Arabella in another man’s arms unsettled him more than Amelia’s wedding. How could that be? He’d once believed his heart belonged to Amelia. But she’d married Devonhold, and instead of breaking him, it had brought anger and now… relief. That was the truth, wasn’t it? A quiet, undeniable sense of rightness had settled over him then, but now a storm raged at the idea of losing Arabella. It wasn’t just an obligation that pulled him toward her. It was the realization that he may have loved her all along.

A flash of light blue caught his eye when she sailed through the doorway, mercifully alone. She looked thin. Perhaps she wasn’t well.

As he traversed the room toward her, she lifted her gaze and met his. Her stare reminded  him of a doe ready to flee. “Would you care for the next dance?” he asked once he reached her  side.

Arabella crossed her arms. “I heard you abused Charlotte’s feet last night, so I think not.”

“A turn in the garden, then.”

“That wouldn’t be proper.”

Was she truly going to pretend nothing had passed between them? Damn it, he wouldn’t be dismissed like some unwanted suitor. “We must speak to one another,” he fairly shouted over the music, drawing eyes to them.

Her cheeks flushed, and her mouth formed an ‘O’, before she turned on her heel and left,  her bottom a dancing curve of pale blue silk as she fled. Once she reached the edge of the  ballroom, he discreetly followed her.

Arabella darted down the hall, opened a door at the end, and entered a room.

Pierce glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one followed them. Once at the door, he  stopped with his hand on the handle.