London, 1897

Chapter 1

"I'm sure you understand, my dear. Miss Fitzgerald and I have formed a tendré for each other that transcends what you and I have had over this past year. I'm amazed she's even countenanced my suit as she's so much younger than me."

Ruth flinched as she stood at the window with her back to Marston. What he really meant was that Ernestina Fitzgerald was younger than her. There was just enough complacency in her lover's voice for her to know the bastard was enjoying himself. She'd been through this type of event so many times over the past twenty some years, but this time it was worse. This was the second time in less than two years that a lover was leaving her for a younger woman. And at forty- one years of age she was old—wasn't she? Her hands trembled despite her death grip. Steeling herself, she pasted on a smile and turned around to face him.

"Of course, I understand, Freddie." She deliberately used the nickname and earned a glare from him. She knew how much he despised anyone calling him that. "I'm certain Miss Fitzgerald will suit you well. As I understand it, her talent for skilled conversation equals yours."

Marston sent her a suspicious look, but she knew he would never understand the double entendre. The man wasn't nearly as intelligent as he liked to think. In fact, he was hopelessly inept at conversing intelligently about any subject other than hunting and fishing. Suddenly, she despised herself for even entering into a liaison with him. She knew why she had. She just hadn't wanted to admit it until now. She'd been scared, afraid that time was running out for her. And now it had.

"Naturally, I'll see that your allowance is paid through the end of the month."

"Naturally," she said coolly, not about to let him see she was shaken by the parting. It wasn't as much unexpected as it was humiliating. "And Crawley Hall?"

"I am sorry, Ruth, but that seems a rather extravagant parting gift, don't you think?"

"I prefer to think of it as a promise you made several months ago."

She narrowed her gaze at him. She needed the estate. The orphanage on Aston Street was overflowing, and the more sickly children would benefit from the fresh country air.

"Did I? I don't recall agreeing to any such thing."

"Then perhaps I should have Wycombe refresh your memory, as he was present at the time you agreed to purchase the property for me."

"I'm sure Wycombe will remember it differently," Marston said with more than a hint of smug arrogance. "Besides, you already have property in the country. I see no reason why you would have need of another one. If you're concerned about money, you can always sell the jewelry I've given you."

The sanctimonious pig. The bastard knew why she wanted the Crawley Hall. He also knew good and well that the house she owned near Bath was far too small for her needs. There was barely enough room for her, Delores and Simmons let alone half a dozen orphans. And the jewelry he'd given her would bring her barely enough for half the purchase price of Crawley Hall. His refusal to buy the Hall meant she would need to dig more deeply into her resources. Something she'd hoped to avoid. She'd managed her finances well over the years, but buying Crawley Hall meant utilizing her long- term investments much sooner than she liked. Especially when her future was far from bright when it came to securing a new patron. She sent him a contemptuous smile.

"The jewelry you've given me? Darling Freddie, those trinkets will hardly fetch even a paltry sum. But if you refuse to keep your promise with regard to Crawley Hall, who am I to question your honor." She caught a glimpse of the anger darkening his face as she turned away from him with a small shrug. "Since we've nothing further to say to each other, I think it's time you left."

Seconds later, a rough hand snaked through her hair and jerked her head backward. She never liked to show fear, but Marston pulled painfully on her hair and she cried out not only in surprise, but anguish as well.

"Listen to me, you old hag, if you even suggest that my attentions to you were ever anything but honorable, I'll show you just how honorable I can be."

A door opened behind them, and her butler entered the room. Tall and burly enough to make any man cautious of crossing him, Simmons occasionally acted the bodyguard in addition to his many other talents.

"I heard a scream, my lady. Is everything all right?" It wasn't a question. It was the butler's way of telling Marston to release her, which Freddie did with a rough shove.

"Don't forget what I said, Ruth. I'll not have anyone sully my good name."

She remained silent, despite her desire to tell him exactly what she wanted to do to him, starting with castration. Lord, how could she have actually thought the man attractive? Because he was the only man who'd been interested enough to enter into a liaison with her. Nauseated by the thought, she swayed slightly on her feet.

