rule he had ever put in place for himself, every expectation of himself as a gentleman. And she was looking at him like...

Like she did not care about convention at all. Like she could sense how he felt for her, the growing need in his loins, the desire to crush her to him and taste her, to know what this woman felt like when whimpering against him.

And the memory of what Lindow had said mere days ago echoed in his mind.

"Just find a woman you like and marry her! How hard can it be?"

"I like you," said William simply, unable to help himself. "You are a woman I like. And you are beautiful. And I like you."

It sounded so ridiculous when he said it like that—but there was the simple truth.

He liked her.

He had never met a woman he liked like this. And William was not a complete fool—he knew his own mind. He knew when he thought "liked," he meant, "found so attractive and easy to talk to that he could quite happily spend hours and hours with this woman, her company sufficient and her presence intoxicating."

Though "liked" was rather a paltry summation, now he came to think about it.

But he was not some fool who believed in love at first sight, or anything so ridiculous.

And yet . . .

The woman's cheeks were burning—at least, from what he could see around the green silk mask. "Oh. Oh, Your Grace—"

"Please, you do not need to say anything," William said hastily. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her with the sudden depth of his feelings. Feelings he might be able to name but did not quite understand. "It's just... this is..."

The woman stared, her gray eyes wide and trusting.

Dear God, she was wonderful. Compared to the last woman he had encountered, this one was an angel.

William almost laughed aloud when he thought to compare this polite, respectful woman—who had been refined enough to be nervous at dancing with a man she had not been introduced to—to the wild thing he had encountered in Hyde Park.

"Everyone knows if a gentleman and a lady find themselves in a compromised position—"

Why, compared to that hellion, this woman was a picture of perfection! Delightful, a wonderful dancer, a conversationalist who managed to border on flirtation yet stay the right side of it.

She was far superior.

And something rather strange entered his mind. A thought that was not precisely his, but at the same time could have come from nowhere else.

A woman he liked.

"My lady," William said, stepping closer to the quivering woman and marveling at her withdrawal from any hint of impropriety. "It would do me great honor if you would tell me your—"

"There you are, you rascal!"

His shoulder was jolted as a hand suddenly grabbed him and pulled him away from the woman he had been about to say something ridiculous to. The wrenching movement shot a bolt of pain across William's shoulder blades, and he turned on the miscreant who had manhandled him, about to curtly berate him.

Then William groaned.

"You know, I thought you'd be happier to see me," said Lindow with a grin. "Aren't you always saying I should spend more time in polite company so their elegance can rub off on me?"

William sighed. "I meant so that you could become more polished, not that you could go about disgracing yourself!"

He glanced around them but could see no one watching the two Chance brothers.

Yet.

"What do you want?" William said heavily, pulling a hand through his hair.

Lindow frowned. "I haven't asked for anything yet."

"You are here, and you have pulled me aside from a delightful conversation," said William wearily. "You only do that when you want—"

"Delightful conversation?" Lindow glanced over William's shoulder, and his smile became wicked. "My, my."

"Do not speak to her," said William stiffly, glancing over his shoulder, unable to help himself.

The young woman whose name he still did not know flushed a dark pink, the color dancing down her neck and across her collarbone. She looked away, and William turned back to his brother. She ought to flush, being gawped at by an idiotic Chance.

Well. Two idiotic Chances.

"Good God, Cothrom, well done," Lindow was saying far too loudly for William's liking. "And I always thought you weren't that good with the ladies. Have you—"

"Speak another word about her and I may cut out your tongue," growled William.

His brother ignored him completely. "I actually did come over here to ask you for something, as it happens, but that is a complete coincidence. I resent the implication that I only ever ask—"

"What do you need?" said William with a sigh, pulling out his pocketbook. Carrying the damn thing had become a matter of course these days, as his brothers always in need of funds. "And how much?"

This time, Lindow did not bother to attempt to pretend. "About fifty pounds."

"Fifty—"

"It's not me!" said his brother, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "He was already at Chester's card table when I arrived—I couldn't have stopped him!"

William groaned. Which was quickly becoming a habit—a most unpleasant one—whenever Aylesbury was involved. He hadn't even known Aylesbury was here.

"His gambling really is getting out of control," said Lindow happily. "I'd want to take him in hand, if I were you."

