If he was forced to attend more balls and social events than he normally would, at least he could do his best to enjoy them. Preston smiled down at the young debutante he was dancing with. When Amelia had teased him about enjoying dancing, she had been correct. He did. So if she made him go to these balls to act like her lovesick beau, then he might as well dance. Two dances for Amelia, the rest he was free to dance with whomever he so chose. Currently, it was a Miss Angelique Grafton, the younger sister of James Grafton, Viscount Gowthorpe. She was perhaps a little out of practice on the dance steps, but a pleasant enough conversational partner that he did not mind.

Amelia had been strangely distant with him since the ball the previous week when she had gone home with a migraine. Not distant enough to entirely ruin the impression that he was courting her, but he could tell the difference. There had been no impromptu visits to his house. No private chats in the corner of a ballroom. She'd even declined when he'd sent a note asking if she wanted to go for a ride in Hyde Park.

Something was definitely up. He just could not figure out what it could be. So far, he had done everything she had asked of him. Admittedly, somewhat grudgingly, but he felt justified in his reluctance. Why was she avoiding him? A quick glance confirmed that she was currently dancing with Pensington. Was it progressing better than he had realised? That could explain why she had not sought him out. If her plan was working, he would soon live out his usefulness. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. No. He did know, he just didn't particularly wish to dwell on it.

The dance ended, and he brought his dance partner back to her brother, then left after a curt bow. He'd seen Amelia sneak out into the garden, so after grabbing a glass of punch, he walked over to the open back doors and followed. Hopefully, she had not snuck out to meet Pensington for a tryst. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth, which he tried to wash away with a mouthful of the sweet punch.

The white of a dress disappeared around a row of rose bushes as he came outside. What was she thinking, walking away from the house and the lights? If anyone discovered her out here with a man, it would be quite the scandal. He debated whether he should go back inside to ensure he was not the one caught with her but decided against it. Having been out in most of these gardens in the past, he knew a lot of the areas where one could hide from view and could probably save her if someone came too close.

Stepping off the terrace and out into the garden, the grass crunched under his feet as he followed the path Amelia had taken. It took him a few minutes of searching, but he eventually found her pacing back and forth inside a natural gazebo of ivy and clinging roses. Muttering under her breath, she did not see him at first, allowing him a moment to watch her undisturbed.

In the dusky evening, her dark brown hair appeared almost black while the skin by her neckline was almost translucent in the pale moonlight seeping through the gaps in the leafy gazebo. With her white ball gown, she looked like a ghostly spirit as she strode from one side to the other, over and over.

Taking another sip of his drink, he then cleared his throat. She jumped, her head turning to stare at him.

"Preston!" She sighed. "You gave me a scare."

"Beg your pardon," he mumbled as he leaned lightly against one of the wooden posts creating the foundation of the gazebo. "Is something the matter?"

"No, not at all." Something in her tone belied her words, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Are you certain? I feel like you have been avoiding me lately."

"Have I?" she asked, her tone light. "I had not realised."

Lifting the glass to his lips, he took another swig. She was definitely acting odd. "Are your plans with Pensington proceeding so well that you no longer need my help?"

She stared at him for a moment as if she didn't understand his meaning, then she nodded. "Oh, yes. It's..." She groaned, throwing her hands out in a moment of frustration. "No. He has danced with me a few times, but is showing no sign of anything beyond polite interest."

Was it bad of him to feel relieved? Probably. He did not care. "I did warn you when you started this," he pointed out, and was rewarded by a glare.

"Thank you for the reminder." She rolled her eyes.

Feeling a little guilty for being so happy about her failure, he pushed away from the ivy-clad post and took a step towards her. "I'm sorry, Amelia. But you will find someone." He forced an encouraging smile. "Who wouldn't want you?"

She scoffed. "Lord Pensington, apparently."

"In his defence, he does not want a wife at all." He watched as she shifted from one foot to the other, her arms across her chest. "Are you cold?"

"No."

"Is this why you have been avoiding me?"

"I have not been avoiding you," she muttered, but her eyes would not meet his. When he quirked an eyebrow, she sighed. "Maybe a little."

He shook his head. While he'd suspected as much, he could not figure out why. "Because you no longer need me?"

"Maybe." She shrugged, still refusing to look at him. "It is not as if you have missed my company. You have been constantly dancing and speaking to other young ladies."

"Amelia?" His chest tightened. It seemed impossible, but... "Are you jealous that I am dancing with others?"

"No!" That denial came far too fast and far too forcefully. She appeared to realise the same as she made a face. "I am not proud of it," she muttered. "It is not as if I want to be jealous."

Realising he was holding on to the glass too tightly, Preston forced himself to relax his grip. "I do not understand," he said quietly. "You have no romantic interest in me."

She finally lifted her head to stare at him, her brown eyes clouded with anger and frustration. "I certainly do not wish to!" she snapped. "You are all wrong. But attraction cares little about suitability. It matters not. I am sure it is fleeting and so I will not bother you with it."

He took another step towards her, noting that she did not move. "You are correct. Attraction cares little for anything. We cannot choose who we are attracted to."

"Life would be a lot easier if we could."

A dark chuckle escaped him. "I could not agree more."

Another step brought him before her, and she craned her neck to meet his gaze. "Who are you attracted to?"

You.

The word hung unspoken between them as they stared at each other in the faint moonlight.

Preston gave her a self-deprecating smile. "I think you know."

"But you find me a nuisance. Adrian's annoying little sister."

"A very charming nuisance."

His free hand came up to cup her cheek, and she tilted her head to rest against his palm. He wanted to kiss her so badly. This was a terrible idea. Her breathing was shallow as she stood still. Near enough that he smelled the light flowery scent that he associated with her. Near enough that he only had to lean down slightly if he wanted to feel her lips against his. The temptation was so strong that there might as well have been a rope between them, pulling them closer. And it was a fight he was quickly losing.

I said I would never kiss her. That I will never jeopardise her honour.

Forcing himself to drop his hand and straighten was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

Amelia's eyes followed him as he took a step backwards. She smiled wryly. "Can't be that attracted to me then."

Sod it! The glass thumped as it hit the grass when he dropped it and closed the distance between them again, pressing his mouth to hers in a searing kiss with more passion than finesse. Amelia's hands came up to thread her fingers through the hair at the back of his head. Embracing her, he pulled her closer, angling his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue stole across her lips.

Kissing her was everything he had imagined and more. The way her soft body melted against his. The soft sighs as he teased her tongue with his own. This was a terrible idea. He never wanted to let her go. Never wanted to kiss another woman again. Bloody hell.

Pulling back, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the night air. She took a shuddering breath. Then another. Her fingers disentangled from his hair and her hands slid down to his chest. He nearly lost his footing when she suddenly pushed him backwards.

"No!" she cried. "No, no, no! This is all wrong! You're all wrong!"

He stared at her, not entirely sure how to react. "What?"

She pointed an accusatory index finger in his direction. "You're a rake," she said.

Frowning, he ran a hand through his hair. "Yes," he admitted. "But that is not—"

"I have vowed never to fall for a rake again. They cannot be trusted. Never again!"

Before he could react, she pushed past him and disappeared into the darker part of the garden. He stared after her. Again?

~~~~~~