“Oh, fine! I’ll change my gown!” Belle flounced out of the room.

“Goodness, that wasn’t difficult at all, was it?” Henry smiled at his wife. “I’ll be waiting for you downstairs.” Caroline rolled her eyes and followed him.

“May I escort you, darling Emma?” Ned laughed, offering her his arm.

“But of course, Edward dearest.” The two of them followed the older couple down the stairs. Belle proved to be quite speedy changing her gown, and within fifteen minutes the family was on its way to the Iindworthy mansion.

When they arrived, Belle, who had changed into pink silk, pulled Emma aside. “You had better be far, far away from Mother and Father when you take off that shawl,” she advised.

“Don’t I know it.” Emma waited for Henry and Caroline to get swept up in the crush before she turned to Ned and said with mock imperviousness, “You may take my shawl now, Edward.”

Ned responded in kind. “Oh, but you know I’m just dying to be your servant.” He deftly took Emma’s shawl and handed it to one of the Lindworthys’ footmen. “Emma,” he asked carefully, “you do realize that your dress is every bit as low-cut as Belle’s?”

“Of course. We purchased them at the same time. Can you see down to my navel?” she asked daringly.

“I’m afraid to try. Ashbourne could descend from the shadows and wring my neck.”

“Don’t be silly. Oh, look! There’s John Millwood. Let’s go say hello.” Emma, Ned, and Belle wended their way toward John and were soon lost in the crowd.

Alex arrived soon after and, as usual, mentally cursed himself for once again putting himself through the torture of a large London ball. Such affairs were only tolerable with the knowledge that he would find Emma and hopefully whisk her off and enjoy her company without a hundred other onlookers.

Unfortunately, Emma was always surrounded by admirers, and it was getting damned irritating. Every day he swore he’d give up this ridiculous process of seeking Emma out and every day he found himself longing to see her—and smell her and touch her—and sure enough, he donned his midnight black evening attire and headed out to participate in the endless round of parties.

The hard part was his damned foolish decision not to try to even kiss her. After seeing Emma nearly every single evening for the last couple of months, it was growing incredibly difficult to keep his hands off of her. Just when he thought he’d memorized every turn of her lips, she would surprise him with a new kind of smile, and he was immediately overcome with the desire to grab her and kiss her senseless. He’d wake up in the middle of the night knowing he’d been dreaming of her because his body was hard and hot with need.

And no other woman could satisfy this ache. He’d long since stopped visiting his mistress, and she’d politely informed him that she’d found another patron. Alex had only sighed with relief, glad to be rid of the expense.

He had originally decided to keep this physical distance between Emma and himself because he wanted to give her time to learn to trust him. When they finally did make love—and he was certain that they would; he only wondered if Emma realized the inevitability of it—he wanted it to be perfect. He wanted Emma to come to him because she wanted him and him only. He wanted her to come to him because she, too, was waking up in the middle of the night drenched with desire.

He just hoped that happened soon, because he was slowly going insane.

“Ashbourne!”

Alex turned to see Dunford making his way through the crowd. “Hello, Dunford, good to see you tonight. Have you seen Emma?”

“My, we have become somewhat single-minded these days.”

Alex smiled with uncharacteristic sheepishness. “Sorry.”

“Not at all.” Dunford waved away Alex’s apology.

“But have you seen her?”

“For God’s sake, Ashbourne, when are you going to just marry the chit and put yourself out of this misery? Make her your duchess and you can see her twenty-four hours a day.”

“Really, Dunford, it’s hardly come to that.” Alex dismissed the idea of a wedding with a flick of his head. “You know how I feel about marriage.”

Dunford raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to have to get married at some point, you know, if only to get yourself an heir. Your father would turn over in his grave if the title passed out of the family.”

Alex winced. “Well, at least I have Charlie. He may not be a Ridgely, but he’s certainly as closely related to my father as any child of mine would be.”

“Emma’s going to have to get married at some point, too. And it might not be to you.”

Alex was stunned by the white hot streak of jealousy that shot through him at the thought of Emma lying in another man’s arms. But, determined to maintain his unflappable facade, he only said, “I’ll deal with that if it happens.”

Dunford only shook his head, convinced that his friend was denying the obvious. If Alex wasn’t in love with Emma, he was certainly obsessed with her, and that was a better basis for marriage than one usually found among the ton. “I did see Emma a few minutes ago,” he said finally. “She was surrounded by men.”

Alex growled.

“For God’s sake, man, she’s always surrounded by men. Get used to it,” Dunford laughed. “You should just be thankful that most of them are terrified of you. At least half the crowd disperses at the mere mention of your name.”

“Well, that’s a blessing.”