As Marston left the parlor, she crossed the floor and gripped the arm of the settee as she slowly sank down into the cushions. Simmons didn't comment. He simply followed her ex-lover out of the room, obviously intent on seeing the man out of the house. The trembling of her hands expanded to wrack her entire body, and she closed her eyes against the pain sweeping through her. First one tear and then another rolled down her cheeks.

She'd always known this day would come, but it was even more horrible than she'd possibly imagined. Age had always been her enemy, and she'd never been able to find a way to defeat it. Bent over, she cupped her face in her hands to cry softly. A warm arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she looked up to see her maid's concerned expression.

"Did he hurt you, my lady?"

"Not really, Dolores." She pulled a handkerchief from a side pocket in her skirt and shook her head as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. "More my pride than anything else."

"I never cared for the man. He never treated you as well as your other beaus."

"I'm well aware of how you felt about Marston." She couldn't help but release a small laugh at the vehement distaste in her maid's voice. "I'm surprised I didn't come around to your way of thinking a long time ago."

"You're stubborn. That's why. Stubborn, right down to the core, you are. Always so certain that man was the best you could do."

"He was the only man who seemed remotely interested at the time as I recall," she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "I can no longer fool myself, Dolores. My age has begun to show."

"Nonsense." The maid snorted with disgust. "You still have the figure of a young girl, and a face as lovely as an angel's."

"Thank you, Dolores. You are a true friend, loyal and blind to the obvious."

She winced at the truth. It wasn't necessary to look in the mirror to know that her looks weren't what they once were. She knew she was still an attractive woman, but her days of garnering accolades for her beauty were long gone.

"Harrumph. My eyesight is as good as it was twenty years ago." The maid straightened her shoulders, hands clasped in front of her, and scowled down at her. "There are plenty of men who would be more than happy to enter a room with you on their arm. You're far too hard on yourself."

The woman's chiding lifted her spirits slightly as she contemplated the way Lord Mackelsby had complimented her several nights ago. Marston had even spared enough time to leave Ernestina Fitzgerald's side to come claim her as if she were a piece of property he owned. The analogy had been accurate at the time. Marston paid her bills and as such was entitled to her full attention.

But now he was gone, along with her monthly allowance. She released another sigh. It wasn't the money that troubled her as much as the fact that Marston, like her lover before him, had left her for a younger woman. No matter how much she fought it, the knowledge threw her into a state of despair.

She swallowed back another rush of tears. Crying would do little good, and there were more important matters to consider than her bruised ego. She stood up quickly to pace the floor in front of the fireplace. The children had to come first. Whatever it took, she'd find a way to purchase Crawley Hall or another estate like it.

In addition to the few trinkets Marston had given her, she owned several other pieces of jewelry she could sell, but she knew it wouldn't be enough. She breathed a sigh of resignation. In order to fetch the remainder of the Hall's purchase price, she would have to sell her house outside of Bath. She cringed inwardly at the thought before dismissing her regret. She could just as easily retire to Crawley Hall as anywhere else.

"I think it's time I sell some of my investments."

"What?" Dolores's horrified astonishment made her smile.

"My jewelry should fetch at least half the sale price of Crawley Hall, and selling the country house should make up the balance and hopefully pay for the necessary improvements to the Hall. If that's not enough, I can easily rent the town house. There should be sufficient monies from my annual annuities to support me, as long as I'm careful with money." Ruth glanced around the parlor wondering how much the house would rent for. It was in a reasonably fashionable district, which should make it an attractive offering.

"But you bought the house in Bath for your retirement, my lady. And if you rent this house, where will you live?"

"I shall live at Crawley Hall." She saw her longtime companion flinch, and quickly moved forward to grasp the older woman's hands. "And you'll come with me, Dolores. And Simmons, too. You do want to come, Dolores, don't you?"

"Yes, my lady." The maid's expression of fear disappeared. "I just thought perhaps you might not have need of me anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous." She sat down next to the woman and squeezed her hands. "I don't know what I'd do without you. Who else will keep me on the straight and narrow?"

