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Even though he knew it was wrong, his heart took a great leap. He rested his cheek against her silky hair and inhaled warm, rumpled woman, wishing yet again that there was any way...

But there wasn’t. He lifted her arms from his neck and sat back. “You ought not to. I only came so you could give me a proper dressing down.”

She blinked again. “But why? Of course I was terribly surprised at Lady Plympton’s party—I’d been looking for you simply everywhere, and then I didn’t know what to say when you were right in front of me. So I jumped at you and insisted you act as if we were old acquaintances, which was rather mad⁠—”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. That sounded suspiciously like an apology, which wasn’t right. He was here to apologize to her.

“And then Mr. Crane came and I couldn’t think. I only wanted him to go away, and Joan wasn’t there to distract him, and then I was so flustered I just went home. But I’ve thought about it all night, and only just now, while I was sleeping, I think, did it come to me⁠—”

“Mariah, what are you talking about?” he interrupted.

“Why you are employed with Lord Crane,” she said. He could only stare at her. She smiled, her face glowing. “But it’s fine! You’re not the first, you know. My mother’s youngest brother was also a secretary for some time, I had completely forgotten—then he went into Parliament⁠—”

He must have made a noise or done something to betray his dawning realization. She thought he was a younger son, still a gentleman. Still someone of her class.

“What?” she whispered anxiously.

Slowly, woodenly, Harry shook his head.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “But--But you must be,” she said in a voice that began to tremble. “Many younger sons take employment as secretaries, particularly with men like Lord Crane. It would be such a good opportunity...”

Harry sat back on his heels, a vague sense of contempt filling him. But for whom? He could hardly blame her for wanting—expecting—him to be a gentleman. Her life was filled with gentlemen. He, on the other hand, knew he was no such thing and had known it from the beginning. He had known only that he wanted her to want him, and that she would never even speak to him if she knew who he was. This was his just reward, he told himself bitterly.

Suddenly he was angry. Angry at her, for trying so hard to make him acceptable by her standards. Angry at himself, for wanting her so desperately that he had let her deceive herself. She was a wealthy elegant lady, born for someone in the peerage. He was nothing more than a common actor, playing at being a spy, no one worthy of her.

He surged to his feet and paced away, trying to suppress his resentment and anger and simmering frustration with his circumstances. It wasn’t Mariah’s fault. She had been born to her lofty station just as innocently as he had been born to his lowly one. At least she had not pretended to be what she was not.

She interpreted his actions correctly. “No!” she gasped after a moment. “I cannot believe it. You—you must be a gentleman. You’re the younger son of an earl, or a viscount—even a barrister⁠—”

He put up a hand to stop her. “No,” he said shortly. “No, I am not.”

There was a moment of dreadful silence. Harry scowled, wishing he could have said yes. But his father was an actor; his grandfather had been a tailor. He was not a gentleman.

“It’s so bloody unfair!” Mariah exploded abruptly, pounding her pillow.

He rocked back on his heels. “What isn’t fair?” Besides the fact that I’m falling in love with you and can’t have you...

“It’s not fair that you should have to sneak around to see me while tedious people like Mr. Crane may call on me and waste the entire day. And why, I ask you? Merely because his uncle is a viscount!”

Harry, about to speak, paused.

“Just because he’s going to have a title someday, he may speak to any female he chooses,” Mariah raged on. “While I must sit and wait until a proper, acceptable man finds me. What an unfair thing it is, to be a female!”

That disarmed his anger like nothing else could have. He laughed ruefully. “Perhaps, but you’re far too beautiful for a boy.”

Her mouth twisted, and she punched the pillow again, without force. Her dark hair was coming loose from her braid and fell forward, hiding her face. He drew in a deep breath and let it out, all at once tired and resigned. “I came to apologize⁠—”

“How did you get into our ball?” she demanded. Harry tensed. “Secretaries don’t go to balls. They aren’t invited. Lord Crane would never bring you, not to my mother’s ball. How did you get in?”

“Perhaps I snuck in,” he said, dodging a direct answer.

“But you would stand out. No one would know you, and at my mother’s ball, everyone knew everyone, or at least of them. And if you snuck in, why? What did you intend to gain?”

A plausible story was on the tip of his tongue; every step he took, he had a story prepared. Things could go wrong, people could make mistakes. He might be caught out or suspected at any moment.

But he had already lied to Mariah enough. Even though it went against everything he had been told to do, he thought it might be better to tell her something like the truth, if only to keep her from trying to discover it herself.

“You must believe me,” he began, “when I swear I had an honorable purpose. It was not for personal gain, and I did nothing to harm or embarrass any of your guests or your family—but I can’t tell you why.”