William shot his brother a dire look, and the younger man had the good grace to look a little bashful.

How many years had Aylesbury been trying William's patience? How many hundreds of pounds had been taken out of the Cothrom estate to pay off his brother's debts? It wasn't as though the Aylesbury estate didn't have money he could use!

Although now William came to think about it, maybe it didn't. That would certainly explain why a few credit notes had come to his door, rather than to the second Chance brother.

"Fifty pounds," said William darkly, pulling several notes from his pocketbook. "This is all I have on me, but send me his vowels and I'll have them paid. And I suppose you have done the right thing and moved Aylesbury as far from that card room as—"

"Well, I would be more than happy to," said Lindow, a flicker of awkwardness shifting his grin. "Except... well..."

If it were possible, William's hopes sank even further. "What now?"

"Well, he managed to owe the debt to... to Gilroyd."

William sighed, and replaced his pocketbook, now fifty pounds lighter. "Of course he has."

The Duke of Gilroyd. One of the most notorious card players in the entire ton. Everyone knew he always won—what on earth had Aylesbury been thinking, playing him? And Gilroyd always collected on his debts. Always. It wouldn't surprise William if Aylesbury was being kept in the card room Chester had somewhere about here, unable to leave unless he coughed up the money or wrote a voucher for double the amount.

God save them . . .

"Look," William said firmly. "I am tired of this."

Lindow's grin became mischievous once more. "Say no more, old thing. I am more than happy to take that lovely woman off your hands and—"

"You know that's not what I meant, man, and don't look at her. You don't deserve her," snapped William.

His brother's eyes glittered. "And you do?"

William chose to ignore that particular pointed question. He wasn't precisely sure what he deserved. A rest from constantly and consistently bailing out his brothers, as far as he could tell.

"Aylesbury has got to stop running up gambling debts," he said instead. "And you have got to stop seducing women—"

"Cothrom! The very idea!"

"—and refusing to make honest women of them," William continued stonily.

Dear God, but it was shameful to be having this sort of conversation in the middle of a ballroom at a private party. It was shameful to be having this sort of conversation at all. Thank goodness the lady in question had meandered to a table in search of a drink—otherwise he'd be mortified. When were his brothers going to get it into their thick heads that they needed to start pulling their weight to keep this family's reputation?

Lindow snatched the crumpled notes from his fingers. "Thank you, old—"

"I'm not that much older than you," William pointed out darkly.

The musicians had started up again. Blast. He had hoped to ask her, the woman, for another dance. Now he would have to wait until this one was over—and that was if someone else hadn't already asked her.

Blast, blast, blast—

"You can't blame him, you know."

William started. Most unusually, Lindow was looking at him with an expression of...

Was that solemnity?

"Blame him?" William repeated. "Of course I can blame him. Aylesbury is old enough to know better, old enough to pay his own—"

"He's bored," said Lindow flatly. "We both are."

William blinked.

Bored? Dear God, how he longed to be bored! How could his brothers be bored when they were off living reckless lives with other irresolute individuals? How did two men who racked up such debt every month they stayed in London, bedding the women they bedded and drinking the vast amounts of wine they drank, end up bored?

"Bored," he said quietly.

Lindow shrugged. "Bored."

"Well, poor Aylesbury," William said, temper running thin. "If he wants to keep himself occupied, all he has to do is take over the job of keeping you in line! It's not a responsibility I ever wanted, and he's welcome to it!"

His brother flinched.

William sighed, regret for his outburst already pouring through him. Thank goodness the music would have covered much of what he had said. The last thing he needed was to undo all the good work he had done for the family reputation, speaking politely and elegantly to so many people at Chester's ball.

"I am sorry," William said quietly. "I do not mean to preach—"

Lindow laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "Really? Because you do it so often."

William chose to ignore that comment. His temper was the one character flaw he loathed about himself, though arguably it was tied up with the other passion he forced deep within. If he were ever to let himself go, really allow himself to do precisely what he wanted...

Well. Would he be that much different from his brothers?

"If you just went and got married," said Lindow unexpectedly, "it would force Aylesbury to fend for himself. Me too, actually, now I come to think about it."

