Ormonde came to a stop before her, and the breath in Tessa’s lungs became stuck. Was he here to gloat? For that was certainly triumph singing in his summer-blue eyes. Was he… oh… was he here to claim his one night? As the Duchess of Acaster began to make introductions, Tessa interrupted. “The marquess and I are acquainted.” The duchess’s eyebrows looked as if they would lift off her forehead as her gaze flicked back and forth between Tessa and Ormonde. She was adding one and one together and clearly arriving at two. And the subtle smile curved about Ormonde’s mouth… It held more than triumph. Arrogance. One would expect as much from a victor. But his smile held something else, too—something solely for her. Determination. If she’d harbored the slender hope that he would forgive her debt without claiming it, like a gentleman should, all such hope was immediately dashed. Then he bowed, pivoted, and strode away. Was that a swagger she detected in his step? Who was this Marquess of Ormonde? “You’re acquainted with the marquess?” Tessa realized she was staring at the back of the man. Or, more accurately, the backside of the man. My, but he…