“Oh, you poor man,” she said, turning her head sharply again and tipping it to one side so that she was suddenly aware of his arm, less than an inch away from her ear. “You did not get the point at all, did you?”

“On the contrary. I believe I got it very well indeed,” he told her. “It was explained very clearly to me-repeatedly. Apparently I was headed for judgment, damnation, and hellfire. I was incorrigible. Beyond hope.”

He grinned at her and she shook her head.

“What clergyman told you that?” she asked indignantly. “My father would have given him a piece of his mind.”

“No clergyman,” he said. “There are other persons in a lad’s life who speak with even more authority for the deity.”

She gazed at him. Was he talking about his father? But his father had died before his birth. His tutor, then? Or his stepfather, Miss Wrayburn’s father?

“What is so mundane about your life as it is?” he asked her again.

“It would be ungrateful to call it mundane,” she said. “By most standards it is anything but. It is just that sometimes when I am alone-and I love to be alone-I feel a welling of something, of a knowledge that is only just beyond my grasp, of a great happiness that is just waiting to be embraced. Sometimes I try to express the feeling through poetry, but even poems require words. You may laugh at me now if you wish.”

He smiled, but he did not immediately say anything. She found herself gazing rather uncomfortably into dark eyes that were only inches from her own. She was aware again of his cologne.

She spread her fingers across her lap.

“Do you dream of marriage?” he asked her. “Do you dream of finding happiness that way?”

“Yes, I dream of marriage,” she said, “and of children and a home of my own. There is not much else for a lady, is there? Even now I worry about being a burden upon Stephen all his life. I am twenty-three years old.”

“You must have had numerous offers,” he said.

“Some,” she admitted. “Good offers from good gentlemen.”

“But-?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I want him to be very special,” she said, looking back toward the rose garden. “Heart of my heart, soul of my soul. It is foolish to wait for him, I know. Very few people actually do find that one unique mate we probably all dream of finding. But I have never yet been able to persuade myself to settle for less.”

She was assailed suddenly by a sense of unreality. Was she actually having this conversation with Lord Montford, of all people? However had they got onto such a topic?

She almost laughed.

“He is a fortunate man,” he said without any apparent irony, “or will be when he finds you. It will be a love to move mountains.”

She turned her face to him again and really did laugh this time.

“I believe it is more likely,” she said, “that he will run ten miles without stopping. Men do not think of love and marriage as women do. I have learned that in my twenty-three years. How would you react if I told you that you were heart of my heart and soul of my soul?”

She could have bitten out her tongue as soon as the words were spoken.

He regarded her from beneath half-closed eyelids.

“I believe,” he said, “I might feel my heart beat faster and my soul stir to life from its long-dormant state.”

She bit her lip.

“Or I might also,” he said, moving his head a little closer to hers so that for one startled moment she thought he intended to kiss her, “claim to have won my wager.”

She smiled again. He held his composure for a moment longer, and then he smiled too-slowly and lazily.

“But you are not going to say it?” he asked her.

“I am not,” she agreed.

“Not yet,” he said. “But you will.”

She laughed softly. No man had ever flirted with her. She had never flirted with any man. Until she met Lord Montford, that was. And why did it happen with him-every time they met? Why did he do it? Why did she allow it?

His gaze had moved beyond her again; and he raised his hand once more and executed a mock salute and a half-wave with it before turning his attention back to her.

“The esteemed Sir Clarence Forester,” he explained, “and his even more esteemed mama. They are no longer coming this way, you will be pleased to know. Probably they saw that Charlotte was not here and lost interest. They will doubtless search for her elsewhere in the garden and on the water-a sad waste of time, of course, as she is not here.”

“They have been here all afternoon,” she said.

They had pointedly avoided an introduction to Meg, Stephen, and her. Katherine had been made to feel as if going walking in Hyde Park with Miss Wrayburn the other day really had been a wicked impropriety. It was quite ridiculous. Even Elliott had said so, and he knew about such things.

