“Matters like this?”

“I have been the worst sort of coward, Derek.” She straightened her shoulders and met his gaze firmly, ignoring the way her heart beat faster in her chest. “It has always been difficult for me to admit when I’m wrong—”

“As you are never wrong.”

“Apparently, in that, too, I’m wrong. It is something of a revelation.” She wasn’t exactly sure what to say next even though she’d rehearsed this over and over. “Paris seems to be fraught with all sorts of revelations for me.”

“Being in unfamiliar surroundings can have that effect on people.”

“Quite possible I suppose.”

“I must say you look lovely today.” His gaze skimmed over her in an approving manner. “This new way of wearing your hair is most becoming.”

“How kind of you to say.” Suzette continued to do her hair in a softer style that framed her face. India had to admit she rather liked it.

“Is that one of the new dresses?”

“It is.”

He grinned. “My mother has excellent taste.”

“And I am delighted to be the beneficiary of it.” India glanced down at the new dress and smiled with satisfaction. “It arrived this morning.”

She couldn’t remember ever having a dress that was as lovely as it was practical. The new day dress was a fetching salmon color, with a draped overskirt and a touch of lace at the neck, wrists and waist. It was far and away the frilliest thing she’d ever owned but not nearly as fussy as Estelle’s gowns. India still found it hard to believe, but Estelle was right. There was nothing like a new dress to make you feel, well, new. And not the least bit ordinary.

India had been assisting Lady Westvale with preparations for the ball all morning. Preparations that had come to an abrupt halt the moment several of India’s new dresses were delivered. Derek’s mother had insisted India try each one on before they did anything else. The older woman had been very much like a child with a new toy at Christmas. India wasn’t at all sure how she felt about being a new toy, but she’d been nearly as excited as her ladyship.

As much as she had tried to rein in Lady Westvale’s enthusiastic assault on the dressmakers of Paris, even India was no match for the older lady’s resolve. The more India had protested, the more determined Lady Westvale became until India finally realized the only way to curb the lady’s excesses was to capitulate. Still, the end result was four day dresses, three dresses suitable for evening, two dresses for traveling and a ball gown. None of which, her ladyship had insisted, would do by themselves, and the appropriate shoes, hats, gloves and everything else Lady Westvale deemed necessary was ordered or purchased. And all, India suspected, at exorbitant prices as Lady Westvale wanted everything as quickly as possible. India could never repay her, not merely for her expenditures but for her kindness.

“But I’m afraid your mother was entirely too generous. I can’t even imagine the total expenditure.” India shook her head. “I can never repay her.”

“Nor does she wish to be repaid,” Derek said firmly. “She has had a great deal of fun, and I am grateful to you for giving that to her. And grateful as well that you have kept her occupied.” He lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “There is nothing more dangerous than my mother with time on her hands.”

“I can imagine,” India murmured.

The past three days with his mother had confirmed that India was right about the kind of man Derek truly was. Certainly one should take what a man’s mother said about him with a grain of salt, but Lady Westvale was far too clever to simply detail Derek’s good points. Instead she regaled India with stories about Derek and Lord Brookings’s boyhood. Stories about the time Derek had talked his brother into giving him his collection of foreign coins to add to his own savings so the boys could purchase a horse that was being mistreated. The horse had been old and had died some months later, but both boys learned that the reward of helping those who cannot help themselves was as much for those who give as those who receive. Or the time he had been forced against his will to ask a less-than-pretty wallflower to dance, only to discover she was quite nice and very sweet when one looked past her plain appearance. That, too, was a lesson that things aren’t always as they appear that Lady Westvale said her sons had never forgotten.

