It wasn’t Lord Nicholas.

Even if the lack of scar had not revealed his identity, Callie would have known. Nicholas’s shoulders weren’t quite as broad, his jaw wasn’t quite as strong, his eyes weren’t quite as all-consuming as his brother’s. St. John had never made her breath catch, had never set her pulse racing, had never made her think absolutely unthinkable thoughts.

No, the man approaching them was most definitely not Lord Nicholas St. John.

But how she wished he were.

Callie glanced quickly from side to side, attempting to judge the quickest and least crowded escape route, by which she could avoid a meeting with Ralston. Bodies seemed to close in upon them from all sides—with the exception of the direction from which he approached. She met his knowing gaze as he raised one dark, perfectly arched brow.

She was trapped. Trapped alongside the sputtering Heloise, who, one might believe, hadn’t been approached by a handsome gentleman in years.

Not that it was a common occurrence for Callie.

“Lord Nicholas!” Heloise cried, a touch too loudly. “How lovely to see you!”

“Heloise, dear,” Callie spoke quietly to her companion. “’Tis Ralston.”

Heloise squinted, her gaze falling obviously to Ralston’s cheek, searching for the telltale difference between the brothers. “Oh! Of course! My apologies, Lord Ralston.” She dropped a quick curtsy.

“No apologies necessary, Miss Parkthwaite.” He bowed low over Heloise’s gloved hand, before adding, “I assure you, I consider it a great compliment. My brother is the better-looking of the pair.”

“Oh, no, my lord,” Heloise tittered, blushing and waving her fan like a drunken hummingbird. “Certainly not!”

Ralston offered the older woman a wink before saying, “Well, far be it from me to disagree with a lady.”

The words sent Heloise into a fit of giggles as Ralston turned to Callie, who offered her hand to Ralston. Ralston bowed low, sending a shiver of heat up her arm. “Lady Calpurnia, I had hoped to secure your next available dance.”

Heloise gasped in surprise as Callie blurted out, “I beg your pardon?”

“The next dance.” Ralston repeated, looking from one woman to the other as if they were both slightly touched. “I will admit I do not attend as many balls as I likely should these days, but people do still dance at them, do they not?”

“Oh! Yes, indeed, my lord,” Heloise interjected helpfully.

“In that case,” Ralston’s eyes sparkled with checked humor, “may I have your dance card, Lady Calpurnia?”

“I do not have a dance card.” She so rarely danced, she did not need one.

There was a beat as he took in her words.

“Excellent. That makes it much easier to claim a dance, then, doesn’t it?” Ralston turned back to Heloise. “Do you mind if I thieve your companion, Miss Heloise?”

Dumbfounded, Heloise could do little more than shake her head, and sputter, “Not at all!”

Callie stood still, feet rooted to the floor, refusing to be led onto the dance floor. She couldn’t waltz with Ralston. He couldn’t be her first waltz. It would most definitely ruin her for all others.

Men like Ralston are not for women like you, Callie.

No. Indeed they were not. Especially not when they were threatening to waltz with her. In the interest of self-preservation, Callie shook her head firmly. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly, my lord. You see, I’ve promised Heloise I would accompany her to—”

“Nonsense!” Heloise said, her tone high-pitched and breathless. “I shall be quite fine! You must waltz, Lady Calpurnia.” At the last, the older woman beamed up at Ralston, nodding excitedly.

And the decision was made.

Ralston swept her into the center of the room for her first waltz.

As he guided her across the floor, Callie saw her mother at the opposite end of the room, standing with a beaming Mariana, watching them. The dowager countess looked utterly shocked. Callie gave her a little nod of acknowledgment, trying her best to appear as though handsome marquesses approached her at every ball she attended.

Desperate to lighten the situation—for her own good sense—Callie said dryly, “You’ve certainly given everyone something to talk about tonight, my lord.”

“I suppose you mean my attendance. Well, I rather thought that with Juliana on her way out, I had better start ingratiating myself to the ton.” After a long pause, he added, “Why do you not dance?”

Callie considered his question for a moment before replying. “I did, for several years. And then…I stopped.”

Unsatisfied with her answer, he pressed on. “Why?”

She gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “The partners were not altogether ideal. Those who weren’t fortune hunters were elderly or boring or…simply unpleasant. It became easier to avoid the invitations altogether than to suffer their company.”

“I hope you do not consider me so distasteful.”

She allowed herself to meet his amused gaze. No. Ralston was not distasteful. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

“No, my lord,” she said, the softness in her tone betraying her thoughts before she added, “And neither does Miss Heloise, it appears. She was quite charmed by you.”

“One must use one’s talents to one’s advantage, Lady Calpurnia.”

“Something I am certain you do quite well.”

His voice deepened. “I assure you, I do it very well.”

Refusing to allow herself to be flustered, she said, “Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Callie failed to notice the double meaning in her words until they were out of her mouth.