@stcrmlcver
James had never cared much for the crush of the ballroom — not the gossip, nor the simpering introductions that came with every new season. But tonight, for reasons he refused to examine too closely, his gaze kept drifting toward her. The quiet young woman standing near the edge of the floor, looking as though she wished to melt into the wallpaper.
He excused himself from his mother’s side just in time to hear her murmur something to Lady Bridgerton — something about the letter Kate had discovered, the evidence that might return a stolen title to its rightful heir.
James froze. So it was true.
He cleared his throat softly and stepped forward before either woman noticed his eavesdropping.
“Forgive me,” he said, offering a polite bow first to his mother, then to the startled young lady. “But it seems I’ve interrupted something important.”
His gaze settled on her — warm, steady, not unkind.
“If you’ll allow me,” he continued, voice gentler than he intended, “I believe you and I have matters to discuss. And I’d be honored to guide you through whatever… reclaiming your place requires.”










