returned to the crush of the ballroom. It felt as if she dared him to come after her. James shook his head and tipped his face to the overcast sky. “You are only here to help make Richard’s dying wish a reality,” he said to the night sky. “Nothing else.”
James waited in the gardens for several more minutes, doing his damnedest not to think about that kiss. He returned to the ballroom as a galop was ending. One sweep of the crush and he found Poppy by the sidelines with her sisters beside her. The ladies were engaged in animated chatter, the younger appearing a bit mulish in her expression while Poppy radiated patience. The other sister who had married well, the baroness, waved her fan with too much vigor, her posture one of anger.
The young Miss Rebecca would be a resounding success given the number of gentlemen eager to claim her hand in a dance. She was a beauty, but nothing moved inside James upon admiring her. It was Poppy who kept tugging his gaze. She was shorter than most, if not all of the ladies present at tonight’s gathering. Her curves were also lush and richly pronounced. She was lovely, intelligent, and only a buffoon in want of a wife would pass her over.
A governess. Not while he was alive. Miss Poppy Ashford deserved much more.
James would dance with her tonight and start his campaign of society seeing her as a very eligible choice. He would ask his sister, Daphne, for help in mentioning discreetly that Poppy had a dowry and was connected to their family. One or two casual remarks in the right ears would have the desired effect, and Poppy’s desirability would most assuredly improve. How absurd it all was that they had to resort to such schemes.
James milled around in the crowd, pausing to speak with a few friends. He arched a brow upon spying Viscount Worsley, the last man he expected to see at tonight’s gathering. Society gatherings were not his usual haunts, not when he ran one of the most notorious gambling and fighting clubs in society. James had recently taken a chance and invested in some iron foundries in Manchester with Viscount Worsley and Viscount Shaw. James hoped they paid off soon. The estate his brother had worked so hard to save was not yet turning a profit. James promising Poppy a dowry would see him burning the midnight oil for the next several months to see her dreams realized. And that was just a minor detail compared to the rest of the responsibilities he carried.
“I am not used to seeing you at these events,” Worsley murmured, coming up to him.
“Odd,” James drawled, “I was just thinking the same thing about you. I assume your lovely wife dragged you by the ears to attend?”
They grinned at each other, and Worsley glanced in the direction of the two Miss Ashfords.
“There is a bet in my books that you will accept the old ball and chain this season. Any insider tips?”
James chuckled. “There was also a bet last year.”
“They are determined to speculate on your life. I cannot see why, but I do not object to the profit it makes me.”
James scoffed. “Whoever is betting on me marrying soon will lose.”
“Are you certain? Just now, I saw the way you looked at that young lady. I came over to distract you from causing a bloody scandal. Such hunger…” Worsley teased, deviltry dancing in his silver-gray eyes. “That kind of hunger is the type that has its hooks inside you, and with each tug, it will become more painful until it feels like death if you do not succumb.”
That prediction did indeed hook viciously inside of James. “Rubbish. What you saw was mere admiration for a friend.”
“Hmm,” Worsley said, sipping from his glass of what looked like whisky. He slapped James on the shoulders. “I know where to lay my bet. And I am putting down a thousand pounds.”
James silently cursed when his friend strolled away, chuckling. Was he so obvious in his attraction to Miss Ashford? The waltz was announced as the next dance, and James moved through the crush toward Poppy. Her younger sister and her mother seemed to be arguing with her, and even from his position, he could see the wounded look in her eyes.
An unanticipated protectiveness rushed through James. Earlier, when she had hurried away, and the baroness had tried to slyly manipulate him into dancing with her sister, he