I gaped at Lord Windham. Whatever was he about now? He winked at me. I frowned at him.

“Yes, it’s quite tragic for men of my ilk, but truly Miss Delacourt is more deserving of a duke, or, at the very least, a viscount.”

Some of the matrons seated near us trilled with laughter. “What a sense of humor! And quite handsome, too,” one of them said in an overly loud whisper. I could feel my hands shaking.

“Stop this nonsense right now. Have you been in the cups?” I hissed at him through my teeth.

He smiled beatifically down at me, “I’ll stop if you let me have your dance card.”

I fumbled through my reticule, nearly tipping the entire contents of my glass of punch into my lap. After much work, I was able to extricate the dance card.

“Fine, here it is.”

Lord Windham bent over the card and scratched something on it, then handed it back to me.

I stared at what he’d written. He’d put his name down for nine o’clock and ten o’clock.

I looked back up, a question already forming on my lips. But he was gone.