“That depends,” Pippa said lightly, “on what you consider important.”

  Chatteris clapped him on the shoulder, casting a strange look at his wife. “You’ve missed nothing but Graford retching in a plant.”

  Jeremy relaxed.

  Good.

  That odd feeling of unease meant nothing, then.

  “Ah well, that’s a sight I can do without,” Jeremy murmured, letting his gaze skim the crowd. Had she taken to the dance floor?

  “The punch is quite strong,” Chatteris remarked.

  “And for once, I wasn’t the one who spiked it.”

  “From what I can tell,” Pippa said, “that’s all the host.”

  Jeremy nodded, not spotting the object of his search among the dancers, so he finally asked, “Where is Nancy?”

  “She slipped away to make a new friend,” Pippa said, then added, “you know how it is. The age of twenty has a way of inviting new expectations.”

  Except for Nancy, his mind supplied, unhelpfully. Inviting new expectations? What expectations? What did that even mean? Jeremy’s gaze flicked between an inquisitive Pippa and an unconcerned Chatteris. Had Nancy taken up a new hobby? That didn’t sound right. The last time these girls talked about trying anything new had been . . .

  Jeremy’s back shot straight.

  Pippa declaring she was going to steal a kiss from the Earl of Dare.

  No, no. That couldn’t be right.

  Perhaps she had taken up a game of whist or joined a game of charades, Jeremy reasoned. Or developed an interest in family portraits.

  Perfectly ordinary explanations. Entirely sensible.

  And yet.

  None of them Nancy.

  His Nancy.

  Spirited, impish Nancy. Of course she wouldn’t invite any old boring pastime.

  “Where is Nancy now?” Even as the words left him, Jeremy’s gaze resumed its restless sweep of the room, skimming faces, over and over again as though his eyes knew something his mind refused to acknowledge.

  “Oh, about,” Pippa said much too slyly for his liking. “Enjoying the evening.”

  Chatteris frowned, glancing between them. “Am I missing something?” He turned to his wife. “What mischief are you and my sister up to now?”

  Yes, Jeremy thought grimly. I should very much like to know that as well. They were his best friends. Why had they left him out of whatever scheme was unfolding?

  I am in love with you, Jeremy Locke. Madly, irrevocably, in love.

  He blinked at the soft voice again.

  Someone had been confessing to him in his dream since the wedding of the two people before him. The voice almost sounded like Nancy’s. Deuced disconcerting.

  Pippa’s lips twitched. “Nothing at all,” she said sweetly. “Just the sort of amusement one undertakes when one is inclined to test the waters.”

  Chatteris groaned, while the hairs at the nape of Jeremy’s neck rose. That earlier sensation—the one he had tried so diligently to suppress—surged again. He had been late. And whatever he had missed was still unfolding.

  “If you will excuse me,” he said suddenly.

  Pippa met his gaze, her expression open, innocent, and entirely unconvincing.

  “You are excused, dear friend.”

  Christ.

  That confirmed it. Something wildly, irrevocably scandalous was underfoot.

  And he had every intention of stopping it.

  Two

  Nancy pinched her cheeks, inhaled deeply, and stepped up to the Marquess of Knoxley, an action that, judging by the sudden hush nearby, hadn’t gone unnoticed by her fellow guests. Well, she’d expected as much. Most people gave the man a wide berth. The perks of having a questionable reputation, she supposed. The man could have been a god for his handsomeness. He even had that dangerous aura that made young ladies flutter their fans.

  This is it.

  The moment she put action to words and moved on from her crush.

  “Dull evening, is it not?”

  His gaze swept to her, then dragged lazily down her figure before returning to her face. “I’m not in the market for what you’re looking for.” He averted his gaze once again.

  Nancy cocked her head at the man. She ought to be insulted by the man’s assumption and rudeness. Instead, she laughed. “You don’t know what I’m looking for.”

  His blue eyes drifted back to her.

  She grinned at him.

  “Marriage.”