"This is true, my lady. Although I think you've a heart that's far too big for your pocket where those children are concerned."

"They haven't anyone else to look after them, Dolores. I can't simply abandon them as Marston has me."

The words were a vivid reminder of her current state of affairs, and she fought off the wave of self-pity threatening to wash over her. As much as she wanted to give in to the emotion, she refused to do so. She'd always been practical in her outlook, and it was time she accepted the fact that her days as one of Society's darlings was quickly coming to a close. Marston leaving her for a younger woman would make her an object of pity among the Marlborough Set, something she would abhor. The appearance of Simmons at the parlor doorway interrupted her train of thought.

"Lady Pembroke has arrived, my lady."

As the butler stepped aside, Allegra Camden, the Countess of Pembroke, swept into the salon as Simmons retreated from the room. The smile on her face only enhanced her younger friend's beauty, as Allegra took her outstretched hands in hers then kissed her on the cheek.

"I'm sorry I'm late, but Shaheen and the children took longer than usual with breakfast."

"It's quite all right." Ruth returned her friend's affectionate greeting then turned to her maid. "Dolores, bring us some tea, please."

The older woman bobbed her head and left the room to do as Ruth had asked. With a small gesture, she invited her friend to sit down. Her movements elegant, Allegra sank into a wingback chair as Ruth took a seat on the settee across from her. A frown on her face, her friend eyed her carefully.

"Something's happened. Are you ill?"

The concern in Allegra's voice tightened her throat, and she shook her head. "No. I'm fine."

"You look rather peaked." Allegra leaned forward then suddenly gasped. "You've been crying."

Before Ruth could say a word, her friend sprang to her feet in a soft rustle of expensive silk and joined Ruth on the couch. Taking her hands in hers, Allegra studied her with an expression that said she intended to get to the bottom of whatever was troubling her.

"Tell me." The command didn't surprise her. Allegra had always been as protective of her friends as they of her. She sighed.

"Marston has left me." Saying the words made tears well up in her eyes again. She blinked hard, fighting them back. The man wasn't worth the effort.

"Oh, my dear. I'm so sorry, but I confess I never liked Marston at all. He has never treated you with the respect you deserved."

"I've been a fool." Ruth drew in a deep breath and shook her head.

"You most certainly have not. You did what you thought you had to do to survive."

"No, not survival . . . a refusal to admit the truth. I am old, Allegra."

"Nonsense. You're only a four years older than me, and you look younger." Her friend sent her a look of admonishment. She rejected the observation with a shake of her head.

"He left me for Ernestina Fitzgerald. She's at least fifteen years younger than me."

"And the woman is twice as dimwitted as Marston. The two shall make a handsomely dull pair." The disgust in her friend's voice made Ruth choke out a laugh.

"See, you agree with me," Allegra said with great satisfaction. "There are plenty of men who would find themselves enthralled with you. And when you attend the Somerset ball this evening I've no doubt you'll see how quickly men will flock to your side."

"I couldn't possibly go this evening." She stared at Allegra in horror. "Marston will be there. He'll have Ernestina with him, and everyone will know he left me for her."

"Well, they'll notice it more if you're not there. You know as well as I do the sharks will close in the moment they smell blood." Allegra eyed her sternly before suddenly flashing a wicked smile in her direction. "Besides, what better time to announce how delighted you are that Marston has finally found someone who equals his intellectual standing in the Set?"

This time Ruth laughed easily. "When you put it like that, it's easy to see I'm crying over the man for no reason at all."

"Precisely," Allegra said firmly.

She forced herself to smile at woman seated next to her. No, there was no reason to cry over Marston's departure. But her lost youth? She had no doubt there were far more tears still to be shed for that loss. How had it happened? It seemed only yesterday that Allegra had invited her, Bella, and Nora to stay with her while her friend weathered the scandal that had made her the renowned courtesan she'd been before her marriage to the Earl of Pembroke.

