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He caught her elbow and spun so that his back was to the other two. Then he ran a finger down her cheek. “We haven’t known each other long, my lady. Will you wait for me until next Season?”

“I have no suitors,” she said, turning pink. “That is, I had suitors before, but they … they left. Because of the scandal.”

Thank God for the idiocy of his peers. And for that scandal, whatever it was.

“I would like to speak to your father—to ask him for your hand in marriage—even if you and I cannot meet again until next Season.”

“That’s impossible.” She shook her head. “My cousin and I did not have permission to attend this masquerade. My father would be appalled by knowledge of this evening and must never know of it.”

He took one of his cards from inside his coat and gave it to her. “If you ever have need of me, just send a message. I shall delay my departure from England for another month. Thereafter, my household will forward your missive. Your letter might take some weeks to reach me abroad, but I will always answer you.”

He had been pressing to return to the front, though his doctors were reluctant. Now he planned to exaggerate his injury rather than trivialize it.

She tucked his card inside her domino cloak, dimpling at him. “It would be most inappropriate of me to send you a letter. My father would be outraged. He would die.”

“In that case, your parent would be in the grave several times over if he learned of this evening,” Joshua remarked. “Please write me at least one letter?”

She shook her head.

“So that I can take it with me to battle, folded in my breast pocket,” he added, catching her hands in his and bringing them to his lips.

“Oh goodness,” she murmured, her plump lips curling into a smile. “I shall write to you once, Major, and only if you promise not to question my footman.” She glanced over her shoulder and sighed. “They are quarreling again. My cousin has a dreadfully excitable disposition.”

“And you?” he asked. “Are you excitable?”

“Oh no. Compared to her, I am practically a nun.”

He burst out laughing.

“I mean it! My aunt swears that she has aged ten years in the last year alone because of my cousin’s misadventures.”

“I might age ten years if I thought the two of you would continue racketing about London in masquerade masks,” Joshua said honestly.

“I shan’t do that any longer.” A curious little smile played around her mouth. “I believe my wild oats are sown. We already made a promise not to visit Vauxhall, so our masquerade hats will not come into service again.”

The look in her eyes and her rosy lips … Joshua succumbed to his basest instinct. He reached out to bring his lady’s hand to his mouth again, changed his mind, leaned in, and stole another kiss. A hard, audacious kiss.

Her lips softened under his, and their tongues met. Then:

“Shoo!” she cried, giving him a little shove. “Go sow your wild oats somewhere else, Major FitzRoy!”

As he turned, laughing, he met Lord Devin’s amused eyes. The truth didn’t need to be articulated; they both understood it.

There hadn’t been many wild oats, but there would be no more, whether or not Joshua had to wait a full year to court his future bride.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A MAIDEN OF QUESTIONABLE MODESTY

Livie hopped down from Lord Devin’s coach—he had insisted on driving them the four blocks from the Rothingale residence—and dashed to the side door of the Wharton townhouse with Daisy and their footman Peter close behind her.

The house was as still and quiet as it had been when they snuck out a few hours ago. Once inside, Daisy pushed both dominos into Peter’s arms and hissed, “Please store these away without anyone seeing you.”

Their favorite footman scowled. “If it wouldn’t have created a scene, I’d have come upstairs and hauled you off the dance floor. That party was not for young ladies. The conversation in the kitchen was about how far the household standards have fallen.”

“It was terrible,” Livie agreed, trying to look somber despite her giddiness. “Lord Rothingale is thoroughly debauched, judging by his acquaintances.”

“I found it very interesting!” Daisy cried. She rolled her eyes at Peter’s frown. “We shan’t go back there again or have anything further to do with Rothingale. Word of honor.”