While making the appropriate responses to Lord Marshalsea, Alicia monitored all those who paid court to her younger sister. Everything to date had gone exactly as they, sitting in the tiny parlor of their small house in Little Compton, in rural Warwickshire, which along with the surrounding few acres were all they—she, Adriana, and their three brothers—jointly owned, had planned, yet not even in their admittedly unfettered imaginations had they envisioned that events, people, and opportunities would fall out so well.

Their plan, desperate and reckless though it was, might just succeed. Succeed in securing a future for their three brothers—David, Harry, and Matthew—and for Adriana. For herself, Alicia hadn’t thought that far; time enough to turn her mind to her own life once she’d seen her siblings safe.

Lord Marshalsea grew increasingly restless; taking pity on him, Alicia eased him into Adriana’s circle, then stepped back, effacing herself as a good chaperone should. She eavesdropped, listening as Adriana handled the gentlemen surrounding her with her customary confidence. Although neither she nor Adriana had had any previous experience of the ton, of the ways of society’s elite, since their appearance in town and their introduction to those exalted circles some weeks ago, they’d managed without the slightest hiccup.

Eighteen months of intensive research and their own sound common sense had stood them in good stead. Having three much younger brothers whom they’d largely reared had eradicated any tendency to panic; both jointly and individually, they’d risen to every challenge and triumphed.

Alicia was proud of them both, and increasingly hopeful of an excellent outcome to their scheme.

“Mrs. Carrington—your servant, ma’am.”

The drawled words jolted her from the rosy future. Concealing her dismay, calmly turning, lips curving, she gave her hand to the gentleman bowing before her. “Mr. Ruskin. How pleasant to meet you here.”

“The pleasure, I assure you, dear lady, is all mine.”

Straightening, Ruskin delivered the comment with an intent look and a smile that sent a warning slithering down her spine. He was a largish man, half a head taller than she and heavily built; he dressed well and had the manners of a gentleman, yet there was something about him that, even hampered by inexperience, she recognized as less than savory.

For some ungodly reason, Ruskin had from their first meeting fixed his eye on her. If she could understand why, she’d do something to deflect it; her ever-fertile imagination painted him a snake, with her as his mesmerized prey. She’d pretended ignorance of the tenor of his attentions, had tried to be discouraging. When he’d shocked her by obliquely suggesting a carte blanche, she’d pretended not to understand; when he’d later alluded to marriage, she’d feigned deafness and spoken of something else. To no avail; he still sought her out, increasingly pointedly.

Thus far she’d avoided any declaration, thereby avoiding having outright to refuse it. Given her masquerade, she didn’t want to risk an overt dismissal, didn’t want to draw any attention her way; the most she dared do was behave coolly.

Ruskin’s pale gaze had been traveling her face; it rose to trap hers. “If you would grant me the favor of a few minutes in private, my dear, I would be grateful.”

He still held her fingers; keeping her expression noncommittal, she eased her hand free and used it to gesture to Adriana. “I’m afraid, sir, that with my sister in my care, I really cannot—”

“Ah.” Ruskin sent a glance Adriana’s way, a comprehensive survey taking in the besotted lordlings and gentlemen gathered around her, and Miss Tiverton, whom Adriana had taken under her wing, thereby earning Lady Hertford’s undying gratitude. “What I have to say will, I daresay, have some impact on your sister.”

Looking back at Alicia, Ruskin met her eyes; his smile remained easy, a gentleman confident of his ground. “However, your concern is… understandable.”

His gaze lifted; he scanned the room, filled with the fashionable. Lady Amery’s soirée had attracted the cream of the ton; they were present in force, talking, exchanging the latest on-dits, exclaiming over the latest juicy scandal.

“Perhaps we could repair to the side of the room?” Ruskin brought his gaze back to her face. “With this noise, no one will hear us; we’ll be able to talk, and you’ll be able to keep your ravishingly lovely young sister safe… and in view.”

Steel rang beneath his words; Alicia dismissed any thought of refusing him. Inclining her head, feigning serene indifference, she laid her fingers on his sleeve and allowed him to steer her through the crowd.

What unwelcome challenge was she about to face?

Behind her calm facade, her heart beat faster; her lungs felt tight. Had she imagined the threat in his tone?

