Julianne's gaze dropped to Sarah's midsection, which was just starting to show signs of swelling with the baby she carried. Her happiness for her friends, both of whom had fallen in love and married in the last several months, mingled with undeniable envy. She'd never have the love, joy, and passion that Sarah and Carolyn shared with their husbands.

No, there would be no love match for her. She'd long ago accepted the inevitable-that her father would arrange her marriage, his choice based solely on the advantageous considerations of property, titles, and money. As she'd been reminded practically from the cradle, she had no say in the matter, and complying without complaint to her father's wishes was the least she could do, since she'd had neither the decency nor the sense to be born a boy. After overhearing her parents' conversation earlier today, Julianne feared her arranged marriage was closer than ever.

Still, her heart dreamed of falling in love. Of passion. Of a man who would want her in those same ways and not merely as the product of a business arrangement. A man who would have fire in his eyes when he looked at her…

Even as Julianne tried to erase his image from her memory, a mental picture rose in her mind. Of a tall man with stark features, ebony hair, and dark eyes filled with secrets and mystery. A man surrounded by a veil of tempting, seductive, enticing danger. A man forbidden to her.

Gideon Mayne…

His name whispered through her mind, a silent sigh of longing.

He had fire in his eyes when he looked at her-a look that made her burn to know more, to know everything about him.

"Yes, you both married fabulous, dashing men," Emily said, pulling Julianne from her wayward thoughts, "and very selfishly, I might add, leaving nothing but nincompoops for Julianne and me. No other such magnificent men exist, and alas, Maxwell is but a figment of fiction."

He existed, Julianne knew.

But he could never be hers.

Lady Elaine had suffered the same dilemma regarding her ghostly lover Maxwell in The Ghost of Devonshire Manor, and Julianne vividly understood the hopelessness of the other woman's impossible feelings.

"The things that Maxwell did to Lady Elaine…" Sarah gushed out a sigh. "Good heavens, no wonder she never wanted to leave her home."

Julianne bit back a groan as a flash of heat tingled through her body. The story's scandalous nature had conjured all manner of fantasies featuring Gideon Mayne, images she couldn't dispel from her mind.

"My favorite parts of the book were when Maxwell scared off Lady Elaine's various suitors," Carolyn said. "He was quite devilish. And ingenious."

"Very," agreed Sarah. "I especially laughed when he made the vicar's duck entrée dance and quack on his plate."

"Maxwell did those things because he didn't want another man to have the woman he loved and desired so deeply," Julianne said softly. "His pain was so palpable, I could feel it, and my heart broke for him. They both knew that in spite of their feelings, their circumstances rendered them unable to truly be together."

Yes, circumstances no less impossible and unsolvable than those between her and the man she could not stop thinking about.

In an effort to banish thoughts of that which she could not have, Julianne sought to change the subject back to her séance idea of catching the robber. "Certainly if one is going to be haunted by a ghost, Maxwell is the sort to have-"

"Oh, I agree," interjected Emily. "Much preferable to the ghost that haunts my aunt Agatha's Surrey estate. His name is Gregory. According to Aunt Agatha, he's old, paunchy, suffers from the gout, and is wholly unpleasant."

"What makes your aunt believe she has a ghost?" Sarah asked in a dubious tone, pushing her spectacles higher on her nose.

"She's seen him," Emily responded. "And heard him. He groans a great deal. She calls him Gregory the Groaner."

"But how could she hear him?" Julianne asked. "Your aunt Agatha, although a dear lady, is deaf as a tree stump."

"Apparently Gregory flits about in the corridors, complaining of his aches and pains loudly enough for even Aunt Agatha to hear."

"Have you seen Gregory?" asked Carolyn.

Emily shook her head. "No, but I did hear some odd groaning sounds the last time I visited."

"Hearing groaning sounds, seeing ghosts, that's one of the things I wanted to discuss," Julianne said. "Based on our book selection, I think we should conduct a séance, similar to the one Lady Elaine held. Only instead of trying to conjure a lover, we'll attempt to summon this Mayfair ghost."

Emily's eyes sparkled with interest. "Ah, yes, you mentioned that earlier, then we went off on a tangent. An excellent suggestion. Of course we won't be successful, but it should prove an interesting diversion. When and where do you suggest?"

