“Right, then. That’s that.”

He paused, then shook his head. He really did need to stop talking to himself.

Alex stood outside the door to the Worthington House sitting room and took a deep breath, gathering her courage before she entered. She knew Blackmoor was on the other side of the door, waiting to escort her to the Salisbury Ball as though nothing had happened between them—as though she hadn’t made a fool of herself and thought he was going to kiss her, then stormed off to sulk for the rest of the evening. Or week. Or two.

She had been attempting to remain calm all day, promising herself that she would ignore the fact that he’d practically vanished from existence for the last two weeks. Sixteen days. Not that she was counting. She had told herself all afternoon that everything was perfectly normal rather than supremely awkward, that this evening was something she’d been looking forward to, rather than immensely dreading, and that she had never thought of Gavin in any way except as a very dear, very sweet friend. She’d chosen dear and sweet because they were words she used for children, puppies, and the elderly.

Of course, thinking of Gavin as a puppy hadn’t quite settled her ire. To the contrary, as she’d dressed, she’d grown more and more irritated. Irritated with him for being the only person willing to escort her to the ball this evening…irritated with her brothers for missing this particular event…and irritated with Nicola Salisbury, who’d been her friend since her days in the nursery, for having a mother who would host a ball at all.

“Well, I might as well get this over with,” she spoke aloud to the foyer. “It’s only a carriage ride, after all…after which I shall ignore him for the rest of the evening.” Taking a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and pasting an entirely too bright smile on her face, she turned the handle of the enormous mahogany door and swung it open.

“Good evening, Lord Blackmoor.” The words came out a touch too loudly, but she ignored that fact and pressed on. “I trust the evening finds you well?”

Blackmoor turned from where he stood at the window and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly at the picture Alex made, bathed in the brilliant light of the hallway behind her. He swallowed, and Alex took no small amount of pleasure in the fact that he looked as though his mouth had filled with sawdust in just a few brief seconds. She did not let on that she noticed. Or that she knew precisely why he seemed so uncomfortable.

While she had dressed, she had made the decision to take revenge on Blackmoor the only way a young lady in her first season could without making a scene—by donning a ball gown designed to send men into fits.

Madame Fernaud and her mother had created this particular gown in the most current style of the season. The color was a deep, smoky violet—one of her favorites, which showed off her coloring beautifully. The cut was en vogue; the dramatically low neckline would have sent her father into conniptions, her brothers as well for that matter—so tonight, when they were all absent and she was being nursemaided by Blackmoor, provided the perfect evening to wear it.

She didn’t pretend that there wasn’t another reason she had decided to wear this particular gown on this particular evening. Blackmoor was standing in this room, looking equal parts irritated and stunned. He couldn’t object—as much as she was certain he wanted to. She looked gorgeous in this dress. If she caused a stir tonight, it would be his to deal with and that would serve him right. And they both knew it.

She smiled brilliantly as she noticed he was looking anywhere but directly at her. Coward, she thought to herself. I’ll show you to almost kiss me, then disappear for a fortnight. He swallowed visibly and her grin grew even broader.

“Shall we go, my lord? I should hate to miss the first waltz.”

Her words spurred him to action. And he moved gracefully across the room, offering her his arm. “Of course. We couldn’t possibly miss the first waltz.”

Was there a hint of sarcasm in his tone?

Crossing the foyer, Gavin reminded himself of his pledge to remain aloof this evening and attempted a suitably brotherly, “You look lovely, of course, Alex, but don’t you think that gown a touch revealing?”

“I hadn’t noticed, my lord.”

One of Gavin’s golden eyebrows rose at her statement—which he knew was a bald lie. Recognizing a conversation that would best be avoided, Gavin emitted a deep, noncommittal sound from the back of his throat, and with that, they were off.

In the carriage, the two sat silently in an unspoken agreement not to address the previous weeks’ events. This was fine with Alex, who, in spite of being thoroughly satisfied with the fact that she had unsettled Blackmoor by wearing a wonderfully revealing dress, remained largely embarrassed by the entire course of events at the Worthington dinner and would prefer they were never addressed again.

She’d just stood there, wavering in the dark, waiting for him to kiss her! Oh! What a fool she must have looked—she’d be surprised if Gavin hadn’t gone laughing to her brothers! Oooh…she could just imagine his response: Someone has to get that chit married off!

Yes, the entire experience was mortifying. She could feel her face flushing now just thinking about it. With a silent prayer of thanks for the dark carriage, she willed her blush away—he clearly wasn’t thinking about the dinner…so she wouldn’t think about it either. Even if it killed her.

Clearing her throat, she forced out, “Thank you for escorting me tonight.”

“Of course, Alex. No need to thank me. I was planning to attend, and I know how much you would have hated to miss Nicola’s ball.”