How could twenty years pass in the blink of an eye? She didn't feel old. Her hopes and desires were still the same, although the ones buried deep inside her seemed doomed to go unanswered. She envied Allegra and the happiness she'd found with the earl. Her gaze drifted up to where her portrait hung over the fireplace. The Viscount Westleah had commissioned it when she was twenty-three. They'd spent almost three years together before they'd parted as friends.

Westleah had bought this house for her then taught her how to manage the generous allowance he'd given her. It was how she'd made several sound investments that would ensure her retirement wouldn't be one of abject poverty as was that of so many other women like her. She had simply hoped to have a little more time before being forced to retire.

The soft rattling of china caught her attention, and she turned her head to see Dolores entering the room with tea. The woman set the tray on the round table in front of the settee, and eyed her carefully for a moment. With a quick shake of her head, Ruth indicated she was fine and reached for the teapot. The maid, somewhat satisfied with Ruth's silent assurance, released a soft grumble then left the salon. Eager to talk of something other than her future, Ruth smiled offered her friend a cup of tea.

"Motherhood and marriage suit you, my dear. You've found a happiness most can only dream of."

"I am happy, Ruth. If you had told me five years ago that I would be living such a wonderful life, I would have laughed at you."

Neither one of them said it out loud, but for a courtesan to find love, let alone marriage, was a rare thing. The soft glow on Allegra's face emphasized how happy her friend was despite the trials she'd endured in the Moroccan desert. Allegra had only shared some of the pain she'd experienced, but she knew her capture at the hands of Pembroke's enemy had taken its toll on her friend.

Every so often, a dark emotion filled Allegra's eyes that said the trauma would never leave her. When Lord Pembroke was present, he seemed to instinctively sense his wife's distress and was immediately at her side. Robert, she would never grow accustomed to his Bedouin name, Shaheen, was devoted to his wife and children. The sound of a teacup clinking loudly against a plate pulled her out of her reverie.

"We're not going to let him get away with this."

"What?" Ruth sent her friend a puzzled look.

"Marston. Tonight, we're going to see to it that everyone thinks Marston a fool for leaving you to take up with that flibbertigibbet, Ernestina."

"And exactly how do you propose to accomplish that?" she asked in a skeptical tone.

"Do you remember how Mrs. Langtry stood out among the rest of the Set by wearing a simple black dress before Bertie took her under his wing?"

"Lily Langtry stood out because she was beautiful, not because she wore a simple black dress to catch the eye of the Prince of Wales. I'm reasonably attractive, but far from beautiful."

"Nonsense. You're lovely, and you have presence, Ruth. When you enter a room everyone stops to look at you. And that mysterious smile of yours makes men eager to discover all your secrets. Tonight you're going to use that to your advantage."

"And how, pray tell, am I going to do that?"

"Dolores is going to modify that hideous monstrosity of a dress Marston insisted you wear to his house party last winter."

"The purple one with the enormous pink flowers?"

"Yes." Allegra's smile broadened. "The dress matches your eyes beautifully, but the flowers are horrendous. When Dolores makes the changes I have in mind, everyone will think Marston a fool for choosing Ernestina Fitzgerald over you."

"Such a transformation seems highly unlikely, but I suppose a miracle is always possible," she said with a skeptical laugh.

"Well, I for one believe in miracles," her friend replied quietly. "And so should you."

She met Allegra's affectionate look with a doubtful smile, but her friend's words were still in her head hours later as she climbed the steps to the Somerset town house. She should have known better than to question Allegra's determination. With Dolores's skillful sewing and Allegra's vision, the two women had managed a miracle. The result was a daring dress that emphasized her ample bosom and rounded hips. But most of all, it was devoid of any lace, flounces, ruffles, or bows.

The sleeves, what little was left after Dolores had finished, barely clung to the edge of her shoulders, mere slips of material. The entire dress was one of stark simplicity, but symbolically, it represented her casting Marston off. The flowers, the ruffles, every decoration on the dress that had once weighed down the satin were gone, with the exception of a trail of pink flower petals bordering the hem. It would give her enormous satisfaction to point out that Dolores had refashioned Marston's ostentatious choice into something much lovelier.