"I host it tomorrow evening," Julianne said. "Could you all come?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Emily said without hesitation. "Who knows what sort of ghost might be summoned or secrets revealed in the dark?"

"I wouldn't miss it either," said Sarah. "Of course, convincing Matthew to allow me out of his sight for an entire evening will present a challenge. He thinks that because I'm expecting I've turned into delicate spun glass-although I can't deny that his constant attention is flattering and quite, um, titillating." She turned to Carolyn. "I imagine your bridegroom won't be anxious to spend an evening without you."

"Hopefully not." An impish grin touched the corners of Carolyn's mouth. "But I'm certain Daniel and Matthew won't object to spending a few hours together at their club. It will be good for them to miss us."

A wave of pent-up emotions washed over Julianne, and she looked down. The gloomy shadows swallowing her feet in the dimly lit room seemed the personification of the future looming before her.

"You're both so fortunate to have husbands who love you so much," she whispered, unable to keep the hitch of wistfulness from her voice.

"Are you all right, Julianne?"

Carolyn's question, along with her gentle touch on Julianne's sleeve, pulled her gaze upward. "I'm fine," she said, offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Emily frowned. "I don't believe you. You seem out of sorts. And preoccupied."

I am. By the same thing that has haunted me for weeks… thoughts of something, someone, I can never have.

Yet she couldn't admit the truth, not even to her closest friends. They'd be shocked and warn her to turn her romantic inclinations toward someone suitable. Advice anyone would give an earl's daughter harboring an impossible fascination for a man whose circumstances were so far removed from her own.

"Has your mother said something to upset you?" asked Sarah.

Julianne grasped onto the excuse and shot her conscience an inward frown. After all, when didn't her formidable mother say something upsetting? Indeed, she'd done so only a few hours ago, and on a topic she could discuss with her friends. And one that brought reality back with a thump.

"Actually, yes," Julianne admitted. "I overheard her and Father talking earlier this evening about their plans for my future. Apparently the Duke of Eastling expressed interest in me."

"The Duke of Eastling?" repeated Emily, her expression reflecting the same wide-eyed dismay Julianne felt at the name. "But he's… so… so… not young."

"He's only just turned forty," Carolyn said.

"Which is only several years younger than my father," Emily retorted. "Besides, His Grace has already been married. And what did he do? Dragged his wife off to Cornwall, that's what. Which is no doubt where he'd want to drag Julianne as well." She turned distressed eyes toward Julianne. "Heavens, you cannot live in Cornwall. We'd never see you!"

"His wife died," Julianne said, "a year and a half ago. He's ready to remarry."

"I thought something like this might be in the wind when I saw your mother speaking to him just before he asked you to waltz," Sarah said.

"As did I," Carolyn agreed. "He's very eligible. And rich. And handsome."

"Yes," Julianne agreed. Indeed, most women found the duke, with his blond hair and light blue eyes, very attractive. But to Julianne, his good looks didn't matter. Not when he exuded the same icy, remote, uncompromising demeanor she'd been subjected to her entire life from her father. A shudder ran through her at the thought, and her father's stern voice seemed to echo in her ears, the mantra she'd heard countless times: The only thing a worthless daughter can do is marry to the advantage of her family. She longed for warmth and passion. Not chilly politeness and indifference.

"You are one of the loveliest, most sought-after young women in the ton," Carolyn said in a soothing tone, giving her hand a squeeze. "Your father will be entertaining many offers for you. I noted you shared a dance with Lord Haverly. He's a decent gentleman."

"And as exciting as beige spots on a beige wall," Julianne said with a sigh. "He bears the same expression whether he's ecstatic or livid. Indeed, the only way to tell which one he might be is if he's forthcoming enough to say, 'I'm ecstatic' or 'I'm livid.' He spoke of nothing but the new cutaway jacket he just purchased. He waxed poetic about every stitch. I thought I would doze off during our waltz. Besides which, he's bald."

"Not completely," said Emily. "He's just rather thin on top."

"What about Lord Penniwick?" Sarah asked. "You danced with him as well, and he's quite handsome. And he has a full head of hair."