"Beautiful woman," Luc said, his gaze still following Vermillion. Caleb could see by the interest in his eyes he had never made her acquaintance. He was surprised by the enormity of his relief.

Lucas shifted his gaze back to Caleb. "So what are you doing with a chit just out of the schoolroom? Or are you so besotted you are posing as her groom simply to be near her?"

"Sorry to disillusion you, brother, but she isn't the innocent she seems. I'll explain everything later. In the meantime, it would be best if you forgot you ever saw me."

Luc smiled. "That shouldn't be too hard to do. Now the lady… that might be a more difficult matter. What did you say was her name… ?"

The corner of Caleb's mouth barely curved. "I'll see you when this is over. Not a word of the matter until then." His brother's smile faded as he recognized the seriousness in Caleb's tone.

"I gather there is more at stake than at first it might appear. Take care of yourself, brother." Lucas gently grasped his shoulder.

"You as well, Luc." Turning away, Caleb headed for his seat on the carriage next to the driver, grateful it had been Lucas he had encountered and not another of his brothers or one of his more rapscallion friends.


Yesterday had been more enjoyable than she had expected and Lee was delighted by the purchase of the mare and her foal. But the pleasant interlude was over and tonight her life had returned to normal. Aunt Gabriella was holding a small soiree in honor of the occasion of Lady Rotham's birthday. The countess would be turning thirty years old, not an auspicious event for some, but Elizabeth Sorenson seemed to see it as a portal into another, more hopeful phase of her existence.

"Charles has always thought of me as a child," she explained as they stood beneath one of the chandeliers in the drawing room, a crush of guests swirling around them.

Most of them were men, of course, but there were women as well, a novelist and poet named Sally Grisham, who thought herself something of a bohemian; Lisette Moreau, Sir Peter Peasley's current chère amie; and a couple of actresses up from Drury Lane. Colonel Wingate was there along with his aide, Lieutenant Oxley; and Jonathan Parker, Viscount Nash.

"Now that I have entered into my middle years," Elizabeth continued, "Charles shall be forced to see me as the woman I have become, rather than the innocent I was when we married."

Elizabeth rarely spoke of the man she had wed at her parents' insistence. It was interesting, Vermillion thought. Lady Rotham flouted convention at every turn. As soon as she had delivered her husband of an heir and a spare, she had begun to take lovers. She had a reputation for being shamelessly wicked and embroiling herself in one scandal after another, yet Vermillion thought that perhaps she had once been desperately in love with her husband.

Lee cast a glance at the Earl of Rotham. Charles Sorenson was refined and handsome, with light brown hair and pale blue eyes. Though he had always been more discreet than his wife in his affairs, it was rumored that just days after his marriage, Charles had returned to his mistress, a widow named Molly Cinders. Vermillion wondered if perhaps Elizabeth had been crushed by the faithless act.

"Vermillion, my beauty! At last I've found you. I've been looking all over." Mondale strode toward her. Tonight he was dressed in a peacock blue tailcoat, even brighter than his brilliant blue eyes. "The music has begun. The orchestra is playing a waltz and I believe you have promised this particular dance to me."

He cut quite a dashing figure with his handsome face and gleaming blond hair. Distantly she wondered why it was that Caleb Tanner seemed more appealing in a pair of coarse brown breeches and a simple homespun shirt.

"Good evening, my lord."

He made an extravagant bow over her hand. "You look ravishing, as always."

Lee thought that she did look pretty tonight, in a simpler gown than she usually wore, a tunic dress she had ordered in a moment of weakness that looked rather placid in contrast to Vermillion's usual extravagant attire. Though the bodice was so low it barely concealed her nipples, the silk was a soft shade of aquamarine. The tunic fit over a slightly darker lingerie skirt, both of them trimmed with cream lace. There were tiny bowknots down the front of the tunic and pearls sewn into the lace.

"Thank you, my lord. You look extremely dashing yourself." The coat might be a little bright, but it was a lovely shade of blue, slightly darker than his eyes, and the fit was perfect. Behind him, she could hear the strains of the waltz as Mondale reached for her hand. In a way she didn't mind. She loved to waltz, scandalous as many thought it was, and Lord Andrew was an excellent dancer.

