Silas perused the ballroom that evening in search of Prue, eager to see her. Surely she would attend and he hadn’t lost her forever. What if she’d left London? What if she refused to hear him out after he’d told her goodbye?
He had reconsidered numerous times whether he should explain his plan or wait until he’d seen it through and found success—if he did. Wouldn’t it be wrong to give her false hope? There was still a chance all of this was for naught.
But his grandmother’s precious Monet was in the hands of a reputable pawnbroker who would hold it for a minimum of three months. That should be more than enough time for the prototype to be built and Silas’s design to be proven viable.
And he was determined it would be. If he didn’t believe in himself and his idea, how could he expect anyone else to? The time had come for him to step out of the shadow of the Hayward name and be his own man. There was more to him than being a charming rogue, something his grandmother had been telling him for years.
But it was Prue’s belief in him that had tipped the scales. If she would wait for him to see his plan through and it found a degree of success, he would consider himself the luckiest man alive.
Panic set in when his search for her in the ballroom failed. He briefly closed his eyes and reminded himself that even if she’d left London, he could follow her. He was willing to do anything necessary to win her heart.
After a deep breath, he opened his eyes again, joy spearing through him to find her across the room, visiting with her cousin. Somehow, her appearance at just this moment proved their connection and that he was doing the right thing.
Now he need only share his feelings and hope she felt the same. His heart pounded frantically as he moved through the crowd toward her.
“Prue.” He couldn’t see anyone but her.
She turned slowly to face him, a hint of a smile on her face. “Silas.”
Her pale blue gown made her eyes sparkle, and her cheeks bloomed with color. Dare he believe she was pleased to see him despite the way they’d parted?
“May I speak with you?” He glanced at those around her, dipping his head to greet her mother and aunt who stood a short distance away, as well as her cousin. It wouldn’t do to offend her family when he hoped to be a part of it.
Rather than immediately answer, Prue glanced at Miss Davies, who nodded.
Prue grinned and looked back at him. “I should very much like to dance with you.”
He frowned, confused. “But I’m not trying to win the wager.” In fact, he’d given up on the idea, having decided to rely on the money the Monet would raise and hope that not only was it sufficient, but that he could repay the pawnbroker and retrieve the painting.
“I know.” Prue’s smile remained firmly in place.
“But we want you to,” Miss Davies added. “According to Lord Randolph, you and Viscount Maynard are tied for first and this is the final ball before a winner is declared.”
“We?” He still didn’t understand. The wager was the last thing on his mind.
“The wallflowers,” Prue said. “I took the liberty of telling them about the need for funds to create a model of the windmill to test.” A shy look came over her, and her gaze briefly dropped to the floor before she met his eyes again. “I also shared how much I have come to...care for you.”
Silas’s heart threatened to beat from his chest at the sweet admission. He glanced over to see if her mother and aunt were listening, but they were conversing with others.
“We have all agreed that it is a worthy cause.” Miss Davies beamed. “Besides, none of us want Viscount Maynard to win. We would much rather he have to pay you.”
Silas was overwhelmed and deeply touched. “That’s kind of you but unnecessary. I have found another way to pay for the prototype.”
“Then you shall have even more funds to aid you.” Miss Davies nodded and so did Prue.
“As you can see, the matter is settled. We wallflowers are not to be countered once we’ve made a decision.” Prue lifted a brow. “Shall we dance?”
“I would enjoy nothing more.” Silas offered his arm, his heart settling into place when she took it. He tucked her hand under his arm, holding it firmly, certain nothing had ever felt better. “You are amazing.”
“I am resourceful,” Prue corrected with a flirtatious smile as they walked to the dance floor.
“I can’t promise anything as of yet,” he began, the need to be completely honest dimming the joy of being with her. “If the prototype fails—”
“You will improve it until it succeeds.” The matter-of-fact way she spoke was nearly his undoing.
He could no longer deny how much he loved her. She was everything he needed and nothing he deserved.
“Uncle Arthur has provided me—or rather, us—with a list of other potential investors.”