This, he believed. If Olivia had been in town before she’d met Miss Winslow in the park, none of this would have happened. She would have known that Annabel Winslow was Lady Louisa’s cousin. She’d probably have known her birthday and favorite color as well. She certainly would have known that Miss Winslow was a Vickers granddaughter, and thus his uncle’s prey.

And Sebastian would have steered himself far far away. That kiss on the heath would be nothing but a dim (albeit delightful) memory. He certainly would not have accepted the invitation to the opera, and he would not have sat next to her, and he would not know that her eyes—such a clear, focused gray—took on a hint of green when she dressed in that color. He would not know that her sensibilities were remarkably like his, or that she caught the inside of her lower lip between her teeth when she was concentrating on something. Or that she was not terribly good at sitting still.

Or that she smelled faintly of violets.

If he had but known who she was, none of those pesky bits of information would be jiggling about in his brain, taking up useful space from something important. Like a thorough analysis of roundarm versus underarm bowling in cricket. Or the precise wording of Shakespeare’s sonnet “Alack! What poverty my Muse brings forth,” which he’d been misquoting in his head for at least a year now.

“Miss Winslow has become a laughingstock,” Olivia said, “and it is not fair. She did not do anything.”

“Neither did I,” Sebastian pointed out.

“But you have the power to fix things. She does not.”

“Alack, what poverty my Position brings forth,” he muttered.

“What?” Olivia said impatiently.

He waved his previous comment away. It wasn’t worth trying to explain. Instead, he gave her a direct look and asked, “What would you have me do?”

“Call upon her.”

Sebastian turned to Harry, who was still pretending to read his newspaper. “Didn’t she just say that all of London thinks I plan to seduce her?”

“She did,” Harry confirmed.

“GoodGod ,” Olivia blasphemed, with enough force to cause both men to blink. “The two of you are so obtuse.”

They both stared at her, their very silence confirming her statement.

“Right now it looks as ifboth of you have abandoned her. The earl apparently does not want her, and by all appearances, neither do you. Heaven knows what the society ladies are tittering behind their hands.”

Sebastian could well imagine. Most would say that Miss Winslow overreached, and society loved nothing more than to watch an ambitious female brought low.

“Right now people are calling upon her out of curiosity,” Olivia said. “And,” she added with a meaningful narrowing of her eyes, “cruelty. But make no mistake, Sebastian. When all this is over, no one will have her. Not unless you do the right thingright now .”

“Please tell me the right thing does not involve a proposal of marriage,” he said. Because really, delightful though Miss Winslow was, he hardly thought he’d behaved in a fashion to warrant it.

“Of course not,” Olivia said. “You need merely to call upon her. Show society that you still find her delightful. And you must be all that is proper. If you do anything that even hints of seduction, she will be ruined.”

Sebastian started to make one of his usual flip comments, but a little jab of indignation began to uncurl within him, and by the time he opened his mouth it could not be denied. “Why is it,” he wanted to know, “that people—people, I might add, who have known me for several years, some even for decades—believe me the sort of person who might seduce an innocent young lady for revenge?”

He waited for a moment, but Olivia had no answer. And neither, apparently did Harry, who had given up all pretense of reading his newspaper.

“This is not an idle question,” Sebastian said angrily. “Have I ever behaved in a manner to suggest such a thing? Tell me what I have done to make myself out to be such a predatory villain. Because I must confess that I am at a loss. Do you know that I have never, notonce , slept with a virgin?” He directed that comment at Olivia, mostly because he was in the mood to shock and offend. “Even when Iwas a virgin.”

“Sebastian, that’s enough,” Harry said quietly.

“No, I don’t think it is. What, I wonder, do people think I plan to do with Miss Winslow once I seduce her? Abandon her? Kill her and toss the body in the Thames?”

For a moment his cousins could do nothing but stare. It was the closest Sebastian had come to raising his voice since…

Since…

Since ever. Even Harry, who had known him since childhood, been through school and army with him, had never heard him raise his voice.

“Sebastian,” Olivia said gently. She reached across the table to place her hand on his, but he shook her off.

