Page 3 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

“Hear, hear,” Victor mumbled.

And even though he didn’t wish to attend the event, Victor had donned his finest evening wear and was doing his damnedest to make the most of his night at Miss Merrick’s come-out ball. If nothing else, annoying his mother would be worth every dull moment.

Lydia tapped him with her fan again. Thank God the dance was almost over.

“Are you listening to me, Victor?”

Trying not to.“Of course. What were you saying?”

Lydia lowered her voice conspiratorially. “During her presentation at court, Miss Merrick tripped on her gown and fell on her—well, herderrièrein front of the whole assembly.” The smirk on Lydia’s face contrasted sharply with her feigned embarrassment over saying the word derrière. “I’m surprised she’s showing her face this evening. Of course, what can one expect from a commoner?”

“You should be more forgiving of people’s misfortunes, Lydia. You may have need of compassion yourself one day.”

Once the dance ended and Victor deposited Lydia back with her parents, he joined Priscilla and her husband, Timothy, hoping for more amiable company.

Priscilla tapped him with her fan. What was it with women and those fans?! He wanted to rip them to shreds! “What?” he barked.

She gave him a firmer swat.

“Ow! That hurt.”

Timothy, chuckled. “She is vicious, Victor. You should know that.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if either of you would pay attention. Victor, go ask Miss Merrick to dance. The only eligible gentleman who has danced with her was Mr. Beckham. He’s such a flirt; I doubt Juliana even counted it as interest. The man even flirted with me last year at Burwood’s house party.”

Timothy growled next to her, and Priscilla reached back and flicked her fan at him, landing a direct hit on Timothy’s stomach.

“Serves you right.” Victor fought back the laugh.

“Please, Victor. It will make the girl feel better. You’re young and somewhat good-looking.”

“Somewhat?” Victor raised a brow. “Cilla, I think that’s as close to a compliment as I will ever receive from you.” He sighed. “Very well. But be sure to report it back to Mother. I do so enjoy annoying her.”

He strode toward Miss Merrick, whose eyes widened at his approach.

“Miss Merrick. May I have the honor of the next set?” He held out his hand. From the corner of his eye, he saw her brother, the duke, give a nod.

Pink rose to her cheeks. “I would be delighted, sir.” She slipped her gloved hand into his as he led her to the dance floor. “Thank you for rescuing me, Mr. Pratt,” she whispered. “You are my hero.”

Victor’s stomach clenched.Hero?Surely not. Was the girl reading more into his gesture than intended—a simple dance? He glanced down at the fan dangling from her wrist. Arguing with her might result in an assault with the feminine weapon.

Instead, he smiled as they took their places for the cotillion. Thank God it wasn’t a waltz. Women put such store in that particular dance. Victor bowed, and upon rising, his gaze snagged on Miss Merrick’s. A shock jolted through him at her blue eyes, bringing back the memory he’d tried in vain to push down. He jerked his gaze away.

Adalyn’s cerulean-blue eyes sparkled in his mind, and the familiar dull ache pinged in his chest.

“Mr. Pratt? Is something wrong?” Miss Merrick’s voice brought him back.

“Forgive me, Miss Merrick.” Victor did his best to smile his apology. He forced his gaze back to hers. No, not cerulean. The slight tinge of violet made Miss Merrick’s eyes more of a cornflower-blue. Thank goodness.

A shade darker than Adalyn’s almost silver-blond, Victor studied Miss Merrick’s hair, appreciating how the candlelight brought out strands of red in her golden locks.

No, Miss Merrick wasnotAdalyn Lovelace. Victor sighed in relief. “You look lovely this evening, Miss Merrick.” Something flashed in Miss Merrick’s—decidedly—cornflower-blue eyes at Victor’s polite comment.

Disbelief?

Distrust?

“As opposed to?” she asked.

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