3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

S ilas had never been more uncomfortable in his life. He held back the urge to tug at his cravat as Ulstead bragged about already having three dances to his name for the evening.

"You dolt." Randolph elbowed his friend. "It's supposed to be a dance with twelve different wallflowers at twelve different balls."

Ulstead frowned. "Are you certain?"

Silas ignored them both, wondering again if there was any way to excuse himself from the wager. This was the first Season he'd attended balls on a regular basis, and he couldn't say he cared for them. The crowd was too thick, the room too warm, and it felt as if the ladies watched his every move.

"Maynard already has five." Randolph scowled. "Seems he's determined to keep his money rather than hand it over to one of us."

"Given how many balls are scheduled in the coming weeks, I have no doubt you can catch him if you wish," Silas said drily, unable to believe he thought of the two men as friends. Could they not see how wrong the wager was?

"How many do you have?" Ulstead asked Silas.

"Three." The dances had made Silas feel terrible, and he didn't think he could go through with more. They were using the unsuspecting ladies for their own personal gain. Surely, he wasn't the only one who felt dreadful about that.

"The one I asked looked so grateful I thought she might faint." Randolph chortled.

"The whole thing is ridiculous," Silas muttered. "You can't possibly be enjoying this."

"Stop being such a curmudgeon." Randolph frowned. "We have made the entire Season for some ladies by asking for a dance."

That was what made it so wrong. They were giving them false hope. Silas knew how cruel it felt to be served that, something he'd experienced years ago when he presented his windmill idea to a professor who'd encouraged him to sketch out his plans and investigate the idea's merits.

The feeling of potential success, as if he were poised on the edge of something great, had been a heady one. Later, Ridley, a more experienced professor, dismissed it with barely a glance at all of Silas's hard work.

He doubted any of his friends had experienced that same upset.

Looking at the wishful faces of the ‘wallflowers' with whom they were supposed to dance made him almost ill. Dancing with them once only to ignore them for the rest of Season seemed like poor sport, if not cruel.

Silas couldn't let it go. "What happens when you come upon them again? Do you intend to simply snub them?"

"Yes." Randolph didn't hesitate. He stared at Silas with an incredulous look as if he were the one who wasn't thinking. "What is wrong with you this evening, Winstead? You are talking like a madman."

"You had best find a lady and ask her to dance or you'll be too far behind the rest of us to catch up." Ulstead nudged him with his elbow and tipped his head toward the rear of the ballroom. "There's one ripe for the picking."

Silas followed the direction of his gaze and immediately wished he hadn't.

Lady Prudence looked lovely in a green gown that brought to mind the moss of the forest floor, her pale hair arranged in almost a halo above her head. The sight reminded him that he'd thought her an angel for a brief moment after he fell from the tree.

She was visiting with two older ladies, one of whom had to be her mother based on a faint resemblance.

"Think of the money." Randolph nodded when Silas glanced at him. "You could use it more than any of us I would think."

Five hundred pounds . He couldn't deny the lure of it. To have enough funds to build and test his design was something he'd thought impossible. It could be his if he just danced a few times.

Torn, he looked back at Lady Prudence, remembering his request for a dance with her. She wouldn't think anything of him claiming it this evening.

"You can't allow Maynard to win," Ulstead prodded. "At least, don't allow it this early in the game."

Silas didn't care for the lord. He had too much money and time on his hands, not to mention an entitled attitude. That had been part of the reason Silas had agreed to the wager—for the chance to teach the man that he wasn't superior to everyone else.

Both the money and the lesson were a temptation Silas couldn't toss aside. Not yet anyway.

"Fine," he bit out. But not with Lady Prudence. He couldn't use her that way. Not when there was every chance he'd require her assistance with his grandmother's birthday party.

He searched among the other ladies along the rear wall. Why was it that they always seemed to be together? Were they all friends or did those of a like mind naturally gather?

A likely candidate stood apart from the others wearing a pale blue gown with a rather low neckline which she pulled on as if uncomfortable with what it revealed.

Silas frowned, certain he'd been introduced to her at one time or another, which meant he wouldn't have to request an introduction.

What was her name? Millicent something or other. The old-fashioned name had stuck in his head as he had an aunt by the same name.

"Go on." Randolph nudged him. "Be done with it. You can decide later whether your sudden morals will allow you to continue with the wager."

Silas grimaced but started toward his target. One dance would keep him in the running for the money. Plus, he wouldn't have to listen to Maynard gloat about how far ahead he was.

After the dance, he needed to attempt to charm one of the two heiresses he had his eye on. He should worry more about them than whether he was hurting the feelings of a wallflower.

"Did you enjoy yourself last evening, dear?" Prue's mother asked the following morning as she buttered her toast.

Prue managed a smile, reminding herself that she had enjoyed parts of it. "Yes, I did."

But the sight of Viscount Winstead dancing with Millicent had ruined the evening. She was certain he'd seen her, yet he had chosen not to dance with her even though he said he would.

