There was a glamorous assortment of high society guests. Floral garlands festooned the many tall windows, the bright blooms bringing natural splendor into the sumptuous interior. The lavish drapery matched the yellow roses and white lilies, fresh from the hothouses. With heaps of elongated candles around the rich ballroom, the circular chamber scintillated under the dappling glow.

Amy absorbed the lush atmosphere, her senses teeming with delight. It was her first public appearance, and she was giddy with the fanfare in her honor. The flourishing spectacle had an unfortunate side effect that tapered some of her enthusiasm, though.

“I truly don’t know what happened to our invitation.”

The Duchess of Wembury frowned. It was really a slight wrinkling of the lips. Otherwise, she maintained her poise. She was a dramatic presence in the bustling ballroom with her striking features and elegant satin dress, shimmering in the light like liquid gold.

Amy was parched for her company; standing next to the attractive woman deflected some of the attention away from her. That was the unpleasant consequence of her exhibit, the curious stares. The inquisitive looks reminded her of her time at the Pleasure Palace, being showcased on stage, scrutinized, lusted after…stared at.

“The card was sitting on my desk this morning when my brother Quincy came to visit, and then poof, it was gone.”

Amy half listened to the mystery of the missing invitation card, comforted instead by the duchess’s companionship. She possessed a high rank, yet she didn’t exhibit any of the fussy qualities her contemporaries so often insisted on as proper etiquette. Amy sensed her tight bone corset a little less clinching in the woman’s sociable presence. In truth, she had wanted to meet the duchess for some time. She was Edmund’s sister…and Amy felt closer to Edmund being so near his kin.

“How is Quincy?” wondered Amy, stifling her other, inappropriate reflections. “I hope he’s well.”

“Yes, he’s fine.” The woman’s umber eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting there might be something amiss with my brother?”

Amy balked. She quickly gathered her thoughts, so unruly even after months of rigorous training. She had studied and memorized countless rules about etiquette, her tutor strict. She had been primped and polished for her grand debut, yet still she possessed the improper tendency to blurt out her innermost thoughts. It was obvious from Mirabelle’s befuddled expression she was ignorant about her brother’s condition.

“Not a’tall.” Amy rushed to conceal her blunder with “I just haven’t seen him for such a long time.”

“It’s been three months, I understand.” The duchess looked at her thoughtfully. “You’ve not formed an attachment to Quincy, have you?”

Amy groaned inside her head. She gathered a deep breath and righted her disorderly thoughts. “I’ve not formed an attachment to Quincy, Your Grace. I mean, he’s very charming, but I’ve only feelings of friendship for him. He was my tutor for a time,” she rambled. “He helped me become a lady.”

“Quincy?”

Amy squirmed in her corset, feeling constricted again. “I owe him, I suppose, for his guidance. It was very much appreciated. In truth, I owe all your brothers a great debt of gratitude.”

Mirabelle smiled. “Think nothing of it, my dear. You protected Edmund from harm when he’d lost his memory, and then my brothers returned you to your family. The debt is paid.”

And yet Amy’s thoughts so often returned to the scoundrel of St. James. He was at sea, patrolling the coast of Africa. She had heard tales of sickness and savages, fierce battles with determined rigs unwilling to give up their slave cargoes. The images of Edmund wounded…sinking…fighting for survival filled her head. She had learned to quash the dark reflections whenever they pressed upon her. She had learned to ease her troubled heartbeat with a few measured breaths.

“Are you all right, Lady Amy?”

“I was just thinking about your brothers at sea. Do you ever worry about their welfare, Your Grace?”

“All the time, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “I’ve learned to live with the underlying anxiety.” She rubbed Amy’s hands. “But don’t you fret about the Hawkins brothers. They’ve been through scrapes and catastrophes, and they’ve weathered them all. I’ve learned that about my brothers, too.” She gestured toward the ballroom. “You should be thinking about your come-out party, Lady Amy. How do you like your new position as a woman of consequence?”