William blinked. No, he must have imagined it. There was no possibility his brother, the reckless George Chance, Earl of Lindow, a man who never had enough coin on him and who was, as far as William was aware, being sued for breach of contract by at least two gentlemen on behalf of their daughters, was recommending something so pedestrian as... marriage?

"I beg your pardon?" William said slowly. "I'm sorry, I think I misheard—"

"If you were married, you'd have your wife to think about. Children, too, I suppose," said Lindow, shivering as though he could think of nothing worse. "Old Aylesbury would have to get by. He'd have to worry about his own decisions, his own consequences. Do you see?"

William did see, and it was something he had never considered before.

Oh, he would get married. One day. But he was only two and thirty, and there was still plenty of time to choose a woman who could become the Duchess of Cothrom and provide him with an heir or two. Perhaps not three. He had enough experience with multiple brothers to know what a disaster that could be.

But marrying sooner rather than later—it hadn't really been on his agenda. It had seemed superfluous. Unnecessary. The idea that matrimony would not only give him the benefit of a wife but the reduction of responsibility when it came to the other Chance brothers...

It was certainly worth thinking about.

"Cothrom?"

William blinked.

Lindow was carefully and slowly waving his hand before William's eyes. "Lost you for a moment there."

"I was just thinking," snapped William.

His brother winked. "Don't pull a muscle."

Shoving Lindow none too gently, but just gently enough that a casual observer may believe it was a brotherly sign of affection, William nodded at the clasped notes in the younger man's hands. "Go on, take those to Aylesbury, and tell him that's all he's getting from me this week."

"Right. About my own debts—"

"Oh, be off with you," said William with a weak laugh.

Lindow grinned, inclined his head, and headed into the crowd.

Brothers.

If their father had not made such a specific request of William, he would certainly not have worked so hard and so long to keep the blackguards in line.

The trouble was, he liked them. And William wasn't entirely sure, but he had the impression that this was rare. Aylesbury, Lindow... even Pernrith. In a way. A complicated way.

They were good men. They were also incorrigible, dissolute, and reprehensible in every way.

Except Pernrith.

William sighed. Being released of his promise... it was something he had presumed would only come when the idiots themselves were married. Even then, he would not be surprised if he were called upon to be a second in an illegal duel once in a while.

He had never before considered the possibility that his own marriage could—

"I hope everything is well," came a genteel voice.

William's pulse skipped a beat as he turned to see the woman in the green silk turban and mask. She was not dancing with another. She was not conversing with another. She had not wandered off. She... she had been waiting for him.

Precisely why this fact gave William so much joy he was not sure. Was it perhaps the politeness of such a decision? The respectability of waiting for a conversation to finish before she returned to his side? Whatever it was, William could not think of a way that the woman could have made herself more endearing.

"Tell me," he said in a quiet, urgent voice. "Tell me your name."

The woman looked up with gray, questioning eyes. "Why?"

Because I need to know, William wanted to say. Because there's something about you, something I have never found in anyone else. Because not knowing your name means your beauty is somehow incomplete.

And because I want to know you better. Know all of you. Know you better than anyone in your life has ever known you.

He swallowed back the words. Probably not the best approach.

"I think it only right, now we have danced and conversed," he said, a little of the stiffness he had attempted to leave by the door creeping back into his voice. "After all, you know my name."

A slight smile curled her lips. "Yes, I do, Your Grace."

William fought the desire to request that she call him by his first name. This was preposterous. And his stomach was being ridiculous. And so was his—

"I suppose there is no harm in you knowing it," said the woman most inexplicably.

Curiosity sparked in William. "What do you—"

"My name is Alice," said the woman with a shy look. "Alice... Alice Fox-Edwards."

Alice. Alice Fox-Edwards.

Warmth spread through him at the newfound knowledge.

"Miss Fox-Edwards," he said quietly.

It was a surprise, in truth, that she was not a Lady Alice. She certainly held herself in a manner which suggested noble breeding. There was a confidence in her and a cultured shyness that suggested she had been raised by the very best. And had she not mentioned a dancing master?

Her cheeks were pink as Miss Fox-Edwards looked up defiantly.

Which did not make any sense. There was no reason, as far as William was aware, for her to be so defiant.

Miss Fox-Edwards continued to flush. "I am sorry, it is just... it is so bold, for you to know my name, without a formal introduction."

