The Earl of Raymore was also present at the ball. He looked with satisfaction on the newly betrothed pair. Half of his responsibility at least seemed to have been safely disposed of. Unfortunately, it was the easier half. He frowned in the direction of Rosalind, who was seated at one side of the ballroom talking to Nigel Broome. Axby had not pressed his suit since her rejection of him and it was unlikely that she would look more kindly on him a second time even if he did. He had been neglecting his responsibilities, Raymore decided. The Season was half over already. If he wished to be rid of her before the summer set in, he would have to work very hard. She looked different from her usual self tonight, he concluded, his eyes assessing her from head to toe. The sky-blue lace gown made her look younger, but also made her appear more foreign. He had never been an admirer of Italian women, but to those who were, she was not unhandsome.

Broome might not be an impossible match for her. He was a younger son, but had a comfortable fortune of his own, inherited from his grandmother. He was an unassuming, rather dull young man, bookish, it was rumored. But they might suit. He might see if he could throw them together a bit during Standen's house party, to which both he and Rosalind had been invited. In the meantime, he strolled around the dance floor, talking to acquaintances, considering the possibility of introducing some of his friends to his ward.

Soon after the supper break Rosalind could stand the boredom no longer. She was fortunate enough to be seated close to a doorway that led onto the terrace. She slipped through into the relative darkness of the lantern-lit outdoors while a set was forming for a country dance and no one's attention was on her. There was only one couple on the terrace and they were quite a distance from her, deep in conversation. The air was too chilly to entice many guests out of doors. Rosalind limped in the opposite direction, one hand on the stone balustrade, until she could descend the few stone steps down onto the lawn. She walked on the grass, taking deep breaths of fresh air, glad to be free of prying eyes for just a few minutes. She shivered.

"It is a full-time task keeping trace of your whereabouts," a cheerful voice said from the bottom of the steps. "One blinks and you are gone, escaped into darkness."

Rosalind smiled. "If I had known you cared, Bernard," she said, "I should have had the orchestra play a fanfare to announce my departure."

"Ah, but then I could not have sneaked out here after you for a clandestine meeting," he said, coming across the lawn toward her, his grin noticeable in the moonlight.

"Mm, foolish of me," she replied, and shivered again.

"You are cold," he said. "I had better escort you back inside."

"No," she protested more seriously, "I plan to walk awhile. You cannot imagine how tedious it is to sit all evening and not be free to move."

He smiled with quiet sympathy, took her hand, and tucked it through his arm, They strolled in silence for a while, watching broken clouds scudding in the moonlight above treetops that waved in a strong breeze.

"You are cold, Rosalind," he said after a few minutes. "Come back now."

She shook her head.

"Look," he said, "Letty's summerhouse is quite close by. Let us see if it is unlocked. If it is not, I shall have to come the bully and carry you back to the house or drag you by the hair."

"You would ruin my coiffure," she said. "I shall come quietly, sir, if the summerhouse is locked."

It was not. They moved gratefully inside the glass structure, which was still warm from the sunlight trapped inside during the day. They sat on a brocade-covered bench that circled the outer wall of the structure. They talked amiably for many minutes, until Rosalind realized uneasily that she had lost track of time.

"Cousin Hetty will be worried," she said, standing up. "I had not meant to be gone so long."

He too got to his feet. "I might be persuaded to escort you back if you will kiss me first," he said.

"Gracious!" Rosalind said, eyebrows raised, eyes twinkling. "I have to pay for your escort, sir?"

"Certainly!" he agreed. He winked at her and grinned. "And payment in advance, too, ma'am. I never trust a pretty face."

She laughed outright and put her hands on his shoulders, her face turned up to invite his kiss. He explored her lips warmly with his, holding her loosely in his arms.

"Mmm," he said with a mock growl into her ear.

She drew back her head, grinning merrily, about to remind him that he must now keep his part of their bargain. But his eyes had moved beyond her and his face had sobered.

"I am sure you will both hate me for interrupting this scene before it has reached a more interesting stage," the icy voice of the Earl of Raymore said from behind her, "but I will have to insist that you unhand my ward, Crawleigh."

