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“You will?” She gave him an impish smile. “You had best not behave like this, Major, or my aunt will have you thrown out of the Assembly Hall! But the truth is that I won’t be at the Almack’s ball next Wednesday.”

“The week after, then,” Joshua said.

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. My cousin and I shall not attend any festivities this Season. You must woo some other lady, sir.”

“A death in the family?” he hazarded.

“No! Just … no. For family reasons we withdrew from festivities for this year. My excuse for being here is that my cousin is frightfully tired of being in the house, so we snuck out to this masquerade. Obviously, we mistook the nature of the party. I cannot believe that my aunt was invited! She would be horrified.”

“Horrified by your attendance or by the invitation?”

“By the nature of this … this event.” She glanced about them. The room was lined with mirrors with gaudy, gilded frames that caught light from chandeliers overhead and standing candelabra tucked in the corners of the room. In the reflections, women curtsied so deeply that their breasts almost fell from low bodices, and drunken couples grappled on the dance floor and leaned against the walls.

“You do not appear to be horrified,” he observed.

“Since I kissed you, it would be hypocritical to cavil about that couple kissing to the side of the room. Pink satin seems to be in fashion.”

Joshua looked around with disinterest. “I prefer white muslin.”

She twinkled at that compliment. “I cannot wait to be allowed to wear more interesting fabrics. Perhaps next year my aunt won’t insist on such innocuous clothing. She is very strict about fashion. For example, my aunt thinks patches are quite out of style, but people at this party, both men and women, are wearing far more patches than I’ve seen at balls.”

Joshua’s mind boggled at the idea of explaining that patches often covered syphilitic sores. “If you won’t tell me your name, may I know the nature of the scandal that exiled you from Almack’s?”

Her body went still.

“Or not,” he added quickly. “You needn’t tell me anything.”

“It’s not my story to tell,” she told him, her brows drawing together. “By the time we meet again next Season, you will know the whole of it, but the pleasure of this evening is that you know nothing of me or my … my family.” Her profile was delicate, but her chin was firm, even stubborn.

A scandal in the family might have ended the lady’s Season, but Joshua saw no reason why that should hamper his courtship.

He was confident that he could discover her identity. The exquisite lace at her neckline probably cost as much as many women’s entire gowns, at least those worn in this room. Now that she was nestled in his lap, the flounces of her white muslin fell short; her slippers were pale blue, each adorned with a small sapphire.

Her family had wealth and standing, and thankfully, so did he. As a second son, he was always meant to join the army, but his godmother’s bequest meant that he could support his wife in the manner to which she was accustomed—with sapphires on her shoes and her fingers, if she wished.

She peeped at him from under long lashes. “We have agreed that our relatives would be horrified by our rash behavior, Major. I should find my cousin and return home before we engage in any other improprieties.”

The twinkle in her eyes? He hoped to see it every day of his life.

Likely, she was the daughter of a country nobleman, sent to London to debut under the chaperonage of a neglectful aunt. His own aunt was a marchioness who boasted of knowing everything about everyone. He would know his lady’s name by tomorrow morning, and he could pay her a call.

A proper call, presenting a bouquet of flowers and remaining only the requisite few minutes. Certainly no kissing.

Thinking of that, he claimed her lips again. She melted against him, throwing an arm around his neck as if they’d been kissing for years. As if this wasn’t the second kiss in her life, and the second in his that meant something.

Desire raced through him again, along with a new, unfamiliar feeling. One made him catalog the little sound she made in the back of her throat, the way her hand tightened on her hair, the way her tongue tangled with his.

Their kiss tasted like his future.

He was so absorbed that he almost didn’t register the barking voice that accosted his ears: “Major FitzRoy!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HOW TO COMPROMISE A LADY

Wrapped in the major’s hard, warm embrace, Livie paid no attention to their surroundings. Simmering desire made her squirm on his lap, her pulse beating frantically in her throat.

One of her hands was buried in his thick, cropped hair. The other lay flat against his waistcoat, fingers spread against his chest. Those fingers trembled, ready to slide upwards and caress his neck.