That only confirmed what she already knew: rogues were heartless and not to be trusted.

He wasn't as considerate as she'd believed. Of course, he had been kind to her at his grandmother's house. And also while he'd been trying to rescue the cat, which had been sweet and admirable. Yes, he and his grandmother clearly adored each other, which was another point in his favor. None of those things outweighed his behavior last evening.

Her suspicions had been roused when she'd seen him speaking to the two other gentlemen with whom she'd danced. She'd watched over her brother and cousins enough through the years to know when males were up to something.

The way the three men had looked around the ballroom suggested they were plotting something. What, she didn't know.

The few ladies they'd chosen to dance with had been...unusual. Rather than asking the more popular ladies, they had focused on the older ones teetering on the spinster shelf or those who were especially shy.

Perhaps she worried about nothing, yet she couldn't shake the thought. She and Millie had briefly discussed the peculiarity of the ball before retiring the previous evening. Her cousin had thought their numerous dances, if less than a handful could be called as much, peculiar as well.

"Good morning," Aunt Edith said as she entered the breakfast room, along with Millie and another of Prue's aunts.

"I'm so proud of you both," Aunt Helen said as she smiled at Millie and Prue. "You each enjoyed several dances." She sighed as she took a seat. "Just think. One of the gentlemen you danced with last evening might turn out to be your future husband."

Aunt Helen had never married yet found romance in the smallest things, from the way a man looked at a woman to the way he smiled. It was as if her spinster heart refused to give up.

Prue hoped Aunt Helen was wrong. Neither Viscount Randolph nor Ulstead were men she would want to marry.

Yet the image of Silas, Viscount Winstead, popped into her mind before she had the chance to stop it. If she weren't careful, she'd be smitten.

They discussed highlights from the ball before the conversation turned to everyone's plans for the day. The post arrived, as well as a message for Prudence.

The masculine script had her stomach tightening. How could she have forgotten about the party planning?

She opened the missive with reluctance. Viscount Winstead hated to impose but wondered if she might be available to meet at his grandmother's home to review a few of the remaining details for the birthday party.

Prue sighed, wishing she hadn't agreed to help even as her stomach danced at the thought of his broad shoulders. The last thing she wanted was to spend more time with him when she couldn't manage to control her body's reaction to him.

"What is it?" Millie asked with a curious look at the message.

"Viscount Winstead is asking for assistance with Mrs. Sutton's party." Prue glanced at her great aunt to see her nod in approval.

"You had better see if you can aid him," Aunt Edith said. "Mrs. Sutton is quite worried whether he will manage to see to all the details on his own."

"I enjoyed my dance with him last evening," Millie said with a smile. "He is nice for a rogue."

"He is quite handsome, don't you think?" Aunt Helen smiled as she looked between Prue and Millie.

They shared an amused look. Their aunt would like nothing more than to see them both betrothed by the end of the Season.

"I am sorry to say it, but I don't think Viscount Winstead is interested in either of us," Millie told Aunt Helen.

"You're right." Prue nodded even though that hurt. "With his looks and charm, he will surely marry well."

"Rumor has it that he'll choose an heiress and neither of us qualifies," Millie added.

Hearing her cousin say as much was both reassuring and disheartening. If not for the birthday party, Prue would've put him from her thoughts. Or at least tried to. Yet she couldn't forget his sparkling brown eyes and smile. And the way her heart fluttered when he looked at her. And the—

"When are you to meet him?" Prue's mother asked.

Prue startled then pulled her attention back to the conversation. "At two o'clock at Mrs. Sutton's home."

"How nice."

Prue didn't agree but hoped one meeting would be sufficient to finalize any loose ends. Then she could put the handsome rogue from her mind.

The rest of the morning passed quickly with a little shopping followed by luncheon and soon, it was time to depart for Mrs. Sutton's.

She tried to set aside her nerves as she rang the doorbell with a maid at her side. The butler's welcoming smile was reassuring, and he quickly showed her into the drawing room.

Viscount Winstead rose from a table near the window where several papers were spread before him. "Good afternoon, Lady Prudence. Thank you for coming."

"Of course." Why did he have to be quite so handsome? That smile was enough to make her mouth dry. She pulled her attention from him to glance around the room. "Your grandmother isn't joining us?"

He offered a rueful look, which only made him more appealing. "She wanted to, but I asked that she keep herself otherwise occupied. My mother has high hopes of surprising her with the details of the party, and I vowed to do my best to honor that."

"Understandable." Prue paused to pet Bertie who was curled in one of the chairs and purred in response.

"Humph." The viscount's eyes narrowed as he watched the cat. "He swatted at me when I did that."

"How odd." Prue hid a smile at his disgruntled look. How nice to know that not everyone fell prey to his charm.

Prue joined him at the table, keeping her focus on the papers in an attempt to ignore his undeniable lure.

One of the sheets was a guest list, and another was the food to be served. "That is a substantial number of guests." She glanced at Viscount Winstead. "I didn't realize it would be such a large gathering."

