A significant number of the male guests had come there seeking refuge from the ball. Jordan stood in a corner drinking a brandy and talking politics with Lord Cornwall when James Bancroft sauntered up. “Lord Perfect.” Jordan nodded. “Seems as if I’ve seen far too much of you recently.” Medford nodded to both men. “Ah, never without your infamous charm, I see, Ashbourne.” Lord Cornwall said good night and excused himself while Jordan eyed Medford warily. “Tonight I’ve come with a purpose,” Medford announced. Jordan took a sip and swallowed. He leaned one shoulder against the wall and eyed Medford up and down. “Of course you have. You always come with a purpose.” Medford arched a brow. “Aren’t you the least curious?” “I expect you’ll tell me, regardless, so out with it.” Medford flashed a grin. “Ah, you do know me well, don’t you, Ashbourne?” “We weren’t the greatest rivals at Eton and Cambridge for nothing.” “What rivals? I beat you and Colton at every subject except arithmetic.
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