Raymore's eyes flashed and he turned his attention completely to his ward. Rosalind steeled herself for the type of blazing row that always seemed to erupt when he and she were together. Fortunately, perhaps, for both of them, the door of the salon opened at that moment and Lord Standen walked briskly into the room.

"Raymore," he said, "I cannot think what my servants are about keeping you here like an unbidden visitor instead of showing you to a room and seeing to your needs."

Rosalind, glancing at her guardian, was amazed to see that in the few seconds since she had last looked at him, his manner had been completely transformed. He was bowing and smiling amiably.

"Think no more of it," he said, all affability. "I insisted on staying here when I realized that I was not expected today. And your butler brought me refreshment."

"I see that Miss Dacey and Crawleigh have found you and have been entertaining you," Standen commented.

"Yes, indeed," Raymore agreed, smiling genially at the couple.

"I shall excuse myself," Rosalind said, dropping a slight curtsy. "I feel rather tired after the picnic and need to freshen up before dinner."

All three men bowed. Lord Standen held the door open for her as she left the room with lowered eyes. Raymore noticed that her limp was more pronounced than usual.


***

The Earl of Raymore had come to Broome Hall determined to have a peaceful holiday. Both his wards were safely betrothed to eligible men. His responsibility was almost at an end. He was determined to keep his distance from Rosalind whenever possible. He wanted to observe her with Crawleigh to satisfy himself that both wished the alliance. But he knew that he could never be close to her without quarreling with her in most undignified fashion.

Now, as he soaked in a bathtub of hot soapy water in the room that had been prepared for him, his valet assembling the clothes he would wear to dinner, he was feeling irritated. He had been in the house less than an hour before he had been arguing with her yet again. Why could she not be more like Sylvia? The latter had apparently gone straight to her room on returning from the afternoon's outing, just as she should. And he could not in his wildest imaginings picture Standen making to her the sort of proposition that Crawleigh had been making to Rosalind.

He did not know quite what to make of that episode or whom to blame. He had been almost blind with anger at the time. That Crawleigh could quite coolly suggest that he spend the night in her bed suggested a want of proper restraint in him. But what did it suggest about her? Surely no man would dream of proposing such a thing to a girl who had not given him much encouragement. And the thought of Rosalind flirting with Crawleigh and inviting his intimacies renewed the earl's anger to such an extent that he scrubbed his arms quite mercilessly and soon had scattered soapsuds in a wide circle around the bathtub. His fury was not in any way mollified by the sudden memory of himself making similar advances to Annette when he was betrothed to her. She had been no innocent, either.

Rosalind had been looking tired. He had noticed the fact even before she had said so herself. Did that mean that her nights were already occupied with Crawleigh? He ground his teeth at the thought. But, no, he did not think so. The man's words to her in the salon had suggested that he still had not conquered her reserve. Or her artfulness!

Raymore, pouring a jugful of clear water over his head to take the suds out of his hair, tried to consider the situation rationally. She was a grown woman, as both she and her fiance had pointed out to him. She was betrothed. She was no blood relation of his. Perhaps he should allow her to make her own decisions about her behavior.

But he could not! He got abruptly to his feet, reaching for the towel that his valet rushed over to hand him. Word was bound to get out if Crawleigh began spending nights with her. Tidbits of gossip like that were harder to keep secret than the man seemed to think. And even if she were a loose woman, Raymore decided, he was damned before he was going to have the fact bandied about among the whole ton. And what if for some reason the marriage never took place? She would be ruined. She might even bear an illegitimate child. She would certainly be a permanent millstone around his neck then. He determined to keep a very close eye on the girl in the coming days. Thank goodness at least that his other ward always behaved with propriety and blessed predictability.

Raymore dressed with care in formal evening dress: pale-blue silk knee breeches, silver waistcoat, and dark-blue velvet coat with white linen. He allowed his valet to arrange his neckcloth into complicated folds and insert a diamond pin into it. In his present mood he realized that he would probably ruin several carefully starched neckcloths before he would arrange one to his own satisfaction. Finally he descended to the drawingroom, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw. It seemed as if these few days in the country would not be such peaceful ones after all.

