She hesitated. The thought of seeing the lights, hearing the music, was so incredibly tempting…

Yet she could vividly imagine the intimacy and romance such a setting would induce. And the temptation of the man next to her…

At Madame Renee's, she'd nearly succumbed to the desire to splurge her meager funds on something colorful, or even a pastel-knowing in her heart that even more than wanting to wear something pretty for herself, she wanted him to see her garbed in something pretty. She'd resisted-but barely. The black gowns were the most affordable, and they would serve to discourage male attention, as they had for the past three years. Add to that the fact that her heart's rate tripled at the mere idea of strolling with him through the darkness, the only light coming from the shimmering lit trees… no, it was not a good idea.

"Thank you, that is very thoughtful, but I'll need this evening to prepare for our journey tomorrow."

She fancied she saw relief flash in his eyes at her refusal. Did he feel it, too, this disturbing awareness that held her firmly in its grip? Had he realized the folly of them being alone together in the dark?

They turned a corner, and a large grouping of rosebushes caught her eye. Grateful for the distraction, she said, "I don't know where I've ever seen such a colorful profusion of roses." Attracted by a particularly vivid pink bud, she paused to bend over and breathe in its heady scent.

"Wait until you see the formal gardens at Bradford Hall. They're really quite spectacular, and contain what seems like miles of roses. Whenever I smell the flower, I am reminded of Caroline and my mother. They both wear the scent."

Straightening, she fell back into step beside him, nodding. "I understand precisely what you mean, associating certain smells with certain people. Whenever I smell freshly baked bread, I think of Mama. The aroma of tobacco always brings Papa to mind. And whenever I breathe in lilacs, I think of-"

" Elizabeth," they said in unison, then both laughed.

Lord Robert shot her a quick smile that set her heart to fluttering. "Whenever I smell leather," he said, "especially a leather saddle, I think of my father. My very earliest memory is sitting in front of him on his horse, Lancelot. Father was an expert horseman, not to mention incredibly patient. Taught all of us how to ride. Even Caroline."

There was no mistaking the affection in his tone. "Tell me more about your father."

All hints of amusement slowly faded from his expression, leaving behind an unmistakable melancholy. "I don't know quite how to describe him other than to say he was a great man, and noble in a way that had nothing to do with his title. He was well respected by his peers, adored by his wife, and loved by his children. Strict, yet reasonable. Generous with his time, funds, and affection, and fair with his tenants. Slow to anger, quick to laugh, and unlike many men in his position, devoted to his family."

Her fingers, resting on his forearm, flexed in sympathy. "He sounds like a wonderful person."

He nodded. "William, Austin, and I… even as boys we always strove to emulate him. To this day, I believe we still do. I know I do, although if I'm able to be half the man he was, I'll consider myself blessed." He paused for several seconds, then continued, "His death was so sudden, so unexpected. So horribly shocking. He appeared in perfect health, yet his heart just… stopped."

The husky emotion in his voice swelled something inside her… sympathy, yet something else she could not quite define. Something unsettling. Until this moment, she'd believed that he was not a serious man, that he was merely frivolous and carefree. Yet the way he spoke of his father, of wanting to be like him, bespoke a depth she hadn't considered he'd possess. A depth she found dangerously, disturbingly attractive.

"Do you know," he said, pulling her from her thoughts, "my father asked my mother to marry him, right here in Vauxhall? It was a favorite family story, told every year on their anniversary." He pointed to a stone bench under a majestic elm. "Father swore they were sitting on that bench. Mother, however, always corrected him, saying it was a seat near the north border of the gardens." A chuckle rumbled from him. "It was a continuous source of good-natured ribbing between them, an argument that always ended with Father winking at Mother and saying, 'It matters not where I asked, only that the lady said yes.' "

She couldn't help but smile at the loving picture his words painted in her mind. The wistful sadness in his eyes called out to her, urging her to replace it with the mischievous laughter she was used to seeing there.

"Very romantic. Very unlike my parents." Leaning closer, as if she were about to impart the most confidential of matters, she asked in an undertone, "Can you keep a secret?"