"Nor did I or I am not sure I would've offered to help since I've never planned anything like this." He frowned as he read over the names. "My mother was resting when I took these, so I am not sure if we should expect them all or not."

"How is she feeling?"

"Not as well as we hoped." His concerned expression revealed his worry. "She insists she's improving, though." He gestured toward a chair at the table.

"I shall keep her in my prayers." Prudence sat and looked over the lists in more detail, trying to think of what was missing. "Have you considered decorations?"

"No." He lifted a brow. "Any suggestions?"

"Given your grandmother's love of flowers, some arrangements would be nice. The cake and other refreshments will help to provide a festive atmosphere as well."

"Mother was undecided about the cake based on her notes." He leaned closer to point at the paper near Prue, allowing her to catch the faint scent of his cologne. It wrapped around her senses, and she had to blink to clear her thoughts as the sudden urge to lean toward him took hold.

"Which do you think would be better?" he asked from so close that his breath tickled her ear.

Oh, my . Heart pounding, she leaned in the opposite direction under the pretense of looking at another list, unable to think when he was so close. "Hmm. They all sound delicious. What is your grandmother's favorite?"

They discussed the options and decided on sponge cake served with raspberry jam and whipped cream.

She avoided looking directly at Viscount Winstead as much as possible, and her eye caught on a stack of papers at the opposite side of the table, one of which was another drawing of a windmill.

"Is this one of yours as well?" she asked, pointing toward the detailed sketch.

He hesitated. "Yes," he admitted with reluctance. "I brought them to show my grandmother as she likes to see any changes I've made. As you might have guessed, her interests are varied."

"That is one of the reasons she's such a delight to converse with." Prue tapped a gloved finger near the paper as an idea took hold. "One of my uncles has a fascination with inventions."

"Oh?"

"Arthur Harrison. Perhaps you are familiar with him. He's made numerous investments in them over the years." Prue didn't miss the way the viscount stilled at her comment.

"I have heard of him. What type of inventions tend to pique his interest?" Winstead asked after a long moment.

"I couldn't say for certain." She looked up at him. "Would it be all right if I mentioned yours to him?" Her face heated with worry that she'd overstepped. After all, it wasn't as if they knew one another well, and she was no expert in the subject. For all she knew, he didn't need or want her help.

"I—" He bit off the reply as he seemed to reconsider his response. "I would appreciate that. Always interesting to hear the opinion of another gentleman who enjoys such things."

"I will be certain to mention it when I see him tomorrow evening. Perhaps the two of you can meet to discuss it if he would like to learn more."

"Certainly. The pleasure would be mine." Viscount Winstead's awkward movements as he turned away and then back, his gaze darting about the room, suggested his thoughts were racing at the possibility.

A little thrill ran through Prue at the hint of his excitement. She couldn't help but try to reassure him. "Viscount Winstead—"

"Please, call me Silas." He offered the lopsided smile that never failed to set flutters loose in her middle. "Since we are planning a party together, given names would be easier, wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded, trying to remain practical instead of wondering how her name might sound in his deep voice. "Quite right. Please call me Prudence."

His gaze lingered over her face as if matching her name with her features. A ridiculous thought when he already knew both. "Prudence."

A tiny gasp escaped her. She dearly hoped he hadn't heard it. She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Or Prue, if you'd prefer. That is what my family and friends often call me."

"Prue." His eyes lit even as he slowly smiled as if she'd given him an unexpected gift. "I should like that very much."

She bit her lip, suddenly irritated with herself. Why was she allowing him to affect her this way when he hadn't bothered to keep his word to dance with her? She didn't pretend to understand the game he was playing, nor did she wish to be hurt by it.

And somehow, she knew she could be.

"As I was saying, from what little I know, Uncle Arthur has a fascination with inventions that make life better for people. I shall advise him of your basic idea and see what he thinks."

"Thank you." Silas nodded. "I look forward to hearing his thoughts."

They returned to the remaining details of the party that needed attention, but Prue had trouble concentrating. All she could think about was why he hadn't danced with her, especially since he'd danced with Millie.

"Did you enjoy the ball last evening?" The question slipped out, but she met his gaze, wanting him to know that she'd seen him there. Wanting to know what possible excuse he might have.

A scowl flashed across his face but was gone just as quickly. He rubbed the back of his neck as if uncomfortable. "Somewhat. Did you?"

Surprise caught her at the admission that he'd seen her there. "It was quite pleasant." Except for one part.

"Please accept my apologies for not dancing with you." His brow furrowed as he stared at the notes before them. "There were extenuating circumstances that prevented me from doing so."

"Oh?" Disbelief took hold. She couldn't imagine what they might be.

"I do hope you can forgive me." The sincerity in his brown eyes, when he looked back at her, had her nodding before she thought twice.

Drat . Why couldn't she remember that charming rogues were not for her?

The sooner the birthday party was over the better. Silas was a handsome complication she didn't need. Her attraction to him would only lead to trouble.