And William melted.

This, truly, was a woman after his own heart. She understood the bounds of propriety, and though they had flirted together while dancing, she clearly agreed with him that no mask could entirely suppress the requirements of polite Society.

She was... perfect. Likeable. Beautiful. Refined, clearly from a good family. She danced well, her conversation was both respectable and playful. If the way his body had already responded to her was any suggestion, William would find no problems in that quarter, either.

And the most ridiculous, wonderful, and wild idea crossed his mind.

It was only a flicker. If he had not been gazing into Miss Fox-Edwards's eyes at the time, perhaps he would not have noticed it.

But as it was, he had been, and he did. And now William could think of nothing else.

Unfortunately for him, his lips did not afford him any additional time to consider. They simply spoke out the thought which had fluttered through his mind.

"Miss Fox-Edwards, will you marry me?"

As perhaps he should have expected, Miss Fox-Edwards flushed a dark pink beneath her silk mask, stepped back, and spluttered, "I-I b-beg your pardon?"

"I know, it is perhaps a rather strange question, but I am in earnest," said William quickly, following her footstep.

His pulse was thundering, mind whirling, hardly able to believe he had done it. But he had. And he spoke the truth—he was in earnest. A good, elegant, beautiful wife to stand by his side, entertain him in the evenings, and fill his nights with pleasure. To give him children, and most importantly, force his brothers to take responsibility for their own mistakes.

What could possibly go wrong?

"You... you..." Miss Fox-Edwards swallowed, and William forced himself not to stare at the way her throat bobbed, enticing his lips to touch the crest of her clavicle. "You don't know anything about me."

She was quite right, and in many other scenarios, William would have to admit his proposal represented a rather impulsive decision.

"True, but I think many happy couplings are begun with two people who hardly know each other," he pointed out, gesturing around the ballroom. "Arranged marriages, introductions, a few dances, a dinner party, and the invitations are sent out. Why should our partnership be any different?"

He watched Miss Fox-Edwards hesitate.

But she had not said no. If she had taken against him, considered him most unsuitable or mad even for asking, she would have said so. She would have stepped away.

She wanted to say yes.

"Besides," William said, stepping closer than was perhaps appropriate, but reveling in the intimacy the physical proximity brought, "I think I have seen enough from our dance together to know that it would be a... a pleasant connection."

Perhaps he had gone too far. He had always attempted to force down his desires, knowing no woman would be sufficient to satisfy him. His urges, his need for physical release... no woman, let alone a well-bred wife, would wish to allow him into her bed every night.

But Miss Fox-Edwards—now she had matched his desire, William was almost certain. When they had danced together, it was not only his breathing which had become short—and not due to the rigors of the dance.

His gaze flickered over her. When he looked back at her face, a jolt speared through him.

She was looking at him. And clearly liking what she saw.

"You are in earnest?" Miss Fox-Edwards whispered.

William nodded. "I am."

Well, he had no patience to find a bride in the normal way, attending countless balls and being introduced to misses by their mamas and papas. He had no wish for the excruciating awkwardness of a matchmaker, and with his mother sadly gone, there were no female relatives to make delicate introductions.

No, Miss Fox-Edwards was as good as any. Why not? They had just as much a fighting chance to make a marriage enjoyable as anyone.

William slipped off his signet ring, the heavy gold band which flattened on the top to hold the Cothrom coat of arms. Wishing he were not wearing gloves, he took Miss Fox-Edwards's hand in his own, and slipped it onto the fourth finger of her left hand over her glove.

It was a perfect fit.

"There," he said quietly, looking into her dark gray eyes. "We are engaged to be married."

Miss Fox-Edwards stared at the signet ring on her finger, then looked up. "Well. In that case..."

She slipped her fingers from his hands and lifted them to her turban, where the ribbon for her mask was.

If her beauty was so radiant even through such a getup, he could only imagine the perfection that lay beneath—

The mask came away into her hands, and William gasped.

Oh, God.

It was the woman—the woman from Hyde Park. Her hair was covered up by the turban, of course, so he had not recognized it, but it was definitely her.

There was a smug sort of shy look on Miss Fox-Edwards's face. "I suppose we should start planning the wedding."