  That single response carried so much challenge that Nancy’s grin stretched wider. She couldn’t exactly say no. “Certainly in the future, yes, but not at this precise moment.”

  She swore the man’s chest rose and fell dramatically even though not an inch of him moved, his gaze still steady on her.

  “You must have a lot of ladies approaching you to sigh with such weariness,” Nancy teased.

  “I didn’t sigh.”

  “Your soul sighed, then. Not visibly, grant you, but I felt it in my bones.” She mock-shivered. “Positively eerie.”

  The boredom lifted slightly to reveal a smidgeon of interest. “You assume a great deal about my soul, Lady Nancy. That can be hazardous.”

  “I have always been a little careless where hazards are concerned,” Nancy replied lightly. “It is what makes an evening memorable.”

  “Oh? And what does your beau have to say about that?”

  Nancy blinked. “My beau?”

  “Silverton.”

  Surely he was jesting? “He is not my beau.”

  “I must have been mistaken then,” he drawled, unbothered. “How do you aim to make this evening memorable? I take it you have something in mind?”

  She did . . . not. Only by approaching Knoxley, she was turning the page. The content of that page, she hadn’t thought all that much about. A kiss, perhaps? To mark the occasion? “Unless you find the pillar riveting, you might consider a short walk.”

  A grin broke across his face, so sudden, Nancy’s heart summersaulted. “A stroll, heh?” He pushed from the pillar. “Very well. Lead on.”

  The wickedness of those last two words sent a thrill through her. She held out her arm to him. His gaze dropped before lifting to hers, arching a brow. Chuckling, he looped his arm with hers.

  Nancy had no particular destination in mind until the French doors opening onto the terrace came into view and directed them there. Each step felt deliciously unreal, as though she were borrowing another woman’s courage for the evening.

  “Tell me,” Knoxley said mildly as the reach the doors, “are you rebelling, Lady Nancy?”

  She glanced at him. “Rebelling?”

  “Do not get me wrong,” he went on, a corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m all for female rebellion. I simply like to know whether I am risking my life or merely my hide.”

  She laughed under her breath as they stepped onto the terrace, blessedly unoccupied, the night unfolding wide and forgiving before them. Lanterns glowed low along the balustrade, and beyond it, the gardens sloped into shadow. “I am not rebelling, Knoxley. I am opening myself to new company.”

  “With me?” His brows rose. “That sounds very much like rebellion.”

  She laughed again. “Then perhaps I am.”

  He slowed, turning to face her fully now. “And am I meant to assist in this rebellion?”

  She tilted her head, considering him. “Are you inclined to?”

  “That depends,” he said smoothly, “on the how and the where.”

  She gestured vaguely at the terrace, the night, the quiet. “The where appears to be here. The how is still . . . under consideration.”

  He stepped closer, leaning in until their noses almost touched. “Have you ever been kissed, Lady Nancy?”

  What the devil was Nancy doing? Thinking? Jeremy narrowed his eyes on where he caught a glimpse of her strolling arm in arm with the Marquess of Knoxley. Of all men. Not that there was anything wrong with the marquess. The man could be considered a good match. He was in possession of a title and fortune, provided one looked past his character, which leaned toward an unfortunate fondness for indulgence.

  Jeremy couldn’t look past it.

  By Jove, he could not allow her to entangle herself in something she would later regret. What sort of friend would he be if he stood by and watched her invite consequences she did not yet see?

  “Silverton!”

  Jeremy turned to find Lord Hawthorne beaming at him, brandy in hand.

  “You’re just the man I wished to see. Did you hear about⁠—”

  “Another time,” Jeremy interrupted, already angling his body away. “I have an urgent matter to see to, Hawthorne.”

  What was Pippa thinking in letting Nancy court such risk? You didn’t care when Pippa decided to run free. Yes, well, Pippa had adopted a seize-the-moment philosophy after her mother’s death. A man could hardly argue with that.

  “Silverton!” His progress was abruptly arrested when Lady Fansworth caught his sleeve. “You won’t believe what just occurred in the card room⁠—”

  “I don’t care at the moment, Lady Fansworth,” he said tightly, extracting his arm. “Please excuse me. I have an important matter that can’t wait.”

