“How much?”

“Callie.” Mariana whispered, trying to avoid a scene, but Callie held up a hand to stay her words.

“How much, my lord?”

He looked away. “Two thousand pounds.”

Callie felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her.

“When?” she whispered.

“Callie—”

“When?” She repeated, louder.

“The afternoon of your sister’s betrothal ball.”

Callie’s face fell. “The day you asked me to dance.”

His eyes widened as he registered the timeline. “Callie—”

“No.” She shook her head. “And when did you double it?”

When he did not answer, she turned to Oxford. “When did he double it?”

Oxford wavered. “Tuesday.”

The morning he proposed. He’d still thought of her as nothing more than a wager only a short time ago.

“I should have known,” she whispered, the sound so sad, so raw, that Ralston thought his heart would break. “I should have known you didn’t really…you couldn’t really…” She trailed off. She took a deep breath before she looked up at him, her enormous brown eyes glistening with unshed tears, and said, “I would have helped you with Juliana anyway. I would have done anything you asked of me.”

The truth of her past unwavering devotion overwhelmed her, and a single tear tracked down her cheek before she wiped it away in irritation. She could barely hear the sounds of the ball beyond for the blood pounding in her ears as a wave of familiar insecurity crashed over her.

She had been so very very stupid.

How many times had she told herself that Ralston was not for her? That she was too plain, too plump, too inexperienced and uninteresting to capture his interest? How many times had she been warned? By her family, her friends, his mistress, for God’s sake. And yet she had allowed herself to believe that the fantasy could be real. That, one day, the world had tilted just so on its axis and Ralston had fallen for her. And here he was…wagering on her future. Playing with her emotions and her love as though she were a toy to be used, then cast aside.

And she felt so very cast aside.

It was so easy to believe that she meant so little to him. So tempting to fall back into the comfortable invisibility that came with being a passive wallflower whom so few people really noticed.

And that was what hurt the most.

Pulling herself up to her full height and squaring her shoulders before she spoke, emotion gone from her voice. “You really have won, my lord. For, not only am I not marrying Lord Oxford, I am not marrying you, either. I release you from our betrothal. You are free to resume your life of self-indulgence and profligacy.”

He opened his mouth to speak, to stay her, to explain everything—his silly pride, his ridiculous, irrational anger in the face of the idiot Oxford—but she cut him off before he could speak. “I only ask that you stay as far away from me as possible.”

And then she was gone, pushing past Benedick and Oxford into the ballroom beyond, Mariana following closely behind.

Ralston moved to follow, twin bursts of uncertainty and pride coursing through him at her newfound strength, at her powerful confidence, at her unwillingness to compromise her desires. He wanted to capture her and tell her the whole truth—that he didn’t care about Juliana’s coming out or about his family’s reputation or about anything else.

“Leave her.” The words, hard and unfeeling, came from the Earl of Allendale, who had placed himself between Ralston and the entrance to the ballroom the moment his sister had escaped.

“I never wanted to hurt her. The wager means nothing. I don’t need the money, Allendale. You know that.”

“I do know that. And I don’t fully understand what possessed you to continue with this ridiculous game.” Allendale remained unmoving, daring Ralston to come at him. “Nevertheless, you have hurt her. And if you go near her again, I shall trounce you. As it is, we shall have a beast of a time dealing with a broken engagement.”

“The engagement is not broken.” Ralston’s voice was steel.

“You should let it go, Ralston. She is not worth it,” Oxford said cheerfully.

Ralston turned to face the all-but-forgotten dandy who had single-handedly destroyed the best thing in his life, and said, “What did you say?”

“I said she’s not worth it,” Oxford pressed on, oblivious to the hardened planes of Ralston’s face—to the harsh stiffening of his body. “Certainly, the best thing about spinsters is that they’re eager for a toss, but you can’t really mean to tell me you need to resort to one as plain and uninspiring as that one. Although, it did appear that she was more than willing to lift her skirts for you…and I suppose that is something.”

Benedick stiffened, and fury, hot and quick, coursed through Ralston at the words, so demeaning and unpleasant, directed at the woman he planned to make his wife. Because there was absolutely no question that Callie was going to be his wife.

Drunk or no, Oxford would pay for his words.

Reaching out, Ralston grabbed Oxford by the lapels of his topcoat and slammed him against the stone wall that marked one edge of the balcony. The force of the blow took the breath out of the baron, and, gasping for air, he slumped to the ground, clutching his chest.

Ralston looked down his long, elegant nose at the vile creature at his feet, and said, “You just impugned the honor of my future marchioness. Choose your seconds. I will see you at dawn.”

Leaving Oxford sputtering on the ground, Ralston spun on one elegant heel to face Benedick. “When I am done with him, I am coming for your sister. And, if you intend to keep me from her, you had better have an army at your side.”