When he could manage to speak again, Fellows asked sharply, “Who is he?”

“Gilbert Franklin. The Honorable. His dad’s an earl. England’s bloody thick with earls, don’t you think? Can’t turn around without tripping over one. He was at the notorious garden party, you know. If he’s sweet on Louisa, he might have a reason to do in Hargate. You could always arrest him and ask him.”

Daniel wasn’t smiling, but amusement definitely hovered near. Fellows turned a cold look on him.

“I don’t arrest people and get them convicted for my convenience,” Fellows said. “My job is to find true villains and keep them from hurting others.”

Was Daniel cowed at the admonishment? No, his grin broke free. “Ah ha—so you admit it would be to your convenience.”

Fellows scowled. “You probably should go off on your world travels soon, Danny. Might take the cockiness out of you.”

“I doubt that.” Daniel gave him a tip of his glass. “I doubt it very much.”

Daniel turned and sauntered away. Fellows watched him go, reflecting that however arrogant Daniel was, he was smart and too perceptive for his own good.

He looked back at the dance floor, but Louisa had gone. Fellows craned to see her, but her shining red hair glittering with diamonds had vanished.

Fellows circled around the crowd to search for her again, even while he growled at himself for doing it.

***

“I’m fine, really,” Louisa said. Gilbert had her seated on a divan at the end of the ballroom. He’d brought lemonade and an ice, and then sat down and held them for her while she partook. “You don’t need to stay with me.”

“I need to look after you,” Gil said reasonably. “You might have a sprain, and it would be my fault. It is either this or I carry you out of the ballroom in my arms, and what would people think?”

“Don’t be so silly.” But Louisa smiled. Gil had the knack of making people feel better.

She’d stumbled in her too-high heels because she’d seen Lloyd Fellows standing at the edge of the ballroom. He’d been wearing a kilt—one of the Mackenzie plaids that Hart had thrust upon him. It fit him well, hugging his hips, smooth against his thighs, showing his strong legs below its hem. He wore a coat as finely tailored as any man’s here, though it looked better on him because he had the body to fill it out.

The bruises from whatever brawl he’d been in were obvious on his face, though he was clean-shaven tonight. He looked like a warrior who’d taken time off fighting to look in on civilization.

No, Fellows didn’t fit among these soft-faced people. There was still too much of the brute Highlander about him for civilized company. He fought battles out in the world so the ladies and gentlemen in this ballroom could walk about in peace.

“Louisa?” Gil was looking at her. She’d missed what he’d just said.

“I do beg your pardon. I believe my ankle hurts more than I thought it did.” She lied, but Louisa needed a reason to cover for her distracted state.

Gil looked concerned. “Shall I fetch Isabella? Call for your coach?”

“No, no. I only wrenched it a bit. I’ll sit here quietly and watch the dancing.”

“Then I will sit with you.”

Gil handed the empty ice bowl to a passing waiter, fetched another lemonade for Louisa and champagne for himself and sat down with her again. Not too close—no one in the ballroom seeing them seated on the far sides of a divan would think anything inappropriate was afoot. Then again, the two of them even occupying the same piece of furniture might start people talking. Anything for gossip.

“Really, there is no need for you to miss enjoying yourself,” Louisa said. “I will be well.”

Gil leaned closer. “Louisa, you weren’t well when I first spied you here. That idiot Samuel talks more than his brains should let him, and his sister and Adele were being vicious. I’d rather not leave you alone to their knives again. Besides, I can enjoy myself quite well sitting with you.”

Louisa’s face heated at the same time something inside her warmed. “You’re very flattering tonight.”

“Not at all. I was unbelievably distressed about what happened at the garden party. I wanted to comfort you there, but I was shunted away home. I came here tonight hoping to see you again. And I have.”

Louisa smiled at the same time she let her gaze rove the ballroom. She couldn’t see Fellows anywhere. Had he made for the card rooms? Or left the ball altogether? “You’ve always been a friend, Gil,” she said, more to keep up her end of the conversation than anything else. “So kind to the hanger-on of your sister.”

“Oh, I think you know I’ve always viewed you as far more than a hanger-on, Louisa. Or a friend.”

Louisa, with difficulty, pulled her attention back to Gil. His expression was serious, no teasing. She tried to laugh. “I’m not sure I’m in the proper mood for flirting, Gil, dear.”

“And you know it is not flirting.”

Gil’s affable blue eyes held something quiet and heartfelt. Oh, dear.

But, then again, why not? the sensible side of Louisa asked. Gil was the obvious answer to Louisa’s current troubles as well as her quest for matrimony. Louisa still wanted to marry—she wanted a home of her own, respect, children.

An unmarried miss had little say in the world. She lived with her married sister or brother or childhood friend, and was a helper, a companion, an appendage. A married woman, on the other hand, was viewed with respect and even admiration if her marriage was a good one. She could become a great hostess, a leader of her set, a powerful force in her world.