An alcove behind a chaise filled with dowagers provided a small oasis of relative privacy. As Ruskin had said, she could still see Adriana and her court clearly. If they kept their voices low, not even the dowagers, heads close swapping scandal, would overhear.

Ruskin stood beside her, calmly looking out over the crowd. “I would suggest, my dear, that you hear me out—hear all I have to say—before making any reply.”

She glanced briefly at him, then stiffly inclined her head. Lifting her fingers from his sleeve, she gripped her fan.

“I think…” Ruskin paused, then continued, “I should mention that my home lies not far from Bledington—ah, yes! I see you understand.”

Alicia struggled to mask her shock. Bledington lay southwest of the market town of Chipping Norton; Little Compton, their village, lay to the northwest—as the crow flew there could be no more than eight miles between Little Compton and Bledington.

But Ruskin and she had never met in the country. Her family had lived a circumscribed existence, until recently never venturing beyond Chipping Norton. In embarking on her masquerade, she’d been certain no one in London would know her.

Ruskin guessed her thoughts. “We never met in the country, but I saw you and your sister when I was home last Christmas. The pair of you were crossing the market square.”

She glanced up.

He caught her eye, and smiled wolfishly. “I determined, then, to have you.”

Involuntarily, her eyes widened.

His smile turned self-deprecatory. “Indeed—quite romantic.” He looked back at the crowd. “I asked and was told your name—Miss Alicia Pevensey.”

He paused, then shrugged. “If you hadn’t appeared in London, no doubt nothing would have come of it. But you did appear, a few months later—as a widow of more than a year’s standing. I wasn’t fooled for a moment, but I comprehended your need of the ruse, and appreciated your courage in implementing it. It was a bold move, but one with every chance of success. I saw no reason to do other than wish you well. As my admiration for your astuteness grew, my interest in you on a personal level firmed.

“However”—his voice hardened—“when I offered you my protection, you refused. On reflection, I decided to do the honorable thing and offer for your hand. Again, however, you turned up your nose—quite why I have no notion. You seem uninterested in attaching a husband, solely concerned with watching over your sister as she makes her choice. Presumably, given you transparently have no need of funds, you’ve determined to make your own decision in your own time.”

His gaze returned to her face. “I would suggest, my dear Mrs. Carrington, that your time has run out.”

Alicia fought down the faintness, the giddiness that threatened; the room seemed to be whirling. She drew a slow breath, then asked, her tone commendably even, “What, precisely, do you mean?”

His expression remained intent. “I mean that your performance as a hoity widow in dismissing my suit was so convincing I checked my information. Today, I received a letter from old Dr. Lange. He assures me that the Pevensey sisters—both Pevensey sisters—remain unwed.”

The room gyrated, heaved, then abruptly stopped.

Disaster stared her in the face.

“Indeed.” Ruskin’s predatory smile dawned, yet his self-deprecation remained. “But fear not—having concluded that marrying you would be an excellent notion, nothing I’ve learned has changed my mind.”

His gaze hardened. “So let us be clear, my dear. Mrs. Carrington cannot continue in the ton, but if you consent to become Mrs. William Ruskin, I see no reason the ton should ever learn that Mrs. Carrington did not exist. I’m renewing my offer for your hand. Should you accept, there’s no reason your plan to establish the lovely Adriana will suffer so much as a hiccup.” His smile faded; he held her gaze. “I trust I make myself plain?”

Triumph had turned to ashes; her mouth was dry. Moistening her lips, she fought to keep her tone even. “I believe I understand you perfectly, sir. However…I would ask for a little time to consider my reply.”

His brows rose; his untrustworthy smile returned. “Of course. You may have twenty-four hours—there isn’t much to consider, after all.”

She sucked in a breath, frantically gathered her wits to protest.

His gaze, hard, trapped hers. “Tomorrow evening you can formally accept me—tomorrow night, I’ll expect to share your bed.”

Shock held her immobile, staring at his face; she searched his eyes but found no hint of any emotion worth appealing to.

When she made no reply, he bowed punctiliously. “I’ll call on you tomorrow evening at nine.”

Turning, he left her, strolling into the crowd.

Alicia stood frozen, her wits careening, her skin icy, her stomach hollow.