Torn, he looked back at Lady Prudence, remembering his request for a dance with her. She wouldn’t think anything of him claiming it this evening.
“You can’t allow Maynard to win,” Ulstead prodded. “At least, don’t allow it this early in the game.”
Silas didn’t care for the lord. He had too much money and time on his hands, not to mention an entitled attitude. That had been part of the reason Silas had agreed to the wager—for the chance to teach the man that he wasn’t superior to everyone else.
Both the money and the lesson were a temptation Silas couldn’t toss aside. Not yet anyway.
“Fine,” he bit out. But not with Lady Prudence. He couldn’t use her that way. Not when there was every chance he’d require her assistance with his grandmother’s birthday party.
He searched among the other ladies along the rear wall. Why was it that they always seemed to be together? Were they all friends or did those of a like mind naturally gather?
A likely candidate stood apart from the others wearing a pale blue gown with a rather low neckline which she pulled on as if uncomfortable with what it revealed.
Silas frowned, certain he’d been introduced to her at one time or another, which meant he wouldn’t have to request an introduction.
What was her name? Millicent something or other. The old-fashioned name had stuck in his head as he had an aunt by the same name.
“Go on.” Randolph nudged him. “Be done with it. You can decide later whether your sudden morals will allow you to continue with the wager.”
Silas grimaced but started toward his target. One dance would keep him in the running for the money. Plus, he wouldn’t have to listen to Maynard gloat about how far ahead he was.
After the dance, he needed to attempt to charm one of the two heiresses he had his eye on. He should worry more about them than whether he was hurting the feelings of a wallflower.
“Did you enjoy yourself last evening, dear?” Prue’s mother asked the following morning as she buttered her toast.
Prue managed a smile, reminding herself that she had enjoyed parts of it. “Yes, I did.”
But the sight of Viscount Winstead dancing with Millicent had ruined the evening. She was certain he’d seen her, yet he had chosen not to dance with her even though he said he would.
That only confirmed what she already knew: rogues were heartless and not to be trusted.
He wasn’t as considerate as she’d believed. Of course, he had been kind to her at his grandmother’s house. And also while he’d been trying to rescue the cat, which had been sweet and admirable. Yes, he and his grandmother clearly adored each other, which was another point in his favor. None of those things outweighed his behavior last evening.
Her suspicions had been roused when she’d seen him speaking to the two other gentlemen with whom she’d danced. She’d watched over her brother and cousins enough through the years to know when males were up to something.
The way the three men had looked around the ballroom suggested they were plotting something. What, she didn’t know.
The few ladies they’d chosen to dance with had been...unusual. Rather than asking the more popular ladies, they had focused on the older ones teetering on the spinster shelf or those who were especially shy.
Perhaps she worried about nothing, yet she couldn’t shake the thought. She and Millie had briefly discussed the peculiarity of the ball before retiring the previous evening. Her cousin had thought their numerous dances, if less than a handful could be called as much, peculiar as well.
“Good morning,” Aunt Edith said as she entered the breakfast room, along with Millie and another of Prue’s aunts.
“I’m so proud of you both,” Aunt Helen said as she smiled at Millie and Prue. “You each enjoyed several dances.” She sighed as she took a seat. “Just think. One of the gentlemen you danced with last evening might turn out to be your future husband.”
Aunt Helen had never married yet found romance in the smallest things, from the way a man looked at a woman to the way he smiled. It was as if her spinster heart refused to give up.
Prue hoped Aunt Helen was wrong. Neither Viscount Randolph nor Ulstead were men she would want to marry.
Yet the image of Silas, Viscount Winstead, popped into her mind before she had the chance to stop it. If she weren’t careful, she’d be smitten.
They discussed highlights from the ball before the conversation turned to everyone’s plans for the day. The post arrived, as well as a message for Prudence.
The masculine script had her stomach tightening. How could she have forgotten about the party planning?
She opened the missive with reluctance. Viscount Winstead hated to impose but wondered if she might be available to meet at his grandmother’s home to review a few of the remaining details for the birthday party.
Prue sighed, wishing she hadn’t agreed to help even as her stomach danced at the thought of his broad shoulders. The last thing she wanted was to spend more time with him when she couldn’t manage to control her body’s reaction to him.