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“I still want you,” he whispered, leaning forward.
“I—I still want you, too,” she said in such a quiet voice he barely heard her. She blinked several times.
He wanted to tell her he loved her, and take her into his arms and make love to her all night. Then he would wake up in the morning with her in his arms. But he could not do that.
For a moment, he did nothing but stare into her watery green eyes. He could lose himself in her depths. The last thing he wanted to do was go to a damned ball.
“We should get ready to leave,” he heard himself say.
She wiped an errant tear and nodded. “Yes.”
He rose slowly and held out his hand for her. “Elizabeth,” he said, staring down at her. He had to tell her.
“Don’t, Will.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say anything,” she replied. “I cannot bear to think about this a moment longer. Tomorrow we will call on Lady Cantwell and perhaps our hell will be over.”
“Or just beginning,” he whispered.
Elizabeth watched Ellie and Lucy take their turns on the dance floor as melancholy enveloped her. She didn’t want to be here but attended for the young women. With her closest friends unable to be here, and Will in the gaming room, Elizabeth felt terribly alone.
“Care to dance?”
Elizabeth turned her head to find Somerton standing next to her. She’d been so intent on her woolgathering that she never heard the sneaky devil approach.
“No, thank you,” Elizabeth said honestly.
“It might do you some good.”
She glanced over at his stoic face. “What do you mean?”
“I have heard a rumor. Personally, I do not believe it,” he lowered his voice to a mere whisper.
Elizabeth grabbed the column she had been leaning on for support. He could not possibly know…unless Will talked to him after all. “What exactly did you hear?”
He gave her a smug smile. “A little bird told me you believe you have a brother.”
“Which little bird told you that story?”
“A person who would not want to see you hurt.” Somerton kept his head faced toward the dance floor. “And neither would I.”
“I cannot trust you, Lord Somerton.”
His lips moved upwards into a full smile. “I would not trust me, either. But I might be able to help you, and I am very good at keeping secrets.”
“How could you help?” she asked softly and then glanced around to see if anyone had noticed them.
“When is your birthday?”
“My birthday?” she asked feeling more than a little perplexed.
“I need to determine the approximate month you were conceived. That way I can determine where your parents were that month. I can find out if any of that time overlapped with time his father might have been in the same location.”
“Oh, that makes sense. I was born on April 29, 1791. And according to my mother, I was not early.”
“Where?”