Amy’s employment at the Pleasure Palace had trained her to perform in front of strangers, and while she wasn’t dancing on a stage anymore, she still had to summon every ounce of her theatrical savvy to mingle with the critical haute monde. She wasn’t one of them. Not really. She had the same blue blood, but she still had to wear an invisible veil to conceal her true thoughts and feelings, her past.

Her wretched past. It was impossible for her to escape it. Even now the spacious room was filled with myriad “strangers,” and yet she recognized many of the male faces. The gentlemen now had lofty titles and accomplishments that went along with their familiar features; however, she remembered them without their polished veneers. She remembered them when they had salivated at her feet, bombarded her with requests for private rendezvous.

Amy shuddered. It hounded her almost every moment of the day, the dreaded prospect that her sinful spell as Zarsitti might be revealed. She often imagined the horrid news spreading across the city, shaming her parents.

Amy sighed. “It’s overwhelming, Your Grace.”

The duchess patted her arm. “Yes, it is, my dear. I was thrust into the position of duchess without much knowledge about the post or the duty. Give it some time. You’ll be fine.”

Amy simpered at the much-needed encouragement. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

The duchess smiled in return, but her features quickly gathered in bewilderment. “What are you doing here, Eddie?”

Amy bristled.

Edmund?

Impossible. The man was at sea. And yet she sensed his familiar figure at her backside, warming her very bones with his presence. Her heart thumped with greater energy, every pulsing beat unraveling her delicate pretense.

He was home…On land…Here…Beside her.

“I’ve come to ask Lady Amy to dance,” he said in a low voice.

Slowly she turned around and confronted the handsome scoundrel. The noisy din from the other guests, the animated candlelight intensified. It all seemed so much more palpable. She was sure everyone inside the ballroom was privy to her scandalous thoughts, her flickering heartbeats.

She licked her lips as she perused him, noting every detail. He was dressed in formal evening wear, the dark, finely tailored ensemble hugging him with precision, setting off his most admirable features, like his wide shoulders and his sinewy legs. She fanned herself with the silk accoutrement secured at her wrist, eyeing his smooth cheekbones, his square chin. She yearned to rub her fingers over his mouth, so sensual, so inviting.

She dashed the unfitting thoughts. He was safe, untouched by danger…and yet that wasn’t true. He had evaded serious injury, even death at sea, but danger still manifested from his pores, tempting her, coaxing her from her prim position as a lady, bidding Zarsitti into the light.

Amy pinched her bottom lip between her teeth as he looked at her with fierce regard, the smoldering stare imploring: Dance with me, Zarsitti.

Mirabelle interjected, “But you’re supposed to be at sea for another six months!”

He kissed his excitable sister on the flushed cheek. “We returned home early, Belle.”

“Why?” she snapped.

“I’ll visit with you tomorrow,” he promised. “I’ll tell you the story then. Why don’t you dance with your husband?” He set his fine eyes on Amy again. “I’m presently engaged with Lady Amy.”

He clasped her hand with confidence and guided her toward the dance floor. She released the fan, let it dangle from the cord at her wrist, as the desire to move her hips and undulate her belly welled inside her. She wanted to dance with Edmund. She wanted to dance for him.

She looked at his strong, robust hand. It was wrapped around her slim fingers. She wedged the appendages deeper between his palm, seeking a firmer, unbreakable connection. He responded to her probing pokes, gripping her more tightly before he clinched her waist in a snug embrace.

The heat from his touch, the security that radiated from his presence, lured her into a forbidden entanglement. She breathed with greater zest in his arms. It was as if he was the one missing piece from the ball preventing her from thoroughly enjoying herself, and now that he had arrived, her spirit danced.

But as soon as Amy detected the Duchess of Wembury’s audible groan, the enchantment shattered, and her muscles stiffened at the prospect that she was making a spectacle of herself with Edmund.

She struggled, a cold sweat coming over her. “We can’t do this, Edmund.”

“Yes, we can,” he said suavely as he whirled with her across the ballroom. “We’ve danced before.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she said, almost frantic. “It’s improper. I’m—”

“Shhh…I’ve missed you, Amy.”