“Is this what you think of me?” he demanded.

“No!” she said, her eyes filling with horror. “Of course not. But Iknow you. And—Where are you going?”

He’d already come to his feet and was rapidly making for the door. “To call upon Miss Winslow,” he bit

off.

“Well, don’t go inthat mood,” she said, hurrying out of her chair.

Sebastian stopped in his tracks and gave her a look.

“I…er…” She looked over at Harry, who had also risen to his feet. He answered her silent question in kind, merely quirking a brow and tilting his head to the door.

“Perhaps I will go with you,” Olivia said. She swallowed, then quickly placed her hand on Sebastian’s arm. “It will make it seem all the more proper, wouldn’t you think?”

Sebastian gave her a curt nod, but the truth was, he didn’t know what to think anymore. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

Chapter Thirteen

Brandy?” Lady Vickers asked, holding forth a glass.

Annabel shook her head. After the second day of receiving morning callers with her grandmother (who could not face any hour before noon without the proper libation) she had learned that it was best to stick to lemonade and tea until after dinner. “It will give me a stomachache,” she said.

“This?” Lady Vickers asked, eyeing the glass curiously. “How odd. It makes me feel positively serene.”

Annabel nodded. There was no other way to respond. She’d spent more time with her grandmother in the last few days than she had in the entire previous month. When Lady Vickers had told her to take the scandal like a lady, she’d been referring to herself as well, and apparently that meant sticking to one’s granddaughter’s side like glue.

It was, Annabel realized, quite the most tangible show of love her grandmother had ever displayed toward her.

“Well, I will say one thing,” Lady Vickers proclaimed, “for all that it’s a scandal, I have seen more of my friends than I have in years.”

Friends? Annabel smiled weakly.

“I do think perhaps it’s dying down,” Lady Vickers continued. “There were thirty-three visitors the first day, thirty-nine the second, and only twenty-six yesterday.”

Annabel’s mouth fell open. “You’ve been counting?”

“Of course I’ve been counting. What haveyou been doing?”

“Ehrm…sitting here and trying to take it like a lady?”

Her grandmother chuckled. “You probably didn’t think I could count so high.”

Annabel spluttered and stammered and began to regret turning down that brandy.

“Pfft.” Lady Vickers dismissed her distress with a sharp wave of her hand. “I have all sorts of hidden talents.”

Annabel nodded, but the truth was, she was not certain she wanted any more of her grandmother’s talents to rise to the surface. In fact, she was sure of it.

“A lady must have her own private reserve of secrets and strength,” her grandmother continued. “Trust me.” She took a sip of her drink, let out a contented exhale, and took another. “Once you are married you will understand what I mean.”

Ninety-eight visitors, Annabel thought, doing the addition in her head. Ninety-eight people had called upon Vickers House, eager to see the latest scandal. Or spread it. Or tell her how much it had spread.

It had been awful.

Ninety-eight people. She slumped.

“Sit up straight!” her grandmother snapped.

Annabel obeyed. Maybe not quite ninety-eight. Several people had come more than once. Lady Twombley had been byevery day .

And where had Mr. Grey been in all this? No one seemed to know. He had not been seen since the altercation at his club. Annabel was quite certain this was true, because she had been told this, no fewer than ninety-eight times.

But Annabel supposed she wasn’t angry at Mr. Grey. None of this was his fault. She should have told him that she was being courted by his uncle.She was the one who could have prevented the scandal. That was the worst of it. She had spent the whole of three days feeling embarrassed and angry and small, and she had no one to blame but herself. If she had told him the truth, if not the moment she’d learned his name then at least when they’d met in Hyde Park…

“Visitors, my lady,” the butler announced.

“Our first two of the day,” Lady Vickers said dryly. Or was it mockingly? “Who is it, Judkins?”

“Lady Olivia Valentine and Mr. Grey.”

“It’s about damned time,” Lady Vickers grunted. And then, when Judkins had shown their guests in, she said it again. “It’s about damned time. What has taken you so long?”

Annabel wanted to die of mortification.

“I took ill,” Mr. Grey said smoothly, with a wry half smile that pointed up toward his eye.