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prefers. He’s a gamester and a rake who would think nothing of tarnishing a young lady’s name.”
    The assessment irritated her, coming as it did from a man who stared at bosoms. A man who wanted her rich dowry in order to pay off his own gaming debt to Mansfield. Though, of course, Wrayford didn’t know she was aware of his own foibles. “How are you privy to so much tittle-tattle about Mansfield? I thought he’d only just sold his commission in the cavalry. He wasn’t even here in London until a few months ago.”
    Wrayford led her toward the front of the ballroom, where her mother sat and gossiped with a number of the other married ladies. “I have connections in the military. Wherever he was stationed, Mansfield was known as a ladies’ man among all the foreign nationals. He left a string of mistresses all over the Continent. You would do well to stay clear of him.”
    “Thank you for enlightening me. I’ll take your advice under consideration.”
    Her sarcasm sailed right over his styled sandy hair. Fervently he pressed his fingers to hers, his gaze flicking again to her breasts. “I’m always happy to serve you, Miss Crompton. I shall return you now, safe and sound, to the care of your dear mother.”
    “Actually, I’m a bit parched,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Why don’t I wait right here while you fetch me a lemonade?”
    “Your wish is my command.”
    Wrayford vanished into the crush of guests. The orchestra had set down their instruments for a much-needed respite. In the interlude, people were wandering over to the refreshment tables in the next room or gathering in clusters to chat.
    Lindsey had no intention of standing in a corner like a wallflower. Nor did she want to return to her mother’s protective custody. Instead, Lindsey set forth on a solitary stroll along the perimeter of the ballroom, wending irresistibly back toward the pillar where she had seen Mansfield and Lady Entwhistle.
    Her goal was not to interrupt their conversation. Rather, she wanted to spy on them in the hopes of jogging her memory. There was something nagging at the edge of her mind, something concerning Lady Entwhistle.
    A brown-haired man ventured into her path. “M-Miss Crompton?” He bobbed his head, a hesitant smile on his freckled face. “I-I must b-beg a moment of y-your t-time.”
    She swallowed a groan. Of all her suitors, he was the one who most elicited her pity for his painful shyness. His frayed cuffs and ill-fitting coat betrayed him as the purse-poor younger son of a baron. “Mr. Sykes. I trust you’re having an enjoyable time this evening.”
    “Are-are-are you engaged for the next d-dance?” he stuttered, the words tumbling out in a mad rush.
    Lindsey had partnered with him at another ball and still retained the painful memory of him stepping on her toes numerous times. “Hmm, I do believe—”
    “Sorry, old chap, she’s already dancing with me.”
    Mansfield appeared at her shoulder. Before she could do more than inhale a startled breath, he placed his hand at the small of her back and propelled her toward the row of glass doors that stood open to the darkness of the night.
    The candlelit ballroom took on a jeweled brilliance. Lindsey was keenly aware of the hum of conversation all around her. His scent of spice was uniquely male compared to the floral perfumes worn by the ladies. The light pressure of his touch at the base of her spine seemed unbearably intimate. She knew it would be wise to pull away, yet the nudge of curiosity made her move forward in accordance with his direction.
    A host of questions begged to be answered: How had he found her so quickly in this crowd? What could he want with her? And what had happened to Lady Entwhistle?
    They reached the doors and proceeded outside onto a stone-flagged loggia with steps leading down into a garden. Lighted lanterns marked the pathways where a few couples strolled, arm in arm. Against the black velvet sky, the moon glowed silver