Rosalind had also dressed with care, choosing a gown of kingfisher-blue satin overlaid with sea-green lace, a color combination that looked startlingly attractive with her pale skin and dark hair. She was not sure why she had chosen to wear it tonight. She had been saving it for a special occasion and consequently had not worn it at all, though it had been delivered a month before. Perhaps she wanted to appear attractive to Bernard, whose proposition she had been forced to refuse quite publicly. Or perhaps she needed extra confidence to face the Earl of Raymore. She had been badly shaken to find him at Broome Hall two days before he was expected and under such very embarrassing circumstances. She preferred not to think about the meeting. She would have been glad of almost any other form of interruption. She had been shocked at Bernard's suggestion and did not know how she was to answer it. But Raymore of all people! She was glad that the two men had argued long enough for her to regain her poise. She had had the absurd urge when she first heard his voice to rush across the room to him to justify herself, to explain that she had not said or done anything improper. What a stroke of good fortune it was that she had not so humili-' ated herself.

Rosalind waited until the dresser had added the final touches to an elaborately piled hairdo, then made her way downstairs. She was deliberately almost late. She did not wish to have to make polite conversation in the drawing room with either Raymore or Bernard. She found that she had to cling more tightly than usual to the banister of the stairs. Her leg throbbed so badly that her whole body felt like a mighty heartbeat. She set a smile in place on her lips before entering the drawing room and accepting a glass of ratafia from a footman.

Rosalind's attention during dinner was taken by Sylvia. She was deliberately trying to ignore the presence of both Sir Bernard seated three places from her, and of Raymore seated almost opposite. There was certainly something wrong with her cousin. She was conversing with both Lady Standen and Sir Rowland Axby, but she did not have her usual sparkle. Rosalind doubted that anyone else would notice, but she had grown up more as a sister to Sylvia than as a cousin. And she recognized instantly that the girl was unhappy. Was Standen still displeased with her for the way she had behaved the night before at the dinner table? It seemed possible. The man set great store by his own consequence. Or had Sylvia discovered that she was not in love with him after all? Rosalind had never known the girl to be in love for more than a few weeks at the longest. And the match with Standen did not seem right. This time, though, Sylvie was in much deeper than she had ever been before. A betrothal, especially such a public one to a leading figure of the ton, would not be easy to withdraw from. Rosalind made a mental note to have a talk with her cousin before they went to bed. She held up her hand to refuse the helping of strawberries and Devon cream that a footman was about to set at her place. The pain in her leg was like a gnawing toothache. She could not concentrate upon eating.

Raymore noticed nothing strange about Sylvia's behavior, perhaps because he was sitting at the same side of the table as she and could not see her without leaning forward and turning his head. However, he was pleased to note that she was seated beside Lady Standen and that the two ladies appeared to be conversing. She was a crusty old bird, he understood. Standen might not be so eager for the match if his mother disapproved of his chosen bride.

He did watch Rosalind, though, without appearing to do so. He conversed politely with both Lady Theresa Parsons on his left and Letitia Morrison on his right. He felt an amused contempt for Lady Theresa, who was sending out very obvious lures in his direction. Women were all the same. Set a man with a title and wealth within their reach and they would use all the wiles at their disposal to trap him into matrimony. Rosalind was very subdued, he noted, probably feeling cramped by his presence. He drank from his wineglass and glanced across at her as she refused dessert. She would feel a great deal more cramped in the next few days if he had anything to say in the matter. She would find it far more difficult to meet her lover t?te-a-t?te

In the drawing room afterward Rosalind played the pianoforte while Lady Theresa and Letitia took turns singing. Sir Bernard joined them briefly, but he did not have the chance for personal conversation, as Letitia was seated on the stool beside Rosalind sorting through a pile of music. Within a few minutes he was called away to make up a table of cards with Lady Standen, Susan Heron, and Thomas Morrison. Rosalind limped to a sofa and sank down thankfully onto it, trying to find a comfortable position for her aching leg. The Earl of Raymore seated himself beside her almost immediately and handed her a cup of tea.