But this was too soon, she thought edgily, plucking at a curl. They had been back in Town a mere two days, and they had already been to dinner at the Tatums' the night before, and now this. It was too much, especially on the heels of the tiring trip to and from Hertfordshire and the fact she hadn't yet wholly formulated A Plan.

"You look all the thing, my dear," her father told her, wrapping her shoulders in a matching gauze shawl. "Are you ready for this?"

She was ready for nothing, let alone a crush of dozens and dozens of conveyances crawling up to the Skeffingham house at the far end of the elite enclave, Bromley Close. Its gates were thrown wide now, and an openly curious crowd gawked as carriage after carriage drew up and discharged passengers dressed in the height of fashion who vanished inside the front door of the stately three-story brick residence as if the footman had waved a magic wand.

They crowded into the reception hall and wound their way down the long hallway lined with gilt-framed portraits of generations of Skeffingham ancestors and into the two-story ballroom.

It didn't seem possible, but the room appeared full to overflowing already, the stuffiness thankfully mitigated by long french windows at either end of the room that were wide open to the cool fresh air.

Candlelight glimmered everywhere, reflected in dozens of mirrors, the light softening every detail and giving the room an intimacy and a most flattering glow. Chairs lined the walls on two sides, and already the matrons who would not be dancing had gathered with their bosom-bows for an evening of exquisite gossip.

Servants hovered, accommodating every request, and on a balcony ten feet above, a string quartet played under the discreet hum of conversation. And ten feet above that, angels hovered, flitting in and out of puffy clouds on the beautiful painted ceiling.

But no angels here on earth, Regina thought irritably, as she and her father paused at the threshold of the ballroom to be announced, just Jeremy and her father, devils both of them. Since there was nothing yet she could do, she moved through the crowd on her father's arm, greeting friends and acquaintances she had seen a mere five days before.

She was grateful, finally, to see Ancilla Hoxley-Marshall, her dearest friend, who was obviously on the lookout for her. Ancilla was the best person, as sweet and self-effacing as a nun, and yet she was always a repository of the most current on dit, especially in a gathering this size.

Regina grasped Ancilla's hands which were cold as al-abaster. "Ancilla! What a crowd. Have you seen Marcus Raulton?" Time to go forward. She had thought of a strategy, it couldn't even be called a plan, but it involved feeding her father's worst fears by making sure she was seen with or near Mr. Raulton as often as possible. It wasn't a perfect scheme, but it was something, and it just might serve for this evening until she thought of something better.

"So many people," Ancilla murmured. "But I say that every year, do I not? No, I have not been aware of Mr. Raulton's presence. Good evening, by the way, Regina. Oh, look! There's a new face. Could that be-could it-? Jeremy Gavage? After all this time…?"

Blast it. Regina whirled, and her breath caught. Blast! Her heart started pounding. Jeremy... She hadn't expected him, not this quickly, not this soon and… looking so different- and so much the same.

She felt as if she had taken a header. So much for plots and schemes. How like a man to just show up and throw everything top over tail.

She couldn't take her eyes from him. Even through the crowd the faint halo of smoke, the water-light music, and Ancilla's sweet voice droning in her ear, her whole attention was fixed on Jeremy.

She didn't expect this reaction to Jeremy. Oh, God. Jeremy. Father's knight errant. Purged by the battle of loving a woman who loved her sovereigns more. And now willing conspirator to save her innocent self from taking a pounding at the hands of the most notorious bachelor in London. So appropriate. Truly-errant was the word.

He seemed taller than she remembered, his shoulders broader, his hair longer, his frown utterly forbidding, but that could be the effect of the high ceilings and low light. Certainly the dark look on his face reflected the fact that he was not pleased, not with anything. Especially not her.

But why should he have any opinion in the matter at all?

She could not take her eyes off of him.

Nor could he stop staring at her.

He had been thinking all along he would be dealing with the artless child she had been, only a few years older, of course, and instead he was looking at a woman full grown and aware of her power, a woman with presence and passion. A woman old enough to wed.

It was the most stunning revelation.

