He'd left the affair shortly after Catherine and he had returned to the ballroom. He saw no reason to stay. He suspected no other lady would dance with him, but more than that he had no desire to dance with anyone other than Catherine. And he'd not further risk her reputation by having a second waltz. He'd already placed her reputation at risk with one dance and a turn about the garden. Why was she willing to risk so much simply to see that he was accepted?

Friendship? G.o.d knew he'd risked everything-including his life-for his friends. They'd risked no less than that for him. But Catherine-what did she gain? If he spent any more time in her company, no decent man would take her to wife.

Tonight she'd done away with the purpose for their a.s.sociation. For some reason, she'd decided the bloke wasn't worth killing. Luke supposed he should be grateful he'd not taken her at her word that first night and done the gent in.

Still, he was bothered by her change of heart. She wasn't a mindless chit, and she was certainly no one's fool. If she thought someone needed killing, he most likely did. And there was still the matter of the man who was following her. He needed to have a word with Jim, but first he wanted to see Frannie.

The coach came to a halt outside Dodger's, and Luke alighted. He went through the front door. No tension reverberated here as it had at Avendale's. But then this was his home, this was where he belonged.

Jack approached him. "Luke-"

Luke held up his hand. "Not now."

He was a man with a purpose. He opened the door to the backrooms and went down the hallway to the room where he knew he'd find Frannie. She was hard at work on her books. He rapped on the doorjamb. She looked up and grinned at him. As always, her smile warmed him as nothing else did.

"Aren't you dressed rather fancily?"

"I attended a ball hosted by the d.u.c.h.ess of Avendale," he said.

"I didn't think you were one to attend the aristocracy's affairs."

"I thought it time I begin making the way clear for us."

She looked down at the ledgers. "So we'll be attending b.a.l.l.s?"

"I think you'll enjoy them. There's gaiety and lovely gowns. Food and drink and people."

"Yes, lots of people I'll not know."

"You'll come to know them. And best of all, we shall dance." He strolled into the room and held out his hand. "Dance with me now."

She snapped her head up. "Are you daft?"

"Probably. But I want very desperately to dance with you."

"But there's no music-"

"I can hum."

Whatever was wrong with him? Why was this need to dance with her so strong?

Laughing sweetly, she rose. "Very well."

She came around her desk. "As I recall, I'm supposed to stand on your toes."

He chuckled. It was the way the old gent had danced with her. He'd seen that they had lessons, so many lessons. Why did Frannie feel as though she needed more now? Surely she'd not forgotten everything they'd been taught.

"The movements are the same but you keep your feet on the floor." He placed one of her hands on his shoulder, took the other in his, settled his free hand on her waist.

He began to hum the tune that had been playing while he'd danced with Catherine. And he moved Frannie in rhythm to his horrendous humming. The s.p.a.ce was small. He couldn't sweep her across the area, but it was enough.

With Frannie in his arms, his body didn't tighten, his mind didn't bring forth carnal images. He told himself it was because when he looked down on her, all he saw was b.u.t.tons and cloth. When he looked down on Catherine, an entirely different portrait emerged. He saw clearly the swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the gentle slope of her throat. He saw her smile. The joy reflected in her blue eyes.

He stopped waltzing and very subtlety drew Frannie a fraction nearer. He cradled her chin as though it was made of the finest porcelain, as though it could so easily shatter. He watched as her eyes widened slightly, as her tongue darted out to dampen her lower lip. He felt a pleasant thrumming low in his belly.

He lowered his head, her eyes slid closed, and he, very gently, brushed his lips over hers, before drawing back.

"There, that wasn't so bad was it?" he asked.

Nor was it particularly satisfying, but that would come in time, as she became more familiar with the physical nature of men.

She shook her head. "No, not at all."

"I adore you."

"I know."

He stroked his thumb over her bottom lip. He should want to lean back in for another kiss. Lord knew he could never seem to get enough of the taste of Catherine. And yet what he and Frannie had shared seemed to be quite...adequate.

Adequete. Not pa.s.sionate, not fiery, not all-consuming.

Civilized. Not barbaric, not beastly, not untamed.

Proper. Not scandalous, not to be whispered about, not disgraceful.