His brows rose. "Of course."

"My mother proposed to my father."

He stared down at her for several seconds, then, as she'd hoped, his lips quirked upward. "Never say so."

She laid her free hand over her heart. "I tell you the truth, sir. Mama and Papa had known and loved each other from childhood. The summer Mama turned seventeen, she waited and waited for Papa to propose to her, but he was waiting for the perfect moment. Deciding she'd grow old before his idea of the perfect moment ever arrived, Mama took matters into her own hands and asked him."'

"Obviously he said yes."

"True, although Papa still claims he was quite disgruntled about her stealing his big romantic moment, to which Mama always replies, 'If I'd waited for you, Henry, we still wouldn't be married. Why, I would have had to marry Marvin Blakely instead.' "

She laughed, then continued, "That's when Papa would mutter something uncomplimentary under his breath about Marvin Blakely. Then he and Mama would share what I called their special smile… the one that made it so obvious that they still loved each other after all these years."

He paused, drawing her to a stop. Surprise flickered in his eyes. "My parents often exchanged that same sort of look. They could have been standing in a room filled with dozens of people, but it would suddenly seem as if they were alone. As if no one else existed."

"Yes, that's precisely the look."

They stood there, in the middle of the path, looking at each other, and once again, as she had the day before, she swore something passed between them. A subtle, unspoken understanding-silent, yet nonetheless real.

Forcing herself to look away from him, she shook her head and sighed. "I'm so sorry for your mother. It must be terrible to lose a husband you love so much…"

She felt him start, and she looked up at him. He was staring at her with an odd expression. "But of course you would understand how that feels…" he murmured. He didn't ask wouldn't you, yet she clearly heard the question in his voice, saw it in his frown.

Heat suffused her face, and she started walking again, turning away from his penetrating, inquisitive stare, afraid that he would read the truth in her eyes.

While she could not deny that she had loved David when he'd died, her discovery of his true nature had extinguished her love like a snuffed-out candle. She tried to conjure David's likeness in her mind's eye, to forcibly remind herself of what she never wanted to suffer through again, but the handsome face that filled her mind wasn't David's.

God, help me. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase Lord Robert's image, but failed utterly. He filled her mind completely. But worse, she suspected that if she let her guard down at all, he would fill her heart.


********

Grateful to be back at the town house, Robert handed his hat and walking stick to Carters. He couldn't have endured one more minute confined with her in that carriage, breathing in her hypnotic flowery scent, racking his brain without success for something to say. Nearly the entire journey from Vauxhall was made in silence. He'd sat across from her, tongue-tied like a green schoolboy.

Damn it, they'd enjoyed such camaraderie during their walk, but then it had suddenly vanished, replaced with an uneasy tension that emanated from her in waves. Half of him had longed to break that tension, but the other half told him it was better this way. For the more he spoke to her, shared with her, the more enchanted 0he became with her. The more he wanted to know everything about her.

Carters' voice yanked him from his musings. "A package from Madame Renee's establishment arrived for Mrs. Brown while you were out. I placed it in her bedchamber." Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a sealed letter and handed it to Mrs. Brown. "This arrived as well. There's a lad waiting to bring a reply back to Lord Shelbourne."

Robert's shoulder's stiffened. What did Shelbourne want now? With a nod of thanks, she broke the seal and read the contents. A tapping echoed in the foyer, and to his annoyance he realized it was the toe of his own boot striking the marble floor. Nearly a minute passed with her silently reading. What the devil had Shelbourne written her? A bloody novel?

Clearing his throat, he adopted a casual tone in marked contrast to his annoyance and remarked, "Nothing amiss, I hope."

She glanced up from the vellum. "Lord Shelbourne wishes for me to dine with him at his home this evening."

Robert's hands fisted. Bloody hell! Clearly the rogue sought to pursue her in the privacy of his home as she'd refused his invitation to go out publicly. Well, Mrs. Brown was no foolish, naive miss. Of course she would divine Shelbourne's intent and refuse him.

“May I use the carriage tonight?"