Reginald should have warned him. Damn him-Reginald should have told him. He felt as if he had fallen off a steep cliff, as if everything-every preconception, everything he knew-had been wrenched out from under him.

And to make matters worse, there was Raulton, strutting and preening around the perimeter of the room, accosting the ladies who would speak with him, and commanding her avid attention as she seemed to follow his every move.

Damn, damn, damn. Those eyes. As bright and blue as ever he remembered. But not that womanly body, or that beautiful face. He didn't remember her looking like that at all. Damn Reginald. Damn him.

And standing next to that pale blond woman in white, she positively glowed. Did he not see Raulton slide a proprietary look of interest her way?

Damn it damn it damn it…

Thank God he had come tonight; thank God he had seen her before he had started any intervention, because he couldn't trust himself to go to her now, knowing what he knew.

And he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Or Raulton.

Things could heat up at the instant, he thought, watching the man warily. Raulton meant business, and there was no more beautiful business in this ballroom than Regina.

And from the way she was looking at Raulton, Reginald had it exactly right. Regina didn't care a fig about his reputation or any improprieties. All she saw was the virile cock-of-the-walk.

So like a woman, he thought mordantly. Never looking beyond the outward appearances or the size of a bankbook.

And Raulton looked ripe to feed on a frisky virgin or two.

But it mattered not. Regina would not be one of them. If Jeremy had been ambivalent before about this ridiculous charge he had undertaken, he was not now. Reginald had not overstated the case. And he had been right to come to Jeremy.

Raulton was the enemy, and he would never have her, not if Jeremy could help it. His mission was perfectly clear: he had her father's full faith and trust, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

"They say she left him because he wasn't rich enough."

Ancilla's words finally registered, and Regina swung her gaze back to her friend, though she would much rather have gazed at Raulton. He was fascinating to watch, the epitome of cool disdain as he circled the room, dropping a greeting here, a word there, a bow to a lady. Perfect. Impeccable. One would have thought he was the most welcomed parti in the world, instead of a man who was bent on mending his reputation.

She reached frantically for the topic of conversation. Yes. "Jeremy, you mean."

"Jeremy, I mean. And doesn't he look the brooding hero now, with that deep frown and dressed all in black?"

"Ancilla!"

"No, no, no. There is a man I would not suit, not in the least. I could never get past that woman."

There was always a that woman, Regina thought critically. Witness Raulton. And the that woman always seemed to have a great deal more fun, too.

"What about Mr. Raulton, then?" Best to keep her attention there; then she could gaze at him with impunity and fuel the fire, which, given Jeremy's complicity in her father's scheme and the way Jeremy and her father were glaring at her she was more than wont to do at the moment.

It was like having two bulldogs nipping at her heels, blast them both.

"… how much of a man's more primitive nature ought a woman support," Ancilla was saying. "And yet, the Skeffing-hams had no compunction about inviting him here tonight," she added, voicing what many guests must be privately saying.

Well, yes, there was a consideration, Regina thought. He had been at any number of events already, hosted by personages who seemed to be lending their countenance to his efforts to-what?-reinstate himself in society's good graces? Reform? What did anyone know of Raulton's motives?

Or any man's for that matter?

"Strictly speaking, he is as eligible as anyone," Regina pointed out. "His wealth must make him so. And morality doesn't enter into it once a man is serious about finding a wife. Every man goes off hall-cocked until he gets leg-shackled. You must admit, he's a most intriguing man, and any one of us would be curious if not interested."

"Not this one of us," Ancilla said tartly. "And yet-he's so very good about doing the Proper. That is Harriet Soames with him. She's a very great heiress. She need not even consider anyone of Mr. Raulton's station, and yet there she is. She cannot be above sixteen years. Who could have so ill-advised her as to stand up with him?"

Regina's ears pricked up. Stand up with him? The thought settled in her mind, light as air. "Are you sure?" Stand up with him… oh, the very thing to make Father go around the bend.

"Oh, we are no great friends and she is as aloof as a choir stall, but yes, she is among those everyone is watching to see where her interest lies. Oh, but surely it is not with Mr. Raulton."