“Why?” Temple asked.

“I enjoy champagne.”

“You loathe champagne,” Temple said.

She nodded. “Was it Marie Antoinette with the champagne?” These three would know.

Temple looked as though he might murder her. Duncan watched her carefully, as though she might turn into some sort of animal. “She’s responsible for the champagne glass.”

“Yes! The glass is the shape of her breast!” It was all coming back, if a touch too loudly.

“Christ.” Temple said.

“Perhaps we should limit the use of the word breast in public,” Duncan said, dryly. “Why don’t you tell us why you felt the need to drink in excess?”

“I was nervous!” she said in her own defense, then realized what she’d admitted. She looked to Duncan, whose expression had gone from surprised to smug. Damn. “Not because of you.”

“Of course not,” he said, meaning the opposite.

Temple looked about. “I don’t want to know anything about that. Stop talking.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Your Grace.” She emphasized the title. She returned her attention to Duncan. “There are any number of men who make me nervous.”

“Jesus, Anna, stop talking.”

“Don’t call her that,” Duncan said, and the warning in his voice was enough to draw the attention of both her and Temple.

“It’s her name.”

“Not here, it’s not. And not really, it’s not.” Duncan and Temple stared each other down, and something happened between them. Finally, Temple nodded.

“William,” Mara said quietly. “We are making it worse. You are not supposed to be so …”

“Boorish with me,” Georgiana said.

Mara tilted her head. “I was going to say ‘familiar.’”

She was not incorrect. The Duke of Lamont was not supposed to know her well enough to scold her on a balcony.

Temple was quiet for a long moment before he acquiesced to his wife. It was something that never failed to impress Georgiana – the massive man entirely engrossed in his wife. He looked to Duncan. “You’re supposed to keep her reputation intact.”

“All of Society knows I have a vested interest in her. They won’t be surprised in the slightest by our conversing,” he said. “They shall think she’s thanking me for my hand in her blossoming acceptance.”

“I am standing right here,” she said, supremely irritated by the way the group seemed to have forgotten that fact.

Temple thought for a long moment, and then nodded. “If you do anything to hurt her reputation —”

“I know, I shall answer to Chase.”

Temple’s gaze flickered from Duncan to Georgiana. “Forget Chase. You shall answer to me. You get her home.”

She smirked at Duncan. “No messages for Chase tonight. You’ll have to deal with me, only.”

Duncan ignored her, extending his arm. “My lady?”

She warmed at the words, hating the way they brought her such keen pleasure. She set her hand on his arm, letting him guide her a few steps down the balustrade before she pulled back. “Wait.” She turned back. “Your Grace.” He raised his brows in question. She returned on Duncan’s arm, spoke softly. “The Earl of Wight’s daughter. Sophie.”

“What of her?”

“She is dancing with Langley, but deserves a dance with someone tremendous.” She mentally cataloged the single men in attendance. “The Marquess of Eversley.” Eversley was a long-standing member of the Angel, rich as Croesus and handsome as sin – a rake to end all rakes. But he’d do as Temple asked. And Sophie would have a lovely memory of the evening.

Temple nodded. “Done.” He and Mara were gone, returned to the ball, leaving no trace of their time on the balcony.

Her good work for the evening complete, she returned her attention to Duncan, who asked, “Lady Sophie?”

She lifted a shoulder in a little shrug. “She was kind to Georgiana.”

Understanding lit in his eyes. “And so Anna rewards her.”

She smiled. “There are times when it is useful to be two people.”

“I can see how that might be true,” he said.

“I don’t need a caretaker, you know,” she said, the words soft enough that only he could hear them.

“No, but apparently you needed someone to tell you when to stop drinking.”

She cut him a look. “If you hadn’t made me nervous, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Ah, so it was because of me.” He smiled, full of pride, and it occurred to her that to the rest of those assembled on the balcony, their conversation seemed perfectly ordinary.

“Of course it was. You and your ‘I am in control.’ It’s unsettling.”

He grew very serious. “It shouldn’t be.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, it is.”

“Are you unsettled now?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, looking down at her hands. “I am disappointed in you. I would have thought you’d have been utterly prepared for this situation.”

Because of Anna. He thought her a prostitute. Experienced in all matters of the flesh. Except she wasn’t. And as if their arrangement weren’t nerve-wracking enough, the idea that he would discover her lie – her truth – was thoroughly disquieting.

“I am usually the one in control,” she said. It was not a lie.

He looked over her shoulder to confirm that the others on the balcony were far enough away not to hear their conversation.