She'd warned herself countless times in the previous days not to wish for the stars, not to allow herself to dream the impossible. But he was so very easy to love… Abruptly setting aside the book she'd been attempting to read again, she rose from her chair, needing distraction from her hopeless fantasies.

But she understood for the first time why all the millions of tomes on love and romance had been written. To remind one of the inexplicable wonder. To exalt and rejoice. To revel in the astonishing pleasure.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, she silently implored, because I need you beside me.

Standing in the middle of the immense drawing room, surrounded by miles of gilding, countless yards of turquoise damask, furniture fit for kings, she listened for the footfall that would bring her joy.

And when he opened the door almost two hours later, she turned from the windows overlooking the gardens, her eyes filled with tears.

"I thought you weren't coming back."

"How could I not." Dropping her valises, he opened his arms.

She ran to him across the great expanse of Aubusson carpet, and he felt as though he'd returned to paradise.

"I shouldn't feel this way," she sobbed as he held her close.

"I'm glad you do," he whispered, wondering how she'd completely altered his world in so short a time.

"I should be blasé and sophisticated and charming so you don't tire of me."

"I don't want that, puss." Slipping his finger under her chin, he gently lifted her face. "I like you exactly the way you are."

"You don't mind taking a crybaby to Richmond?" She sniffled and smiled and looked so utterly adorable, he forgot to be sensible.

"You're my sun and moon, Izzy," he whispered.

And her heart filled with joy.

He played lady's maid for her, which delayed their departure for some time, but eventually Isabella was properly attired in addition to being deliciously sated, and leaving Dermott's suite, she walked on air.

The servants were decorous and polite regardless the awkward status of their employer's guest. Dermott's orders had been unequivocal. And Pomeroy wished them good journey as they walked from Bathurst House into the courtyard, where a closed carriage waited. Dermott helped Isabella into the green-lacquered conveyance, and after giving instruction to the driver, climbed in, shut the door, and took his place beside her.

"You'll like Strawberry Hill," he said with a smile.

"I know I will."

Chapter Eleven

MOLLY DISPATCHED A NOTE to the Lord Moira, requesting he visit her at his earliest convenience. And when Francis Hastings was announced the following afternoon, she greeted him warmly. "Thank you for responding so promptly."

"We've been friends for enough years that I recognized a note of urgency in your request." Walking into her drawing room, he moved to the chair beside hers and sat down. "Now tell me what I can do for you."

A close friend of the Prince of Wales's and Dermott's as well, Lord Moira was a frequent patron at Molly's. And on the occasions when he'd gambled and lost more than he could afford, she'd kindly covered his losses. They both understood the specifics of patronage and the merits of giving and receiving favors.

After seeing that Lord Moira had his favorite brandy, Molly poured herself one and began relating her story. "A very strange happening occurred a short time ago. A young lady, pursued and in fear for her life, burst into my establishment one night." And she went on to briefly describe Isabella's sudden appearance and the subsequent events related to it.

Lord Moira smiled. "Dermott always manages to pluck the ripest fruit, does he not?"

Molly nodded. "He has his share of beautiful companions."

"But this young lady requires some additional aid?"

"And I'm not in a position to offer it to her. You understand."

"Of course. You're talking about-?"

"Possibly a number of things."

"Of a conventional nature, I presume."

"Yes. And that's why I need your help. There's a possibility Dermott may come up to scratch-"

"He won't." Lord Moira's words were blunt.

"I know." Molly sighed. "This young lady is wellborn on her mother's side and an heiress now that her grandfather has died. Do you know George Leslie?"

"A merchant banker?"

"The same."

"He may have supplied the Prince with some funds, if my memory serves me."

"Better yet. I shan't feel as though I'm asking for so much." She tapped the rim of her glass. "I want Isabella protected from her relatives first. Although I think I may be able to take a hand in that. But I also wish her to be launched into society, and that's where I need you."

"Does Miss Leslie have a female relative who can be useful in that regard? I could see that she receives the necessary invitations and vouchers."

"Unfortunately not."

Lord Moira pursed his lips.

"Would Mrs. Fitzherbert be willing to sponsor her? I understand she and the Prince are inseparable once again."

