She did not hide her exasperation. “Is there something you wanted, my lord?”

“An intriguing question,” he said, enigmatically, before adding, “I should like to speak with you.”

All of a sudden, Oxford seemed rather the lesser of two evils. “Now is not an ideal time. Perhaps another day? I am here with an escort.” She turned purposefully, eager to make a quick exit.

“It appears that your escort has left you to your own defenses,” Ralston pointed out wryly. “I couldn’t very well allow you to navigate this crush alone. It wouldn’t be at all gentlemanly.”

Frustration flared. Could he not just leave her alone? Callie narrowed her gaze. “Yes, well, certainly you wouldn’t want to appear less than gentlemanly.” The slight emphasis on the word spoke volumes. “You needn’t worry, my lord. I am certain that the baron will return presently.”

“In this crowd? I wouldn’t wager good money on it,” he said, his tone dry.

The man was thoroughly exasperating. Callie made to escape him only to find herself unable to escape for the crush of people around them. She stamped her foot, irritated, and turned back to him. “You did this on purpose,” she said, peevishly.

“You think I orchestrated these throngs to ensnare you?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“You entirely misjudge my power over the ton, Empress.”

She flushed at the nickname, so intimate, before whispering. “Don’t call me that.”

He took hold of her elbow and guided her into the West Gallery. She protested his forcing her to follow him briefly, before she realized that removing herself from his grasp was liable to get them both noticed and set tongues wagging.

Once within the side gallery, he released her elbow but guided her to the far end of the room, through the clusters of people viewing the paintings hanging on every inch of wall to a large screen that cordoned off a piece of the enormous room.

“Where are you taking me?” she whispered, darting glances at the crowds of people surrounding them—all of whom seemed oblivious to her abduction.

He pushed her behind the screen, following her into the quiet alcove, and they were alone again. Callie was once more consumed by emotion, equal parts excitement and fear. The enormous mahogany screen had been set several feet from the wall of west-facing windows to block the sun from obstructing the views of the paintings. The screen reached far above their heads, creating a pool of brilliant sunlight and muffling the sound of the exhibition beyond.

The perfect place for a lovers’ tryst. Callie pushed the thought from her head and summoned the anger and hurt that she’d been feeling in the days since her last interaction with Ralston. She could not let him have the upper hand. Not here. “Are you mad?” she whispered, irritated.

“No one saw,” Ralston said.

“How could you know that?”

“Because I know.” He reached out a hand to touch her face.

She flinched from his touch. “Don’t touch me.”

Emotion flashed in his eyes at her movement, there, then gone before she could define it. “I would never do anything to damage your reputation, Callie.” The words were honest.

“Forgive me, my lord, but it rather seems that everything you do near me is a risk to my reputation.” She lashed out, desperate to hurt him, eager for him to feel the pain that she had felt for the days since she’d seen him last.

One side of Ralston’s mouth lifted. “I deserved that.”

“And much more.” She met his eyes boldly. “I told you that afternoon in your ballroom, my lord, I’m through with these interludes. And with you. You have quite extraordinarily misinterpreted my interest. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Baron Oxford will be searching for me.”

“You can’t really be serious about Oxford.”

She ignored him, instead moving to pass him and escape around the edge of the screen into the room beyond. He captured her hand as she pushed past, and the touch stopped her. He did not hold her firmly enough that she couldn’t extricate herself from his grasp, but the heat of his gloved hand against her own made her look back at him, forced her to meet his eyes.

In that moment, the only thing he wanted was for her to stay with him. For her to forgive him. He’d arrived with Juliana, ready to find Callie and apologize for his boorish behavior—ready to do whatever it took to repair the obvious hurt that he had caused. And he’d located her almost immediately, beaming up at Oxford, clearly having a lovely time, as the pair had reentered the main gallery. The sight had infuriated him—Callie so lovely and happy, Oxford so foppish and simple.

She’d never smiled so openly at Ralston. And if she were to do so, he certainly wouldn’t respond as Oxford had, the fool, walking away from her. No. If she ever looked at him in such a way, he’d sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Hang the Royal Art Exhibition.

Hell. He wanted to kiss her senseless right then, and she certainly wasn’t smiling at him.

He’d find a way to repair the damage he’d caused. But first, he had to eliminate Oxford from the equation. The stupid wager that he’d made with the ridiculous baron, was just that—stupid. Ralston now understood that he’d done nothing but taunt Oxford into proving his ability to win Callie; he was not going to give up the chase for Callie. Particularly not with one thousand pounds riding on its outcome.

“Don’t get attached to Oxford,” Ralston said.

“Whyever not?” Her words taunted him.