Her maid had pulled the original flowers apart to tack the pink trimming along the edge until they appeared to be actually falling off the hem. Before the night was over, they would be crushed and dirty. A silent sign of how unimportant Marston was to her. At her throat was the amethyst necklace she'd worn in the portrait Westleah had commissioned.

Her only other extravagance was a mauve-colored feather fan. As she entered the house, a tremor streaked through her as she caught sight of Marston entering the ballroom with Ernestina on his arm. In a mechanical fashion, she undid the frog loops of her cape, allowing the footman to gently remove it from her shoulders.

As more guests arrived, she stepped out of the way to inspect the sides and back of her gown for any unexpected wrinkles. It was more a need for time to collect herself than concern over her dress. The sudden whisper of sensation trailing across the back of her neck made her hand reach up to touch her skin. Satisfied her hair hadn't unraveled from the knot on top of her head, she turned toward the ballroom. Another frisson skimmed its way over her skin as her gaze met that of a man who casually handed off his overcoat to the household staff without looking away from her.

He was almost a foot taller than her with hair the color of a moonless night. There was something intense and riveting about him. If Allegra thought she had presence, her friend hadn't met this man. He seemed to dwarf everyone and everything in the entryway. He studied her for what seemed an eternity, yet she knew it was only a few seconds before another man she didn't recognize drew his attention away. But the stranger's look was enough to leave her heart racing.

She swallowed hard and gripped her fan tightly. Good lord, she was no longer twenty and attending her first soiree. She flinched at the thought. Suddenly overcome with the need to flee, she forced herself to cross the foyer floor toward the ballroom rather than claim her cape and head back out into the night. The sensation she'd experienced moments ago warmed her neck again, but she refused to turn around to look at the man. She hadn't come here this evening to find a new paramour.

The moment she reached the ballroom doorway, her courage sagged. She didn't see a single friendly face in the room. Dear God, where was Allegra? She wasn't certain she could do this alone. The moment the thought entered her head, she stiffened her back. Her youth might be gone, but not her dignity. She'd hold her head high, and she'd make damn sure no one, not even Marston, would be able to tell how she was feeling inside. As she waited for those in front of her to pass through the receiving line, the tingle at the nape of her neck became a blazing heat.

Lord, it had been years since she'd had this type of a reaction to a man. In the crush of arrivals pushing their way toward the ballroom, the space between them evaporated. He was so close to her that the warmth of his breath singed her shoulder. The sudden image of his hands at her waist, pulling her back into his chest flashed in her head. The mental picture sent a shudder rippling through her that she was certain everyone around her could see.

Confused by the strength of the sensations assaulting her, she almost stumbled forward in her haste to greet Lord and Lady Somerset. The reception she received was a polite one simply because of her relation to the Marquess of Halethorpe. Her stomach lurched at the thought of her father. She didn't know whether to despise the man or thank him for sending her down the path she'd chosen so many years ago. Either one was painful to contemplate.

She turned away from the Somersets and slowly descended the steps into the ballroom. Despite her attempts to deny it, she wanted to know the stranger's name, and as she made her way down the staircase, she heard him introduced as Lord Stratfield. The moment she reached the ballroom floor, a small group of women to her right caught her attention and her heart sank. Ernestina. The last thing she wanted was a scene. Desperate to find a friendly face, she strained her neck to see over top of an older woman with three tall feathers sticking up in her hair.

"Once an old cow is put out to pasture, you would think she'd stay there." Ernestina's comment sliced deep, and Ruth stiffened as she continued forward. She didn't get far.

"Lady Ruth, what a delightful surprise to see you here this evening."

Words failed her as the renewed tingling on the back of her neck ignited a fire that raced across her skin. Dear God, was that the way he always sounded? Like he'd just woken up and was inviting her to sin in ways she'd never dreamed. The wickedly deep, dark note of his voice sucked the air out of her lungs as she slowly turned toward him and extended her hand.