Rosalind whirled around to face him. "My lord, what are you doing here?" she cried, and cursed her own reactions even as they were happening.

His eyes raked her body so that she felt quite naked before him. "Rescuing you from a fate worse than death, by the look of it," he said with cold sarcasm.

"Look here, Raymore," Sir Bernard said from behind her, his voice sounding testy, "this is not quite the way it seems, you know."

Raymore raised one eloquent eyebrow. "Forgive my foolishly suspicious mind," he said. "How could I possibly have believed that there might be anything improper in your being alone with Miss Dacey in a secluded summerhouse in the middle of the night? And how could I possibly have been alarmed to find you mauling her like a milkmaid? After all, she is still standing and still fully clothed."

Rosalind was so furious that she was momentarily deprived of speech. She glared into his mocking face, lit dimly by the moonlight.

"You misunderstand the situation, Raymore," Sir Bernard said quietly. "You interrupted a proposal of marriage. I was about to ask Miss Dacey if she would do me the honor of becoming my wife."

His two listeners became absolutely motionless, their eyes locked, strangely enough, on each other. Rosalind watched Raymore's face slowly lose its sneer and become taut with… what? Fury? She was surprised to find that when he spoke, his voice was quiet and almost pleasant.

"I see," he said. "And was I to be consulted in the matter, Crawleigh?"

"Of course," Sir Bernard replied. "But Rosalind is a grown woman, Raymore. I wished to consult her wishes before discussing terms with you."

Rosalind turned and looked up into his face, troubled. "Bernard," she began.

He took her hand and squeezed it hard. "Not now, love," he said, smiling fleetingly down at her before returning his attention to her guardian. "We must see about returning Rosalind to her chaperone," he suggested. "I shall call on you tomorrow morning, Raymore?"

The earl bowed stiffly, his face still tight with that expression that Rosalind could not read. He stood aside from the doorway and the other two occupants of the room passed out before him. Rosalind had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. Sir Bernard held her hand firmly on his arm and reduced his stride to match her halting progress, while Raymore walked at her other side. None of them said a word all the way back to the house. It was a relief to be led back to the sofa that she had occupied for several hours before this escapade. The earl had stopped in the doorway to the terrace. Sir Bernard left her almost immediately after smiling down at her and promising to speak with her the following day. She was joined soon afterward by Cousin Hetty, who scolded her in a cheerful manner about disappearing for such a long time and throwing her into such a flutter.

Rosalind was happy at least that the ball was almost at an end. She had to sit looking cheerful for only half an hour longer. Even the journey home was not quite the ordeal she had expected. She was very much aware of Raymore seated opposite her in the carriage, their knees almost touching, but any tension there might have been between them was eased by the cheerful prattle of Sylvia and the lengthy comments of Cousin Hetty.

The matter was not to be dropped for the night, though. Sylvia was already halfway up the stairs and Rosalind had her foot on the bottom stair, Cousin Hetty close behind her, when Raymore entered the house.

"Rosalind, I wish to have a word with you in the library," he said quietly.

"Goodness," Cousin Hetty said, "these girls must be sleeping on their feet, Edward dear. Can it not wait until morning?"

"I am afraid not," he replied.

Rosalind turned without a word and preceded him to the library door.

"I shall have warm milk brought to your room, dear," Cousin Hetty said. "Be sure to come up in time to drink it before it grows cold."

Raymore reached around Rosalind and opened the doors to the library. He closed them again when they were both inside. He did not waste any time. "Are you quite bent on ruining a good man's life?" he asked.

Rosalind turned toward him incredulously. "What?" she asked.

He was looking at her with those ice-blue eyes that always infuriated her. "You enticed Crawleigh into the garden tonight," he said, "and into the summerhouse, so that you might satisfy your lust with him, and now you have forced him into playing the gentleman and offering for you."

"Entice? Lust?" Rosalind repeated. She was so furious that her breath was coming in uneven gasps. "How do you dare speak of me so?"

"I have eyes," he said icily, "and I saw how you were kissing him, Rosalind, your hands pulling him down to you. Your upbringing must have taught you how improper your behavior tonight was even without that embrace. And I believe that a few minutes longer would have seen you past the point of a simple kiss."