India wasn’t sure how it happened, but she found herself telling Derek’s mother things she had never told anyone. During one of her dress fittings, Lady Westvale was curious as to why India thought herself ordinary in appearance. Without thinking, India told her that during her school years, there was a young man who would come to escort his sister home for holidays. While India had thought it her secret, apparently some of the other girls noticed that India had a crush on the young gentleman, and she overheard them say the youthful Lord So-and-So would never give someone as ordinary as India Prendergast so much as a second look. Why, she’d be lucky ever to find a husband. Odd, that until Lady Westvale had asked, India would have said she didn’t remember the incident at all. The older lady had pointed out, whether India recognized it or not, she was no longer ordinary but rather striking in appearance with her green eyes and ripe figure and, of course, well-fitting, stylish clothing. Lady Westvale had also noted that, while she herself had been considered a beauty in her youth, when she was a young girl, she was more than a little plump. Some of us, she’d said to India, blossom at our own pace.

When they had stopped at a charming café—but then Lady Westvale had declared nearly all the cafés in Paris to be charming—for tea and she had again brought up her desire for her sons to find love, India had mentioned in an offhand manner that she was not especially enamored of love and considered romance a silly notion. She’d also confessed that her parents’ union had been considered a love match, a great romance that had ultimately led them to abandon home and family to wander the world together in search of adventure, in the guise of spreading the word of God. The older woman agreed that abandoning one’s responsibilities to a child was selfish and unforgivable but that could not be blamed on love. The fault she’d said, quoting Shakespeare—apparently it ran in the family—is not in our stars but in ourselves, and added that the very best thing about love was that it knows no bounds but is open and endless. Indeed, when one has opened one’s heart to one person it’s easy to love others, as well. Before India could respond, Lady Westvale had gone on to another topic, but her words lingered in India’s head.

“What were you wrong about this time, India?” Derek asked abruptly.

“You,” she said without thinking, then plunged ahead. “Or rather me. When I said I didn’t trust you—” she shook her head “—I shouldn’t have said it as it isn’t true.”

“It isn’t?” Caution sounded in his voice.

“I didn’t realize it at the time but...” She met his gaze directly. “If I believe that you, at heart, are a good, decent man, if I have faith that you can indeed reform, and be a better man, the man I think you want to be, then, whether I wish to acknowledge it or not, I do trust you.” She drew a steadying breath. “I am truly sorry that I did not say so when I should have.”

He stared at her. “I see.”

“And I am indeed a coward, not only because I refuse to face that I am—or have been of late—frequently wrong...” In for a penny, she supposed. She braced herself. “But because I like you, Derek Saunders. I like you a great deal, and I find it somewhat terrifying.”

“I—”

She held out her hand to stop him. “I didn’t expect to like you at all. Nor did I ever expect to trust you even the tiniest bit.” The words seemed to come of their own accord. “And I liked kissing you. But as much as I liked kissing you, I liked you kissing me more. While I would prefer to think that the enjoyment of it had more to do with who you were kissing than the fact that you no doubt have had a great deal of practice—”

“I can assure you—”

“I would not be averse to you kissing me again.” She raised her chin. “Frequently and with a great deal of enthusiasm.” She ignored the heat washing up her face. How could she have said that? What was she thinking?

“I see,” he said thoughtfully.

“Goodness, Derek.” She huffed. “You cannot continue to respond with ‘I see.’ That’s a most unsatisfactory answer. It says nothing at all. What exactly do you see?”

“I see that what you are trying to say is more or less in the way of an apology.”

“It is an apology, I thought that was apparent. And quite sincere, too, I might add.”

“As well as a confession.”

“Yes, well, perhaps,” she said weakly.

“There is no perhaps about it.” He stepped closer and stared down at her. “You said you liked kissing me, you liked my kissing you and you would not be disinclined to do so again. I’m fairly certain that’s a confession.”

“Very well then.” She raised a shoulder in a casual shrug. “It’s a confession.”

“I see.” He grinned. He was close enough to kiss her again if he was so inclined.

“And what do you see this time?” Her pulse pounded in her ears.

“I see a lovely woman who is clever and stubborn and perhaps the most annoying creature I have ever met.”

“Oh?”

“I have a confession to make, as well. I said kissing you was a mistake. The mistake was in the time and place.” He lowered his head, his lips close to hers. “Not in the kiss itself.”

“Then do you intend to kiss me again?” She held her breath.

“I do.”

“Now?” The word was little more than an odd sort of squeak.

“No.” He straightened.

Her heart plummeted. “I see.”