"Good evening, my lord." She fought to keep her voice steady, and a shiver streaked up her arm as he politely kissed the back of her hand.

"Simplicity becomes you, my lady. I've never seen you look so exquisite."

His gaze suddenly shifted to stare at the ruffles, lace appliqués, and bows adorning Ernestina's gown. It was a deliberate snub, and everyone within hearing distance knew it. A part of her almost felt sorry for Marston's new paramour. Still, she experienced a twinge of pleasure to see the other woman's viciousness silenced, but she was leery of the man's motives for coming to her rescue. When her eyes met his again, his gaze revealed nothing, but he smiled as he offered her his arm. Her heart immediately skidded out of control.

It was a smile that would be lethal to a woman's heart if she allowed herself to fall under its spell. She accepted his arm and allowed him to guide her away from Ernestina and her friends. The frisson skimming over every inch of her body made her want to run as far away as she could. This man was far too attractive for his own good, which made him dangerous. Besides, he looked younger than her. A flirtation with him would only serve to make her feel that much older, and she was feeling far too vulnerable tonight.

"While I appreciate your gallantry, my lord, I can assure you I was not in need of rescue." She heard the catch in her voice and forced herself not to look in his direction.

"It was a sincere compliment. The fact that it served to rescue you was secondary." The husky note in his voice made her blood flow sluggishly. Lord, but the man was a mesmerist. She caught sight of Allegra and came to a halt. He turned his head toward her, his eyebrow quirking upward in either amusement or curiosity. She couldn't determine which.

"Then I thank you again. If you'll forgive me, I see a friend I must greet." Something flickered in the depths of his vivid blue eyes, and it made her mouth go dry. Lord Stratfield bowed his head in her direction.

"A pleasure, my lady. I look forward to our next meeting."

There it was again, that husky note of sin in his voice. Her chest tightened in reaction. Blast it, she was acting like a woman half her age. She was too well seasoned to allow herself to be affected so easily. She swallowed hard and gave him a slight nod as she fled his side. And she was fleeing. She was crossing the floor entirely too fast, not in her usual restrained manner. Despite reaching the safety of her small circle of friends, her pulse was still racing. Allegra offered her a small hug then stepped back to study her with a look of concern.

"Good heavens, you're shaking."

"It's nothing, simply nerves."

"Are you certain it's not a devilishly handsome stranger that has you in a dither?" The amusement in Allegra's voice sent a wave of heat into her cheeks.

"Of course not." She sniffed with irritation as her friend sent her a look of disbelief, but chose not to question her.

"You look stunning. I knew Dolores would make this dress a work of art. And the petals bordering the hem . . . it's a masterpiece at saying the man isn't good enough to kiss the hem of your gown."

"Let me add to my wife's observations, my lady." The Earl of Pembroke offered her a slight bow. "You look enchanting."

"Thank you both."

"Might I add my own compliments as well, my dear? Everyone is talking about how radiant you look tonight." The warm voice of Lord Westleah's voice drifted over her shoulder, and she turned around with a smile of delighted surprise.

"William. How lovely to see you again."

He greeted Allegra and the earl with warmth before turning back to her and leaning down to kiss both her cheeks. It had been months since they'd last seen each other, and to see him here tonight reminded her how long ago it had been since they'd first met. She pushed the thought aside as she stared up at her old lover.

"It's been far too long, Ruth. How have you been?"

"Quite well."

She forced a smile as she saw him narrow his gaze at her. Westleah knew her well, and could easily see through the façade she'd deliberately thrown up for the evening's event. She was grateful when he didn't press her. As Allegra and the earl turned away to greet another couple, Westleah eyed her carefully.

"How do you know Baron Stratfield?" The question caught her by surprise, and she darted a quick look at her champion, engrossed in a conversation with several gentlemen across the room.

"I don't. He overheard a rather nasty comment directed at me when I arrived and rescued me from further insult."

"Doesn't surprise me. He's a decent fellow. Rarely takes offense at anything except the mistreatment of others."

