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What is he doing here?

What was she doing here, now that she came to think about it. It had been a terrible mistake, to think of attending a ball so soon after the horrendous humiliation of her broken engagement had only just reached the gossipers.

She should have stayed at home.

For the first time in her life, Teddy had been right.

“Miss Chance,” said Lord Ravenshurst quietly as he reached the Pernrith Chances before bowing low.

Gwen could have tried to curtsy, but she was almost certain she would fall over. Her knees were not being whole-heartedly cooperative at the moment.

She compromised by inclining her head and trying not to blurt out, “What the hell are you doing here, and why are you talking to me?”

The entire ballroom was silent. All eyes were turned to her. All ears waited for one of them to speak with bated breath.

Gwen parted her lips, but no sound came out as she stared, utterly lost, at the marquess. What did he want from her?

Dear Lord…was he about to create a scene?

Lord Ravenshurst smiled briefly. “May I have a word, Miss Chance?”

“Oh, no,” Gwen exhaled, her heart thundering wildly up her throat.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked politely.

“I said—”

“Just a quick word, but of course,” said Gwen’s mother hastily, squeezing her daughter’s hand and releasing it as she pushed Gwen forward. “Go on, dear. A quick word.”

‘A quick word’?

Was her mother mad? The whole of Society had accepted Lord and Lady Dalton’s invitation for this evening’s merriment—a celebration of the safe arrival of their first grandchild, an event Gwen knew the Pernrith Chances had only been invited to because her cousin Samuel was the child’s father.

But instead of celebrating the safe arrival of little Christopher, everyone was staring at her!

At her! And the Marquess of Ravenshurst!

And now her mother wanted to fan the flames of rumor by the two of them going off into an alcove somewhere, alone, and—

Gwen blinked. An alcove?

At some point, she had stopped paying attention, and Lord Ravenshurst had taken her arm, walked her across the ballroom, guided her behind a curtain and into an alcove, and was now looking at her in silent contemplation.

A buzz of conversation was roaring on the other side of the curtain.

The entire ballroom, Gwen thought bleakly. Talking about me.

Wonderful.

Her eyes moved from the curtain to the man before her. The marquess looked rather serious, as well he might do, and she braced herself for the castigation of a lifetime.

“I wanted to thank you, Miss Chance,” Lord Ravenshurst said quietly.

“Look,” Gwen said hotly, “I did the best I could—what?”

He could not have said that. He could not have said what she had just thought he had said.

Could he?