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Alex stepped out of the carriage, her feet aching from all the dancing she’d done tonight. She was looking forward to a hot bath and a warm fire before bed as well as her after-ball dessert left out by the cook. No matter how she tried to direct her thoughts as she walked toward her home, her mind kept straying back to one forbidden subject: Ambrose Worthing, the notorious rakehell from London.
After her encounter with Ambrose and that waltz, he’d departed from the assembly hall, which had left her feeling safe and yet strangely disappointed. She didn’t want to admit it, but she’d longed to have one more dance with him, even though she had decided she didn’t like him. He was a marvelous dancer.
Her father, James Westfall, the Earl of Rockford, greeted her at the door.
“Papa, what are
