even though there was no need because they were alone here. He was as dangerous as that viper, perhaps more so, because he made her question the value of things she’d clung to for so long: her purity, her reputation, her respectability.
None of them had ever brought her as much joy as these few hours of doing what she ought not with a man she shouldn’t—sneaking out, traveling alone, wandering through rooms, hallways, and up the stairs, speaking about scandalous behavior as though it wasn’t so scandalous. “What will you call it?”
Perhaps she was the flute player and he the cobra, mesmerized by her, because it seemed to take him a moment to realize she’d asked a question, to understand what the question was. He blinked, as though he’d been lost in her eyes or her hair or her mere existence. He released a long, slow exhalation. “The Fair Ladies’ and Spare Gentlemen’s Club. The Fair and Spare for short.”
“I like it.”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “And the purpose of it. I’m looking forward to visiting it once you have it opened.” She put force behind her words, belief, because she wanted—needed—him to understand that she had complete faith in his ability to make a go of this place.
His smile seemed somewhat melancholy. “By the time I have the means to purchase this building and everything required for all the rooms, you’ll be married. Only the unmarried can have a membership here since the purpose of the club is to provide a safe atmosphere in which to arrange assignations.”
“You don’t know that he’ll choose me.”
“Did you write him what I told you to?”
“Not yet. I’ve been working on it.”
His hand came very near to touching her cheek before he returned it to his side. “You made an impression on him today. Identify yourself in the letter, as he told you to, and describe yourself as I suggested—and he’s yours.”
He made it sound so easy. Unfortunately, she was no longer certain she wanted Kingsland, a man who believed a wife should take her opinions from her husband.
A short time later, she and Griff were traveling back to the residence, a comfortable silence resting easily between them, each lost in thought. In the morning she would return home. It was doubtful that she would see Griff again until the duke’s ball. But she knew she would never forget this remarkable night or the man with whom she’d shared it.
Chapter 7
A little over two weeks later, the night of the most important ball of the Season, the one destined to change lives, arrived. Excitement thrummed through Kathryn as she stood with Althea and Jocelyn in the grand salon of the Duke of Kingsland’s Belgravia mansion. Oddly, her anticipation had nothing at all to do with the announcement the duke would be making at the stroke of ten or the fact that anyone of any renown was presently taking flutes of champagne from the elegant footmen or that the largest orchestra she’d ever seen sat in one corner of the balcony that encompassed three sides of the room for easy viewing of the lower section of the ballroom by guests.
No. Her elation was due solely to the fact that she would have her waltz with Griff.
If he remembered. If he showed. She had yet to see him.
“Who are you searching for?” her dearest friend asked.
“I’m just looking at everyone. Can you believe how many people are here?”
They were packed in like sardines in a tin. Ladies with intricate coiffures, sparkling jewelry, and extravagant gowns. It didn’t seem to matter if they were married, or if they were hoping to gain the duke’s attention. All of London wanted Kingsland to know that his affairs warranted any expense in clothing, any trouble to display their elegance. No one wanted to be found lacking.
“There must be at least two hundred,” Lady Jocelyn mused. “The duke has never held a ball. It has brought out everyone of any consequence. I wonder how many letters he received.”
“No doubt one from every lady not spoken for. Perhaps even a few from those who are betrothed but hoping to acquire something better than what is promised,” Althea said. “I’m grateful I’m not having to compete.”
“My letter ran the length of eight pages,” Jocelyn boasted. “How long was yours, Kat?”
“Everything I wrote about myself filled only a single page.”
With a roll of her eyes, Jocelyn scoffed in a manner of superiority that suddenly irritated. “I was unable to limit all my fine qualities and