Allegra turned back to them at that moment, and her friend tipped her head to one side in a questioning manner. "What doesn't surprise you, Westleah?"

"Lord Stratfield. It seems he rescued Ruth from some rather unpleasant gossip when she first came into the room."

"Do you mean the handsome gentleman headed our way?"

Allegra's question made her turn her head toward the last place she'd seen Lord Stratfield. To her astonishment, the man was coming toward them. No, her. He was heading directly toward her. Instantly, her palms felt clammy and her heart was pounding a hard rhythm against her chest. What in heaven's name was she going to say to him? The question irritated her. Had she suddenly lost her wits? The art of flirtation was something she'd excelled at for years. Now suddenly one man had her doubting herself. No, it wasn't him. The break with Marston had shaken her confidence. Nothing more.

Not to mention Lord Stratfield had to be at least five years younger than her, although there was something about his mannerisms that made him appear older than his years. She winced inwardly. Her interest in him was bordering on the absurd. The strains of a waltz faded into the background as her body hummed a melody all its own the moment the man joined them.

Westleah dealt with the introductions before excusing himself to speak with another friend, and in seconds Allegra had dragged her husband away to greet other guests. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought the entire thing staged to leave her alone with Lord Stratfield. The silence stretched between them for a long moment before he cleared his throat.

"Might I have this dance, Lady Ruth?" The low sound of his voice skimmed along her senses as she struggled to reply in a quiet, reserved manner. Instead, she simply nodded, then placed her hand in his. A moment later he whirled her out onto the dance floor. The electricity pulsing its way through her was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

Not even Westleah had affected her this way. Frustrated by her faltering composure, she straightened her spine. For more than twenty years she'd perfected the art of seduction, and she refused to let this man reduce her to a state of confusion, especially when he was younger than her.

"How is it we've never met until this evening, my lord?" She offered him a small well-practiced smile.

"When it comes to events such as this, I've seen far too many of my acquaintances ensnared in the spider web of some mother with a marriageable daughter. I prefer my freedom." His straightforward response made her laugh. He smiled with a hint of satisfaction.

"Good, I've made you laugh. It suits you."

As much as she wanted not to, it was impossible to keep the heat from flooding her cheeks. The man was far too charming, and it was irritating to know how susceptible she was to him. She breathed in his clean, woodsy scent, and her heart skipped a beat. Even at the most base levels her body responded to him. When she didn't say anything, he sent her an intense look that sent a shiver racing down her spine.

"The man's a fool."

There was a dark note of outrage in his voice, and she stumbled. He immediately pulled her closer as she collected her wits.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Marston. The man needs his head examined."

"Oh." Forcing a smile to her lips, she gave him a brief nod. "And I should have my head examined for ever having been seen with the man."

He released a soft laugh that drifted across her skin like sinful velvet. His large hand in the middle of her back pressed her into him even tighter. As the heat and scent of him filled her senses, she found it difficult to breathe normally. A primitive rhythm hummed in her blood, and her mouth was so dry not even champagne could wet her tongue enough. She tried desperately to regain control of her senses.

"And I'm certain there are many here tonight who are delighted to know that your heart is no longer occupied," he murmured as the music came to a halt.

Slowly letting her go, he stepped back from her as she sank into a low curtsey. His words eased her bruised feelings for only a split second before she realized he hadn't included himself in the compliment. Why would he ask her to dance if he had no interest in pursuing her acquaintance?

Confused she frowned. What was it Westleah had said? The man rarely took offense except at the mistreatment of others. Anger slashed through her. Damn him. The bastard had asked her to dance out of pity. She came upright and snapped her fan open to flutter it quickly in front of her then collapsed it again in a sharp movement.

"Thank you for your second rescue attempt this evening, my lord. But in the future, please note that I neither want nor appreciate your interference in my affairs."

Without giving him the opportunity to respond, she swept away from him with her back ramrod straight. The insolence of the man. She was more than capable of looking after her own interests. And she certainly didn't need any man treating her like a lost cause.

Read additional chapters at Monica Burns Website.