MARGARET and Katherine Huxtable did not spend a great deal of time in London. They preferred their quiet life at Warren Hall, their brother’s principal estate in Hampshire.

Margaret managed the household with as much capability as she had shown at their cottage in Throckbridge. Katherine worked with the vicar-and with Stephen’s blessing-to set up a school in the village near Warren Hall under the tutelage of a reputable schoolmaster. She even helped out with the youngest children there sometimes-just as she had at Throckbridge before their fortunes changed.

She was also being courted by Phillip Grainger, a neighbor not many years her senior. She had rejected two marriage offers from him during the past two and a half years and had told him firmly the second time that she liked him exceedingly well but could never think of him as more than a dear friend.

He had pulled a rueful face and assured her that if he could not have her as a wife, then he would have to settle for her friendship. But sometimes he looked at her with more ardor than a friend ought, and sometimes she wondered if she would accept him should he offer a third time. She was twenty-three years old, after all. Most women her age had fixed their choice long ago.

She no longer believed in romantic love.

Oh, yes, she did. She had not become a complete cynic. But she did not believe in it for herself. She had tried-and failed-so many times to fall in love that she had given up even trying. Yet she wanted to be married. She wanted to be settled in her own home. She wanted children of her own. She certainly did not want to be a dependent of Stephen’s all her life.

She could surely have a perfectly happy life with Phillip Grainger. Well, a contented life, anyway-and she suspected that contentment was much underrated. Per haps it lasted longer than the euphoric happiness of romantic love. She liked Mr. Grainger. He would be good to her and their children. But perhaps accepting an offer from him, feeling as she did-or did not-would be unfair to him.

Sometimes she and Margaret went to Rigby Abbey in Northamptonshire to visit their sister Vanessa. She and Elliott no longer lived at Finchley Park. They had moved almost two years ago, after the sudden death of Elliott’s grandfather, the Duke of Moreland. Elliott held the title now.

Their sister was a duchess.

They sadly missed her. They also missed Isabelle, their young niece, who had been born at Finchley Park. They had not yet seen their newborn nephew, Samuel, Viscount Lyngate.

It was partly to rectify that omission that they had decided to spend the last few weeks of the Season in London this particular year. The Duke of Moreland was in town for the parliamentary session, so of course Vanessa and the children were there too.

So was Stephen, who had just completed his studies and had gone straight to London after coming down from Oxford. He had urged his sisters to join him there to help him celebrate. He was almost twenty-one. Soon he would reach his majority and be fully independent of all guardianship. Soon Margaret would be free of the obligation she had taken on at their father’s death eleven years ago to see all her siblings safely to adulthood.

They had been settled at Merton House on Berkeley Square for just one day when Stephen went out to spend the evening with a group of friends. One of them was Constantine Huxtable, their second cousin, of whom Katherine was inordinately fond, though she did not see him often.

Stephen had promised before going out that he would bring Constantine to the house during the evening if the opportunity presented itself. He did not do so, of course-Katherine and Margaret had not really expected that he would. Stephen was an affectionate and generally attentive brother, but he was also a young man, and young men often forgot everything but the pursuit of their own pleasure when they got together with one another.

Margaret retired early, still tired after their journey to town the day before and a lengthy, busy visit with Vanessa and the children during the day. Katherine read for a while longer and was just on her way upstairs to her room when she heard the front door below being opened and then shut.

She could hear Stephen’s cheerful voice and the butler’s more sober tones in reply. She leaned over the banister to listen, though she could not see down into the hall. And then she heard a deeper voice-Constantine’s.

It was late. They had doubtless been drinking and probably intended to have another drink or two in the library. She ought not to go down. They would not be expecting her, and her appearance might embarrass them. Constantine was sure to be in town for a little while. She would see him tomorrow or the next day.

There was a burst of merry male laughter, more indecipherable chatter, and then silence. They had gone into the library and shut the door.

She would just say good night to Stephen, she decided suddenly, running lightly down the stairs, and greet Constantine before they started drinking again. She would stay only a moment.

The butler had already disappeared. Katherine tapped on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer. She smiled at Stephen, who was at the sideboard pouring liquor from one of the crystal decanters into a glass. He was still youthfully slim and graceful, and his blond hair was still as curly and unruly as ever. But he had developed during the last few years into a confident young man who was going to be devastatingly attractive to the ladies. Indeed, he probably already was.

“Stephen,” she said.

And then she turned eagerly to their second cousin, who was standing with his back to the fireplace.

“Constantine.” She hurried toward him, both hands outstretched. “Stephen was to have brought you here earlier to see Meg and me. I daresay he forgot to tell you. We have not seen you since well before Christmas. How are you?”

“Very well,” he said, taking both her hands in his and kissing her cheek. “I need not ask you the same question, Katherine. You are obviously blooming with good health and are as lovely as ever. More so, in fact. A lady’s beauty is supposed to fade with each passing year. Yours grows more vivid.”

He was laughing at her, and she laughed right back.

“Oh, goodness,” she said. “I did not come down to listen to such flatteries. I came merely to greet you. I will leave you now, you will be happy to hear. A lady knows when her presence will merely dampen… er, spirits.”

She turned her head to laugh at Stephen and realized for the first time that there was someone else in the room too. Another gentleman, who was standing beside the oak desk close to the bookshelves, an open book in his hands.

She looked fully at him and their eyes met.

Oh.

Her stomach felt as if it had dropped three feet straight down. Her knees suddenly felt like jelly.

His right eyebrow lifted slightly to half disappear beneath the lock of dark hair that had fallen over his brow. His lips pursed. He inclined his head in a half-bow.

“Oh, I say!” Stephen exclaimed. “My manners have certainly gone begging. I do apologize. Kate, do you know Lord Montford? My sister, Katherine Huxtable, Monty.”

“Miss Huxtable,” he said in that light, pleasant voice she remembered so well-a voice that somehow wrapped itself about her spine and caused an inward shudder. “My pleasure.”

Somehow she commanded her knees well enough to dip into a slight curtsy.

“My lord,” she said.

Constantine cleared his throat.

“Allow me to escort you back upstairs, Katherine,” he said, stepping forward and offering his arm. “Late though it is, I will pay my respects to Margaret if she is still up.”

“She is not,” Katherine told him. “And there is no need to escort me. I can find my way alone. Good night.”

She smiled brightly at him and at Stephen and hurried toward the door, ignoring Lord Montford. Even so, Constantine was there before her and opened it for her to pass through.

“Good night, Katherine,” he said. “I will call upon you and Margaret tomorrow, if I may.”

“Night, Kate,” Stephen said cheerfully.

Constantine did not shut the library door until she was on the staircase. She lifted a hand and smiled at him and scurried upward.

It had been three years. And yet every one of those years had just fallen away. It could have happened yesterday…

The shame of it.

The terrible humiliation.

The hatred-not all of it directed against him.

He had not changed one whit. He was as handsome and as elegant-and as mocking-as ever.

And just as dangerously attractive.

Thank heaven Meg had gone to bed already.


* * *

Not only had young Merton failed to inform Con that he was supposed to call on his female cousins during the evening, but he had also neglected even to tell him that they were in town. If he had done so, Jasper would have heard it too, and he would not have gone within a mile of Berkeley Square tonight or any other night.

But he had gone, so when Katherine Huxtable had come hurrying into Merton’s library, all warm smiles and dazzling beauty and flushed animation, Jasper had been taken completely by surprise.

And he had been caught like a rat in a trap.

Waiting for her to see him. To react. To swoon quite away. To have a fit of the vapors. Or of hysterics. To point accusingly at him and appeal to her male relatives for protection and revenge.

None of which had happened.