And with those whispered words the defiance in her soul passed away, like an ailing body taking its final breath after a hardy battle with death. And without the defiance in her soul, there was only the pleasurable feeling of being trapped between the scoundrel’s arms…and savoring the delicious sensation.

“What are you doing here, Edmund?”

He tsked, his sensual lips snapping. “Is the music too loud? I said, I’ve come to dance with you, Amy.”

“I’m not deaf, but you’ve not traveled the ocean for a waltz.”

He fingered her spine like a violin player. “Perhaps I have.”

“Bullocks,” she mouthed.

He smiled at her tartness, his eyes teasing, and she shivered in her bones, charmed by the coy expression that so often hung from his churlish brow.

“What about your naval duty?” she charged.

“Our patrol ended early; the captain was injured.”

As his lush lips thinned, her heart swelled in her breast. “Is William all right?”

“He will be,” he returned with confidence.

“What happened?”

“He was shot in battle.”

Amy gasped. “Shot?” She glanced at the duchess in distress. “You have to tell your sister!”

“I will. Tomorrow.”

“What are you doing here, dancing?” She glowered at him. “Why aren’t you at home, nursing your brother?”

He snorted. “I’m not needed at the house.” The bitterness in his voice was thick. “James is there.”

“Are you still at odds with your brother?”

“I don’t want to talk about him. I’ve come to see you, Amy.” The heat in his words charred her innards. “Are you happy?” he murmured. “Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”

“Why do you ask me that?” She sensed every pair of eyes on her, ogling her, cutting into her like a hundred pinpricks. She added peevishly, “To rest your mind?”

He frowned. “You’re unhappy then?”

“I didn’t say that,” she snapped, “but I belong here. Happiness isn’t a consideration.”

“Do you dislike your parents?”

“No, of course not.” She huffed. “I love my parents. I’ve always loved my parents.”

“The balls. The dresses. The respectable company. It is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t say I was unhappy.”

He twirled with her across the polished wood floor with aplomb. “And yet you are unhappy.”

“I’m overwhelmed.”

“You’re not overwhelmed,” he said, thumbing her spine, rubbing the knobs of bone in slow and teasing movements. “My sister might believe that rubbish, but I know you better than that, Amy. You’ve been dreaming and preparing for this event for most of your life.”

Flustered, she stammered, “I-I’m afraid then.”

“Of what?”

“Of disappointing my parents.”

“Perhaps. But there’s more to it than that.” He eyed her with stern reproach. “Why are you lying to me?”

“Why don’t you just tell me why you think I’m unhappy.” She twisted her lips. “You know me best, don’t you?”

As he guided her with ease, mixing effortlessly with the other couples, he maintained his sharp blue eyes on her, ruminating. “I think there’s something missing from your life.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “Like what?”

“Fun.”

She exhaled slowly. “I don’t have fun, remember?”

“A pity.” He whispered, “You once had fun with me.”

She bristled. The banter, the seductive repartee had to come to a surcease. If he persisted in the intimate manner, he’d ruin more than her reputation; he’d devastate her fragile heart with memories and promises of things that might have been…but would never be.

“You have to leave the ball.”

Now!

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because…I will never be happy so long as you’re in my life. You don’t belong here, Edmund.”

He stiffened. “I see.”

A darkness entered his eyes. It squeezed at her breast, the discomfort, the shame she had caused him, but it was the only way to disentangle herself from his bewitching spell. She had to part from him. She was promised to another man.

“I don’t want to cause you unrest, Lady Amy,” he said in crisp fashion.

As the music died, he coldly escorted her back to his waiting sister. There, the duchess was conversing with her youngest brother, Quincy. Perhaps grilling him, by the looks of their heated exchange. When the scamp noticed Amy’s approach, he smiled. She returned the convivial gesture; however, she felt nothing but a distaste in her soul.

She felt like a cur.

Edmund bowed. “You won’t ever have to see me again, Lady Amy.”