"What's wrong?" Frannie asked.

And he realized he was scowling, his brow furrowed so deeply he was going to give himself another one of his blinding headaches.

Shaking his head, he released her and stepped back. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

But something was terribly wrong, because he was doubting his affection for Frannie, something he'd never done.

"Was Catherine at the ball?" Frannie asked.

"She was."

"Did you dance with her?"

He turned away slightly. "I did."

Why did he feel guilty? It wasn't as though he'd bedded her. It had been an innocent dance. But it hadn't felt innocent.

"What was she wearing?"

"What all ladies wear. A ball gown."

"You'd make a horrendous society writer." Frannie returned to her chair behind her desk. "I'll wager she looked beautiful."

"I'll not take you up on that wager as she always looks beautiful."

"Why has she not married, do you think?"

"Because she is too opinionated, willful, argumentative. A man wants peace in his household, and with her, a man would never find peace."

"So you think marriage to me would be peaceful?"

"I do."

"And that's what you want? Peace?"

"I want contentment."

"Do you find me boring?"

"Of course not."

"Sometimes I wonder, sometimes I fear that I am. I sit here with all these numbers, and they seem so unexciting."

"Nothing about you is unexciting. I look forward to the time we spend together." He sat in the chair across from her. "There just seems to be so little of it of late."

As though to punctuate his words a rap on the door sounded. Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Jim standing uncertainly in the doorway. "Didn't mean to interrupt, but Jack said he couldn't get your attention earlier, and I've got something I thought you might be interested in."

"What is it?" Luke asked.

"The man who's been following Lady Catherine."

Luke's heart slammed against his ribs and everything else suddenly seemed unimportant. "Where is he?"

Jim jerked his head to the side. "Jack's office."

Luke hurried out of the room. "How did you find him?"

"Lady Catherine was running around like an insane woman this morning, taking care of the things for the ball she was hosting tonight." Jim stepped into the room and pointed at a battered man with dark hair sitting in a chair, working the brim of his hat. "Mr. Evans here could barely keep up with her."

Jack's burly footman had obviously been keeping guard. He nodded once and discreetly left the room, closing the door behind him.

"He's been ever so cooperative since he spent a few hours in gaol," Jim explained.

"Abuse of power is wot it was. Locking me up when I ain't done nuffin' wrong."

Luke sat on the edge of Jack's desk, studying the man. "Do you know who I am?"

"Claybourne," the man fairly spit.

"Do you know that I've killed a man?"

"So have I. It's not that hard to do."

"My point, dear fellow, is that I'm fond of Lady Catherine and I don't like that blackguards such as yourself are following her."

"I never 'urt 'er."

"That's the only reason you're still breathing. I want answers and if I don't get them, I won't be nearly as gentle as Scotland Yard. Have I made myself clear?"

Evans swallowed, nodded. He was a bully, and bullies were easy to put in their place.

"Why did you follow her?" Luke asked.

"I was paid to."

"By whom?"

"Fancy gent."

"Who?"

"Don't know his name. He hired a bunch of us."

"Hired a bunch of you to do what?"

He lifted his shoulders in the way a man would to avoid a blow. "Follow people around."

"Come on, mate," Jim said, his voice riffed with authority. "Tell his lordship everything without him having to ask all the questions."

"What people exactly were you following?" Luke asked.

"The Lady Catherine, loike 'e said,"-he pointed to Jim-"a d.u.c.h.ess, and you."

"Which d.u.c.h.ess were you following?"

"Dunno. I didn't follow 'er. Me mate followed 'er. I know she was the gent's wife; he thought she was up to no good."

"Why did he have you follow Lady Catherine?"

"Dunno. Just wanted to know where she went, who she met, wot she did. So I told 'im. Mostly borin' stuff, shoppin' and the loike."

"There, you see?" Jim asked. "I'm not the only one who thought she was boring."

Luke jerked his head around and glared at Jim.

Jim held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry. But I felt a need to point it out."

Luke turned his attention back to Evans. "Are you one of the gents who attacked me one night?"

The man's cap almost disappeared in his large hands he was wringing it so hard. It was answer enough for Luke.

"Were you supposed to kill me?"