  He marched off again, searching for the heads of Nancy and Knoxley again, frowning. Why did they seem closer than before?

  “Silverton, a word⁠—”

  “Not now,” Jeremy snapped, the words escaping before he could restrain himself.

  The gentleman opened his mouth again, but Jeremy passed him in a blink. He cursed when Nancy and Knoxley’s figures disappeared through a set of French doors.

  Bloody hell.

  The distance between him and the terrace doors stretched impossibly long, every idle interruption a deuced annoying delay.

  Whatever Nancy was doing, she was doing it now.

  Perhaps he should just leave her to her fun. She was not a child. She had every right to enjoy her amusement without his supervision. And Knoxley, for all Jeremy’s objections, was not some villain lurking in the shadows. If Nancy was determined to engage in mischief, she could have chosen far worse.

  Knoxley, at least, would not forget himself entirely.

  Would he?

  Jeremy slowed despite himself, doubt tugging at his stride. Perhaps this sudden urge to intervene had less to do with friendship and more with . . . what exactly? Or perhaps it had everything to do with it, and he was overthinking the matter entirely.

  She hadn’t even seen fit to inform him of her plans.

  The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

  He slowed his pace.

  Should he simply abandon this foolish impulse to play the chaperone? She had not asked for his concern, nor invited his intervention. He could still turn around. Melt back into the crowd. Let the evening run its course without his interference.

  His feet did not obey.

  He could not shake the image of her laughter, her bright expression, directed at a man who could never appreciate her worth. Knoxley’s reputation was not dangerous in the dramatic sense, but it was careless. And carelessness still had a way of leaving damage behind.

  Nancy did not deserve to be just another scandal.

  Jeremy’s jaw tightened. No. He would not forsake her to a whim she might later wish undone. If nothing else, he would ensure she came away unscathed.

  That was what friends did.

  They did not abandon each other to bad decisions. Jeremy resumed his course toward the terrace doors, urgency reclaiming his stride. He hoped he wasn’t too late.

  Three

  Have you ever been kissed, Lady Nancy?

  Nancy stared into the Marquess’s unnervingly focused eyes. No, she had not. She had imagined it, of course. Imagined her first kiss more times than she cared to admit. Always with one man.

  You are turning a page, Nancy.

  Yes. But . . .

  “Mmm?” the Marquess murmured, the bored curve of his mouth from earlier entirely wicked now.

  Nancy lifted her chin.

  “I have not.”

  Turn the page.

  The Marquess moved closer, not enough to touch, merely enough to remind her how little space remained between them. Instinctively, Nancy shifted back, the smooth soles of her slippers whispering over stone until her back hit the terrace’s balustrade. He followed her lazily. This was a dance he had long since mastered. Her depth of miscalculation became ever so clear. This man held all the advantage.

  “Never?” he asked lightly, one brow lifting. “Not even a stolen moment behind a hedge or beneath a staircase?”

  “Those are the popular spots?”

  He chuckled. “Anywhere is good for me.”

  She arched a brow, trying to mask how her heart was threatening to spill from her throat. “Even against a pillar in full view of a ballroom?”

  She swore those hypnotizing eyes flashed.

  “Of course,” he murmured. “I have enough skill to steal a kiss in the brightest corner of Almack’s Assembly Rooms.”

  Oh, Lord.

  “Nancy!”

  Nancy’s whole body jerked at the growl of her name.

  Knoxley merely glanced over his shoulder. His arms remained braced on either side of her, the stone cold at her back, the night suddenly very bright.

  “Ah,” he drawled. “Silverton.”

  Jeremy was already moving.

  He crossed the terrace in three long strides and wedged himself between them without apology, one hand slapping flat against the balustrade where Knoxley’s arm had been a moment before as he forced the man back with his body.

  Nancy inhaled deeply as the air rushed back in, but only for a second before Jeremy’s cologne enveloped her.

  Her knees almost melted.

