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Ian grinned. Not because Lady Carlyle was obviously offering herself for a liaison; he didn’t care about that. But because he’d finally decided on a plan for approaching Mrs. St. John.

She was a widow, too. Society would not care about who she was engaging in a relationship with. Seducing her was the least scandalous and most inconspicuous plan he could come up with. And right at this moment, she was heading toward the balcony. Alone.

“Would you perhaps bring me a drink?” Lady Carlyle licked her lips, her eyes glinting with promise.

Ian deftly swiped a glass of wine from one footman’s tray and handed it to her.

“It was a pleasure,” he said with a low bow and then slunk onto the balcony after Mrs. St. John.

* * *

Helen stood alone in the corner of the grand ballroom, her eyes scanning the room as the couples twirled to the live orchestra. The chandeliers above sparkled, the candlelight illuminating the room in a warm glow.

Helen missed the dancing. She wished she could be among the crowd, twirling to the tune of the music with Greyson’s strong arms guiding her…

She looked down and discreetly wiped away the tears. The truth was that even if Greyson was with her, he wouldn’t allow her to dance. He hadn’t let her do that for a few years now. She was too feeble to do anything requiring even light exertion.

She felt fine at the moment, but she knew quite well that that could change easily and she would make a scene by fainting in the middle of the dancefloor.

Her stomach was tied in knots.

She closed her eyes briefly, and the tip of her tongue peeked out to touch her upper lip. Salty.

It was hot in the ballroom. Too hot. And she’d been standing here in the corner for quite some time now.

First, she had been certain to speak to the hosts of the ball and then she had greeted all of Olivia’s friends. She had watched Jarvis and Olivia dance. Now that they’d disappeared, she simply observed the other dancers, feeling quite hot.

She wanted a drink.

No, she needed a drink.

She was sweltering in her old gown, her silk skirts, the chemise clinging to her sweaty skin and making her increasingly uncomfortable in the unbearable heat of the ballroom. Her lips were dry, the pulse pounding in her temples.

The feeling of nausea made it up her throat, and she knew that she was about to faint or cast up her accounts. Neither was a preferred scenario.

Helen craned her neck to look at the line gathered by the refreshments table. People were laughing and chatting eagerly, in no hurry to get their drinks and leave.

If she were to move toward the refreshments table, she’d have to engage in polite conversation, but with sweat lining the inside of her gown and difficulty breathing, she would not be pleasant company.

The footmen walked around the ballroom carrying wine and champagne, something Helen knew she could not allow herself to drink. She wrinkled her nose.

There was a third option, less favorable but more attainable in her current situation. She needed to get out of the ballroom.

Desperately searching for an escape, Helen looked around the room for an exit. The loud buzz of the ball, and the blur in her eyes did not make this an easy task.

Finally, she spotted the French doors at the other end of the room and made her way toward them on wobbly feet. Her heart beating rapidly, she finally reached the doors and pushed them open.

The cool evening air rushed over her, providing immediate relief as she stepped out onto the balcony.

She breathed in deeply, taking in the fresh air and letting it wash over her.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

She didn’t know how long she stood there. Time lost all meaning, and she tried to calm her body and mind. But after a while she could concentrate on the sounds again, differentiating the music from the noise, and she could make out shapes in the garden instead of an unshapely blur. The headache subsided, and the cool air brought a renewed sense of vitality. She walked over to the railing and propped her arms against it as she looked out over the garden. The little paths were lit up by lanterns, and she could see people—couples—walking through them, looking for a place of seclusion.

She wondered if that was what Olivia and Jarvis were doing since they’d disappeared from the ballroom.

Helen would have enjoyed the walk, too. The suffocating ballroom was too much to bear at the moment.