She might have suspected her aunt of inviting the lot of them if she hadn’t spotted Anne in the corner, arguing frantically with a man in a white mask. His flowing silver hair just brushed his shoulders, and the tips of his drooping mustache had been waxed to perfection.

Esmerelda’s panic grew when she remembered the guest in the Union uniform. She sighed with relief when she glimpsed his dark blue back retreating from the room. The last thing she needed was a war on her hands.

Another war, she amended, meeting Billy’s challenging gaze with one of her own. “You can make yourself at home if you like, Mr. Darling, but that doesn’t make you welcome.”

“I remember a time when you welcomed me, Miss Fine. Into your heart. Into your arms.” He leaned down, making sure his next words would be heard only by her. “Into your bed.”

Her skin prickled with desire at the husky reminder. Before she could recover her composure, her grandfather materialized out of the crowd. Esmerelda nearly panicked, but the duke gave Billy a look that was more cursory than curious. She’d forgotten that he was doing an impressive imitation of an aristocratic gentleman.

“There you are, my dear!” her grandfather exclaimed, blinking behind his brown velvet mask trimmed in owl feathers. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I was hoping we could have our guests adjourn to the music room for a brief interlude before the dancing begins.”

Esmerelda’s hands were trembling too violently to hold a champagne glass, much less a violin bow. “Oh, no, Grandpapa. I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

“Why, I think it’s a capital idea,” Billy said, his drawl sharpening to a clipped English accent.

The duke looked him up and down. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, sir.”

Before Billy could point out that the pleasure had been all hers, Esmerelda grabbed her grandfather by the elbow and steered him away with such haste he nearly dropped his cane. “Nor should you right now. There will be ample time for introductions later. After I play.”

Although her sweet smile remained fixed on her lips, she cast Billy a look promising revenge over her shoulder.

At her grandfather’s urging, their guests eagerly crowded into the music room. Esmerelda supposed some of them were secretly hoping for a performance as riveting as the one she’d given on Drury Lane. The Darling gang lined the right wall. Enos, Sam, and Virgil were beaming with excitement, and even Jasper’s sneer was softened by a hint of anticipation. Andrew McGuire soon joined them, followed by a scowling Anne.

Billy leaned against the mantel of Venetian marble, his arms folded across his chest and a mocking smile playing around his lips.

Esmerelda reached for the Stradivarius propped against the music stand, but some sentimental urge compelled her to choose her mother’s violin instead. While she was tuning the instrument and searching her beleaguered brain for a piece to play, the man in the Union uniform slipped into the room.

Knowing her avid audience would strain to hear every word uttered by the duke of Wyndham’s eccentric granddaughter, Esmerelda said softly, “Since everyone seems to be buzzing with talk of the American West tonight, I’d like to honor that fair young nation and its courageous countrymen with one of their most beloved songs.”

Tucking the violin beneath her chin, she gave Billy a smile so tender it earned him several fascinated stares. Then, without further ado, she launched into a rousing rendition of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

Billy’s grin faded. His eyes narrowed.

Jasper reached for a gun he wasn’t wearing. Virgil lunged toward her, forcing Sam and Enos to jerk themselves out of their own horrified stupors to hold him back. The man in the Union uniform stood stiffly at attention until she had played the last majestic note.

Her captive audience burst into applause, making her grandfather beam with pride. Deliberately avoiding Billy’s gaze, Esmerelda took a bow. When the cries of “Bravo!” and “More, more!” showed no signs of diminishing, she started for the grand piano.

Halfway there, she turned back. The applause faded to rapt silence. “Since you’ve been such a gracious audience, I believe I’d like to favor you with a vocal selection.”

Drew winced and Billy’s eyes widened in alarm. Clasping her hands demurely beneath her breasts, Esmerelda drew in a deep breath and began to sing “Dixie.”

Since the first few notes were so shrill as to be unrecognizable, she made it all the way to the second verse before Virgil broke free of Sam and Enos. This time it took all four of his brothers and Drew to restrain him. Billy clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle his roar of outrage.

When Esmerelda finished, her last note hanging in the air like the sound a cat makes when someone steps on its tail, there was only appalled silence and a smattering of strained applause.