  “Am I interrupting?” Jeremy asked in a hard voice.

  Knoxley’s lips curved. “You are, but I suspect that was your intention, and I’m nothing if not generous. I shall leave you to turn your page, Lady Nancy.”

  “Er, yes, thank you, my Lord,” Nancy muttered, uncertain what else to say after Jeremy’s intrusion.

  He departed without another word, disappearing back through the French doors.

  Silence fell.

  Jeremy exhaled slowly and turned to her, his expression unreadable. “What did he mean by that? What,” he asked carefully, “were you doing?”

  Nancy lifted her chin, pulse hastening its gallop.

  “Turning a page.”

  “What the devil does that mean?”

  Nancy glared at her friend. What did that mean? But then, why was she not surprised. Had he not asked such a question at Pippa’s wedding after she confessed to him, blinking at her as though she had begun speaking in riddles?

  What do you mean, Nancy? Have you been reading romance books again?

  As if she could not possibly mean exactly what she said.

  Her fingers curled at her sides, nails pressing into her palms. She forced herself to meet his gaze steadily. “It’s exactly as I said, Jeremy. I’m turning a page.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with the old page?”

  Was he being serious? Lord. Men. “If you wish to pretend not to know, fine, then. But I’m moving on. Please let me do that.”

  “Moving on from what?” he almost said desperately.

  “You.”

  His eyes widened. “Me? What do you mean you’re moving on from me? What did I do?”

  Nancy stared at the man’s confusion, all the cogs in his head turning, grinding, missing one another entirely. His density truly had reached a new depth. There was no penetrating this man’s skull. But Knoxley had made one thing abundantly clear. She wanted her first kiss to be Jeremy Locke.

  Even if it was their first and last kiss.

  Even if it was a goodbye kiss.

  Her first kiss could not be anyone but him.

  Jeremy was still staring at her, baffled, mouth parted as though another question hovered on his tongue.

  Enough.

  Nancy stepped into him, fisted his lapels, and pulled him down, and pressed her lips to his. This was what she wanted, had wanted for such a long time. Her last thought before everything but the sensations sweeping through her body took over was, let the whole world go up in flames.

  Jeremy’s mind froze.

  He could not, for the life of him, form a thought. Not one sensible, coherent notion rose to meet the reality of Nancy’s mouth on his.

  That did not, however, stop his body.

  And oh, his body reacted.

  Reacted so damn much that his hands moved before his brain ever hoped to catch up—one coming up to her back, the other fisting instinctively in the soft fabric at her waist. Shock raced through him, sharp and electric, followed immediately by something far more dangerous.

  Want.

  Desire surged through him with humiliating speed, his heart slamming against his chest, a blunt, breath-robbing force. He kissed her back. Not gently. Not cautiously. His mouth moved with sudden purpose, as though some long-dormant instinct had been waiting precisely for this permission. Her breath caught, and the sound slid down his throat, spread through his chest, and chased down his spine, leaving heat only in its wake.

  Merciless, unforgiving heat.

  He lifted her, set her upon the ledge of the balustrade and crowded close, one knee braced between hers, hands firm at her sides as if letting go were no longer an option he possessed. The entire world narrowed to her mouth, her taste, the impossible truth settling in his bones: he had been frozen his entire life.

  And now the ice was melting.

  Her hands pushed up his shoulders, looped around his neck, and curled into his hair.

  “Christ, Nancy,” he breathed, scarcely aware he’d spoken.

  She pulled him back into her, answering with quiet insistence that stole what little thought had started to form. Her fingers tightened along his scalp, an unmistakable ‘do not stop’ pressed into every touch.

  The ice melted faster.

  Jeremy ground closer, bracing himself against the balustrade.

  Shrill laughter drifted through the night, causing them both to stiffen. Reluctantly, he eased away, the loss of her touch as keen as a sudden chill. The moment their eyes met, all the thoughts which had evaporated earlier, came rushing back at once. What the devil just happened? What had they just done? Nancy had kissed him. He had kissed Nancy.