"Mrs. Fitzherbert's welcomed everywhere, of course, but not exactly-"

"Without the Prince. Talk to Wales, then. See what he can do."

Lord Moira smiled. "Prinny may be willing to help if for no other reason than to play a prank on Dermott. To see Bathurst squirm as this unknown paramour is thrust onto the ton might amuse Wales mightily."

"It makes no difference to me what the reason, so long as the deed is accomplished. I'll try to deal with the relatives who plague her, but if necessary, I may ask your assistance there too. They have two eligible daughters, I understand, who are angling for husbands this season."

"A banker's daughters?" Moira's brows rose in mild derision. "Would they be moving in the same circles?"

"Occasionally… possibly. I'm trying to consider all contingencies."

"Miss Leslie must be a very special young lady," Moira quietly said.

"Unique." Molly cast him a warning glance. "And I don't want you to charm her, Francis. She doesn't need any more ineligible suitors."

"You want her happily married to some peer of the realm, in a fairy-tale fashion."

"I'm not so naive. But I'd like her to have the opportunity to see if she wishes that world. She has background, wealth, and stunning beauty. Whomever she bestows her affection on will be a fortunate man."

"You're a manipulative darling," Moira playfully said. "I can see there's nothing for it but that I must accede to your wishes."

"You'll talk to Mrs. Fitzherbert?"

"Let me talk to the Prince first. He may have some other hostess more comme il faut who's willing to take this young lady in hand." His gaze narrowed. "Are you sure she wishes this? If she's under Dermott's spell, she may refuse."

Molly softly snorted. "He won't keep her. You know that as well as I. And once she's been discarded, as his sexual playmates invariably are, I think I may be able to convince her-to pay him back, as it were."

"A woman scorned…" Moira smiled. "I shudder to think of the consequences." His expression sobered. "But consider, do you want Bathurst as an opponent? Does she? He won't back down."

Molly's gaze was equally serious. "Right now I'm not concerned with Dermott. He's very capable of taking care of himself. I'm doing this exclusively for Isabella. For her future happiness."

"Very well. You have my support, of course." While Lord Moira was in debt to Molly for a variety of favors, they'd become friends as well over the years. And he genuinely liked her. He suddenly grinned. "Would you care to make a small wager on whether Dermott responds to the lady's entrance into society"-his brows flickered in sportive query-"with his usual indifference?"

"You might lose on that. Think, Francis, when has he taken a lover to his house at Richmond, or, more to the point, to Bathurst House?"

"Not Bathurst House!" His eyes widened in astonishment. "You don't mean it."

She smiled.

"So you might have other plans as well," he murmured. "Like bringing Bathurst up to scratch another way."

"It's time, I think, that he experiences an unselfish feeling."

"You're going to reform the rake that's bedded half of London since his return from India?"

"I'm not sure Isabella requires reform so much as commitment."

Moira groaned. "Never, Molly… you aim too high."

"We'll see," she murmured, more aware than Moira of Dermott's response to the beautiful Miss Leslie. "In due time, Francis, perhaps all the ton will have a front row seat at the spectacle."

He laughed, his hearty guffaw a boisterous sound in the elegant rococo room. "Damn, Molly, I tell you, I wait with bated breath." He drained his brandy and set the glass down. "With such a drama in the offing, I'm in haste to set the wheels in motion. You'll hear from me soon."

"Thank you, Francis. This is important to me."

Rising, he gracefully bowed. "Then we shall see the lady launched, my dear. You can count on it."


Unmindful of the plans en train for their return to the city, the lovers dwelt at Richmond in an idyll of sensual delight and joy. Some days they never left their bed, the sunny springtime viewed through the open doors to the terrace, the scent of fresh air only a light wafting breeze on their heated flesh. On other days they lay in the meadow behind the ancient orchard and absorbed the sun like pagans aligned to the rhythms of nature and made love as though they were alone in the world.

They swam in the river and fished and even played croquet one night when the moon was full. They made love later in the cool grass and wondered if ever two people were so happy. Dermott had dismissed his servants, unwilling to share Isabella, and they ate haphazardly from the food left for them each morning or attempted occasionally to master the most rudimentary culinary skills. Twice they walked into the nearby village and ate at the inn, shocking the locals by hiring a private dining room and not reappearing for hours.