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understanding. We were not engaged, and Mr. Maxwell behaved as any other young man with responsibilities would have.”
    “You defend him.” It was difficult to keep his disappointment from showing. He never thought her to be the kind of woman who would forgive disloyalty when she was so very loyal herself.
    She tilted her head. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m no debutante, Grey. If I’m to find a husband this season I shouldn’t show prejudice.”
    Common sense coming out of anyone else. Coming out of her it was shite. “You deserve better.”
    She smiled a Mona Lisa smile. “We do not always get what we deserve, or even what we desire.”
    She knew. Christ in a frock coat, she knew.
    Her smile faded. “If we did, Papa would be here with us, and Mama and I wouldn’t be your responsibility.”
    She didn’t know. Damn, what a relief. “The two of you are not a responsibility. You are a joy.”
    For some reason that only made her look sadder, but Camilla smiled through happy tears. She thanked him profusely, but Grey had a hard time hearing what she was saying—he was too intent on Rose, who had turned her attention to her plate and was pushing food around with little interest.
    He could bear this no longer. He didn’t know what was wrong with her, or why she seemed so strange with him. And he couldn’t stand that he cared.
    “Ladies, I’m afraid I must beg your pardon and take leave of you.”
    Rose glanced up. “So soon?”
    He pushed his chair back from the table. “Yes. But I will see you at breakfast in the morning.”
    She turned back to her dinner.
    Grey bid farewell to Camilla and then strode from the room as quickly as he could. If he survived the Season it would be a miracle.
     
    “I think it’s lovely that Grey is so protective of you.”
    Rose might have laughed if her chest didn’t feel so tight. Lovely indeed. “Shall we ring for dessert, Mama?”
    Rose hadn’t much of an appetite for the ginger ice cream Cook had prepared, but she ate it anyway. It was delicious, and she made herself enjoy it. She wasn’t going to let this mess with Grey spoil anymore of her dinner. She had engineered this situation—had deceived the most important man in her life since her father—and now she had to face the consequences, all the way to the end.
    Obviously Grey couldn’t wait to leave her company, but was he running away from her, or toward the woman he was to meet that evening? Would he even show up at Saint’s Row, or would she sit there alone and wait?
    Were she a strong and decent woman she would keep her earlier resolve and not go, but if there was even the slimmest glimmer of hope that he would come to her, her heart demanded that she be there to receive him.
    And truth be told, she was already humming with a different kind of anticipation—the carnal kind. It made her feel dirty and excited at the same time. And it would not be denied.
    She had thought giving herself to Grey—indulging in her fantasies—would ease her desire for him, but it hadn’t. If anything, it had made things worse. She wanted him more—craved him more—than she had a week ago, despite the fact that nothing would ever come of it.
    After dessert, she went to her room to change. Her mother believed that she was spending the evening with Eve at her home. She didn’t feel bad about lying. It was far preferable to the truth in this case.
    With the help of her maid, Heather—youngest daughter of Miller, the butler at Bramley—she changed into a pretty chocolate-colored gown and redressed her hair. Then, she said good night to her mother and took one of Grey’s carriages to Eve’s. She managed to avoid taking her maid by giving her the rest of the evening off. Such a ruse never would have worked had she been going anywhere but Eve’s. Once the carriage drove away, she walked just down the street and hailed a hack to take her to Saint’s Row.
    She remembered to put on her mask before walking up to the door.