Leading her onto the polished wood floor, he pulled her into his arms, swept her into the rhythm of the music, and she felt as if she were floating. She tried to imagine what it might be like if Andrew were her lover, but her aunt had always been protective of her in that regard. She had seen a stallion mounting a mare, and during a party or ball, some of the guests might sneak away to the rooms upstairs. She had heard the odd sounds they made and of course Gabriella's friends often talked about it, so at least she knew what occurred. Still, there was no real way to envision what it might be like should they make love.

She felt Andrew's hand at her waist, drawing her shamelessly close.

"You don't have to wait, you know… till your birthday, I mean. We could simply go off together. We could leave tonight, if you wanted." He led her into a sweeping turn and she felt his hardened male anatomy pressing against her hip. She tried not to flush but a hint of color crept into her cheeks.

"It's too soon, Andrew. I'm not ready to make my choice." He was pressing her more and more. The men in the drawing room all believed she was a seasoned courtesan, an illusion her aunt had skillfully woven. They believed she held herself back from her string of eager admirers only to heighten the excitement when she chose her next lover.

But as Vermillion felt Lord Andrew's growing arousal and recalled what the stallion had done to the mare, she felt more and more uncertain.

When the dance came to a close, she stepped away. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, my lord. There's a somewhat pressing matter I need to attend."

"Remember what I said." Andrew smiled, certain she was headed for the ladies' retiring room. "I shall remain just here, eagerly awaiting your return. Perhaps when you arrive, you will join me for a walk in the garden."

She should, she knew. The time to make her decision grew nearer each day. Perhaps if she were better acquainted with Andrew, if she allowed him to take certain liberties with her person, she would be more reassured in her choice.

She glanced up at him, remembered the dampness of his hands as his stiff length rubbed against her, and fled the drawing room instead. With a glance around to be certain no one witnessed her escape, she disappeared down the hall to the study and quietly made her way out to the garden.

Lee didn't stop until she was well away from the house, away from the light of the crystal chandeliers glowing like jewels through the drawing room windows. It was quiet in this distant part of the garden, except for the sound of her slippers crunching on the gravel path. She could see the roof of the gazebo through the branches of a sycamore tree, hear the hum of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl.

Seating herself on a wrought-iron bench near the fountain, she inhaled the musk of damp leaves, the soft scent of lilacs just beginning to blossom.

She felt better out here among the flowers, able to escape her turbulent thoughts for a while. She was listening to the trickle of water into the bowl of the fountain, beginning to relax, when she heard the rustle of leaves and recognized the sound as someone moving along the path toward the rear of the garden.

She knew she shouldn't be out there by herself. She was too far away from the house. If it were Mondale or Wingate, she might find herself with a problem. She started to rise from the bench when she heard Caleb Tanner's familiar, insolent drawl.

"You don't have to go. Not on my account."

She stood up anyway, not wishing to be at such a disadvantage. As he strolled toward her along the path, a distant torch illuminated his profile, but she couldn't read his face.

"What are you doing out here in the garden?" She tried to look affronted and ignore the little leap her heart made at his approach.

"I was listening to the music… watching the dancing."

"You're not supposed to be out here. You're hardly one of the guests."

"True enough." He sauntered toward her, stopped a few feet away. Propping a wide shoulder against the trunk of a tree, he gave her a sweeping perusal, then his dark gaze returned to her breasts. For an instant, she couldn't seem to breathe. When she did, each breath came much too fast and forced her bosom even nearer the top of her dress.

Tanner's eyes went dark. "And, of course, there is always the chance that someone might see me. Lord Andrew would scarcely approve your being out here alone, conversing with one of the servants."

But Caleb Tanner was as far from a servant as she had ever encountered. He was arrogant and impertinent. He was overbearing and at times even rude. In short, he was nothing at all like any man she had ever met and every time she saw him, her attraction to him grew.

It was ridiculous. She was a wealthy woman with a circle of admirers that stretched across the whole of London. She couldn't imagine how it was that he could make her feel so off balance every time they chanced to meet.