The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection by Dorothy McFalls

gentleman with the stark black coat was Mr. Rankcor, a happily married London banker.
    Aunt Winnie’s pursed lips and carefully set frown startled May back to reality. Winnie cared as deeply for May’s happiness as May cared for Winnie’s. And Winnie would willingly move to Redfield Abbey to live in luxury with her brother if she was confident that May was happily settled. If not for concern over May’s future, Winnie probably would have already agreed to let Uncle Sires care for her.
    May fluttered her hands. “I mean, Aunt, I don’t really know Mr. Tumblestone, do I? He seems a very kind man.”
    “He does.” Aunt Winnie sat back on her bench and peered out from half-lidded eyes. May felt as if her aunt’s gaze was trying to tease out the truth. “Marriage is an important decision, May. You would be wise to avoid doing anything rash.”
    How could Aunt Winnie know that despite Mr. Tumblestone’s behavior being the model of propriety, May was already wracking her mind with plans to wiggle out of a marriage with him?
    “I promise to consider all aspects of marriage before making a decision, Aunt.” She would have to marry Mr. Tumblestone . . . if only for Winnie’s happiness. No other man had ever offered.
    “There is something you must know, dear.” Winnie leaned forward and whispered. “Before you make up your mind. You must understand—”
    Mr. Tumblestone approached with a confident swagger. Winnie blushed prettily as she looked up and noticed his approach. Whatever May needed to understand must have slipped Winnie’s mind as she straightened her skirt and gave May’s suitor a welcoming nod.
    Tumblestone smiled widely, his gaze lingering again on May’s embarrassing chest while he bowed. “The night grows late, ladies. It is nearly eleven o’clock. The last dance begins.” He offered Aunt Winnie his arm. “And yet, my dear woman, you have not yet danced a set.”
    How kind Mr. Tumblestone was. How thoughtful of him to think her aunt in need of rescue. Aunt Winnie, who rarely danced a set since the onset of her illness, fluttered her hands and accepted graciously. She looked decades younger as she batted her lashes while accepting Mr. Tumblestone’s hand.
    “Please be careful, Aunt,” May could not keep herself from warning. Country-dances contained vigorous moves. Winnie mustn’t overexert herself or her heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
    “Oh, pooh! You worry overmuch. You’re no different than an old clucking hen sometimes. I daresay I’m strong enough to survive one mild dance,” Winnie said as Mr. Tumblestone led her out to the marble dance floor.
    May settled on the wooden bench in the spot Aunt Winnie had vacated. Her gaze continued to search as she watched the last set of the night begin.
    No prince appeared from the card room nor from deep within the crowd. Why should she expect him to? He never danced.
    May swallowed hard and straightened her spine.
    She was a fool, naught but a fool.
    There were no magical princes lurking in the shadows . . . at least, none searching for her.

Chapter 6
    “Tell me you haven’t sunk into a foul mood again,” Wynter demanded of Radford when he barged into the drawing room in typical Wynter fashion.
    The two had avoided each other for most of the day after parting in anger the previous morning. After the incident in the Pump Room—which still left Radford cringing—Wynter had dressed him up and down, using language colorful enough to make the most hardened rough-and-tumble foot soldier flinch.
    “Gentlemen, no matter how arrogant or high-in-the-instep, do not treat women as if they were naught but sotted servants,” Wynter had said finally.
    Though Radford agreed, he refused to put voice to his holding the same opinion or to promise to change his ways. He merely professed a willingness to court the young Lady Lillian. A confession that sent Wynter into another rage.
    “But, Wynter, you must see the benefits,” Radford had said with hopes