“Have they?” he said. “That must have been pleasant for all the other guests.”

“You really do not like them, do you?” she said. “And yet they are your aunt and your cousin?”

“Not mine,” he said decisively. “Only poor Charlotte’s. Lady Forester is her father’s sister and Clarence her cousin.”

“Your stepfather’s relatives,” she said.

“My mother’s second husband’s, yes.”

“You did not like him either?” It was a very impertinent question, she thought too late.

“He was godly and righteous and without sin,” he said with a smile. “He was also without humor, wit, compassion, or joy. He married my mother just before my first birthday and died just after my eighteenth. I will say no more. He was Charlotte’s father. And I would not spoil this very pleasant half hour with you, Miss Huxtable.”

Had it been that long? Half an hour? Gracious! She had not meant to be away from the main party for more than fifteen minutes at most. And how must it look to anyone who had noticed them sitting alone here together for so long? Though they were in a glass pavilion and fully visible from both the terrace and the lawn.

She got to her feet and brushed her hands over her skirt. He had not moved. He still sat at his ease on the wrought iron seat-oh, goodness, it really was narrow-his arm stretched out along the back of it.

“I daresay Meg is back from her boat ride with the Marquess of Allingham,” she said. “I must go and find her.”

“You must do what you must do, Miss Huxtable,” he said, his eyes smiling at her from beneath hooded lids again. “I shall remain here for as long as the fragrance of your hair lingers and is not overpowered by the less enticing scent of the roses.”

“Oh.” She laughed. “How absurd.”

“Life is full of absurdities,” he said. “Fortunately,” he added softly.

Katherine hurried away, feeling as if he had caressed her. How did he do that, without even touching her? There was something about his voice, something about his eyes…

I believe, he had said when she had asked how he would react if she told him he was heart of her heart, I might feel my heart beat faster and my soul stir to life from its long-dormant state.

She smiled.

I might also, he had added, claim to have won my wager.

She chuckled aloud.

There was no point in denying that she had enjoyed the last half hour.

And then she spotted Vanessa and Elliott, who were drinking wine on the terrace with another couple, and waved to them as she went to join them.

11

THE first inkling of trouble to come came to Jasper early the following morning when he went for a ride in Hyde Park despite the fact that the clouds were low and a misty drizzle was threatening to turn into an out-and-out rain. He had Rotten Row almost to himself, though Isaac Kerby and Hal Blackstone were there too, riding together.

They stopped when they saw him and waited for him to come up to them.

“Ho, Monty,” Hal called by way of greeting, “finding it hard to sleep at night, are you? Love is said to do that to a man.”

He grinned at Isaac, who grinned right back. As if something mightily witty had just been said.

Jasper raised one eyebrow.

“Love?” he said. “Affecting my sleep?”

“I have been telling Hal,” Isaac said, “about how Charlie and I were cruelly rebuffed yesterday at the Adams’s garden party.”

Jasper reined in his horse until it was moving at the same snail’s pace as theirs.

“Rebuffed?” he said. “Cruelly?”

They chose to be further amused.

“You see, Isaac,” Hal said, “love makes a man blind. He did not even see you.”

“Ah,” Isaac said, “then it must have been a fly he was wafting away, Hal, and Charlie and I were not after all being sent to perdition because Monty was smitten by the lady’s charms.”

Oh, the devil! Jasper realized suddenly what they were talking about.

“You would have to agree with me, Hal,” he said, “that Miss Katherine Huxtable is considerably prettier than either Charlie or Isaac. We admired the roses together. And I had an excellent sleep last night, thank you kindly.”

“Half an hour or longer to admire the roses,” Isaac said. “Did you count every petal on every single bloom, Monty? You had any number of people speculating-I heard them. It is most unlike you, you must admit, to seek out the lone company of any lady-in public. A word of advice, old chap. If you are not looking for a leg shackle, you had better count rose petals entirely alone in future. Or not at all unless you want all your friends believing that you are touched in the upper works.”