Her white-faced grandfather swallowed hard before producing a doting smile. “That was lovely, my dear, but perhaps I should go signal the musicians to begin the dancing.”

His hurried departure started an exodus toward the gilded doors. Leaving Virgil to his brothers, Billy strode toward Esmerelda, looking as mean and dangerous as she’d ever seen him.

Murmuring her apologies, she shoved her way through the crush, desperate to escape him. She glanced over her shoulder to find him closing on her with Drew right at his heels.

She never thought she’d be happy to see the earl of St. Cyr, but his sudden appearance sent her into an ecstasy of relief.

She latched onto his elbow, nearly dislodging the platter of hors d’oeuvres tucked in the crook of his arm. “Why, there you are, darling,” she sang out with deliberate malice. “I hope you don’t think I’ve been ignoring you.”

He mumbled something unintelligible, his mouth full.

Still clutching his arm, she swung around to face Billy and Drew. “You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen. I’ve been remiss. Please allow me to introduce you to the earl of St. Cyr—my fiancé.”

St. Cyr choked on whatever he’d been trying to swallow, turning scarlet. His violent coughing caused one of the brass buttons on the waistcoat stretched taut over his enormous belly to pop off and bounce across the room.

Billy arched an incredulous eyebrow.“ That’s the earl of St. Cyr?”

Drew shrugged sheepishly. “I told you he was a man of notorious appetites.”

The musicians in the next room struck up a waltz. Billy grabbed Esmerelda by the hand. “Since Earl here will have the rest of his life to enjoy the pleasure of your company,” he said wryly, “I’m sure he won’t mind if I borrow you for one dance.”

“He might not mind, but I do,” Esmerelda retorted, stumbling after him.

Her protests were in vain. Billy had already swept her into the whirling throng of dancers. The music soared in a majestic counterpart to his fleet grace. His hand rested warm and low on her back, urging her nearer to him with each dizzying twirl around the parquet floor. As Esmerelda met his bold gaze, she could almost allow herself to believe that he was her cowboy and she was his lady.

To distract herself from the sheer bliss of being in his arms again, she slanted him a suspicious look. “You dance very well for a bounty hunter, Mr. Darling.”

He smiled down at her, warming her to the tips of her toes. “Every self-respecting Missouri boy knows the Tennessee waltz.”

As if to prove his point, Jasper went gliding by with one of the besotted Belles in his arms.

“We’re beginning to attract notice, you know,” she pointed out, surprised to realize that she no longer cared.

He leaned down and murmured, “Given that you’re a woman of advanced age and limited prospects, they’re probably wondering if I’m going to carry you off and ravish you.”

“Are you?” she dared to ask.

In answer, he waltzed her right out the French windows onto the terrace.

The music faded to a ghostly echo, poignant and sweet. Still holding her in his arms, Billy reached up and untied the ribbons of her mask, exposing her face to the moonlight. Unable to bear his tender scrutiny, Esmerelda turned her back on him.

She chafed her naked arms. The winter chill was a cruel contrast to the cozy heat of Billy’s body.

He dropped his coat over her shoulders, but did her the courtesy of not touching her. “I forgave you for spilling my champagne,” he said lightly. “Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me for the things I said?”

She drifted toward the terrace wall, hoping the shadows would hide the crimson staining her cheeks. “It wasn’t what you said that I can’t forgive. It’s what you did.” She softened her voice until it was barely a whisper. “Or didn’t do.”

“You’re still mad because I turned down your grandpa’s offer to marry you, aren’t you?”

She whirled around, allowing all the bitterness she’d hoarded since they’d parted to spill into her voice. “Why should you have married me when you made sure there would be no need of it? And I was too stupid to realize what you were doing. God, how pathetic you must have found me!”

Billy shook his head. “I never thought you were stupid. Or pathetic. I thought you were innocent.”

“So innocent I couldn’t tell when a man was trifling with my affections. So innocent I believed you when you said you loved me and wanted to marry me. So innocent I didn’t realize there were ways a man could enjoy a woman’s company without risking his freedom.”

“Is that what you believe?” he asked hoarsely. “That I didn’t get you with child that night because I intended all along to abandon you the next morning?”

“Since that’s exactly what you did, what else am I to believe?”