Drawing deep breaths until he steadied, he then walked slowly to the mirror and smoothed his hair back into place. He jerked his lapels back into perfect alignment, then made a minute adjustment to his cravat. Satisfied that his appearance was once again flawless, he quit the room to return to his guests.

Alberta Brown clearly thought herself clever. A mistake, my dear. A fatal mistake.


*************

Allie immediately sensed something odd in the earl's demeanor when he reentered the drawing room. From her seat facing the doorway, she watched him pause on the threshold, his gaze riveted on her. A chill of apprehension slithered down her spine at his glacial expression.

"Everything all right?" Lord Robert asked, looking at their host with a puzzled frown. Clearly he also sensed all was not well.

"Of course." The earl waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "A tiny miscalculation in the kitchen apparently, but Willis assures me all is well. Shall we adjourn to the dining room?"

Allie accepted his proffered elbow, praying her reluctance did not show. Perhaps she was imagining his disquiet.

But by the second dinner course of delicately poached turbot, Allie knew she was not imagining things. The way he kept staring at her, as if he were attempting to see into her mind… yes, something was definitely amiss. Was he ill? She dismissed the notion as quickly as it occurred to her. No, it seemed as if repressed anger bubbled just below the surface of his flawless manners.

Could he possibly know about the note? Know it was missing and that she had it? She instantly discarded that theory as well. How could he know about the note when he had not even known that the ring or the box existed until she came to England?

No answers presented themselves, yet his manner disturbed her in a way she could not put her finger on. Some instinct, however, cautioned her that it might behoove her to find out more about this man. And surely the best way to do that was not to remain silent.

Raising her chin, she offered the earl a smile. "Your home is lovely… Geoffrey."

His expression relaxed. Then his lips curved slowly upward, while his gaze drifted leisurely downward to rest on her mouth. "Thank you."

She indicated the gilt-framed still life adorning the wall behind him. "You're clearly a lover of art. That is a beautiful piece."

Robert's jaw froze in midchew, and he stared across the table. Mrs. Brown was looking at-no, smiling at- Shelbourne-no, Geoffrey-with an interested warmth that simultaneously stunned and irritated him. Damn it all, he'd been in another brown study and had clearly missed something. And the way Shelbourne was looking at-no, ogling- her… When the bloody hell had all this warm coziness started?

Pretending to be fascinated with his turbot and peas, he covertly observed their interchange, but it quickly became apparent he did not require the ruse, as they both had seemingly forgotten his presence.

"Do you like art, Alberta?"

"I very much enjoy looking at it, but I'm afraid I possess little knowledge on the subject."

"Then after dinner, I shall show you the gallery. While it's quite modest in comparison to the one at Shelbourne Manor, there are some… exquisite pieces."

The inflection in Shelbourne's tone when he said "exquisite pieces," not to mention the way his gaze boldly roamed over her breasts, tensed every muscle in Robert's body. Bloody libertine. How dare he look at her like that? You mean, in the exact way you've looked at her? his inner voice taunted.

No! He fought the urge to tunnel his hands through his hair in exasperation. He couldn't deny he'd looked at her with desire, but there was a calculation in Shelbourne's eyes… a predatory gleam that edged more than jealousy through Robert. It made him distinctly uneasy.

"Lord Robert showed me through Vauxhall Gardens this afternoon," Mrs. Brown said to their host. "A lovely place."

Shelbourne cocked a brow. "In the afternoon, yes, but it is especially so at night." He leaned closer to her, his voice dropping to an intimate level. "All those dark, private walkways make for some very… stimulating evenings."

Robert gritted his teeth and fought the nearly overwhelming urge to plant the blackguard a facer. Yet more disturbing than Shelbourne's behavior-which was at least expected- was Mrs. Brown's. Instead of appearing outraged, a delicate peach blush colored her cheeks, and what appeared to be a suppressed grin twitched her lips… Lips that Shelbourne's gaze seemed plastered to.

A change in conversation was most definitely in order. "How are things at your Cornwall estate, Shelbourne?" he asked.

Shelbourne did not even glance at him. "Spendid. Tell me, Alberta -"

"Have you implemented any upgrades? I understand from Austin there's been recent improvements in both irrigation systems and farming techniques."

Shelbourne finally turned toward him, a lazily amused smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "My irrigation systems are in excellent condition, Jamison, thank you for asking. As for my techniques… I've heard no complaints."

"Indeed? Perhaps you are not listening closely enough."

A long, measuring look passed between them. Then, with a careless shrug that set Robert's teeth on edge, Shelbourne's gaze swiveled back to Mrs. Brown. He launched into a lengthy description of his Cornwall estate, his attention remaining almost exclusively on Mrs. Brown, who seemed not to mind at all. Indeed, if her blushes were any indication, she was quite enjoying Shelbourne's address. Deciding the meal would end more quickly if he did not prolong the conversation, Robert remained mostly silent.

The instant the interminable meal ended, Robert rose, intending to depart, but Shelbourne smoothly reminded him that he'd promised Mrs. Brown a tour of the gallery.

"I'd love to see it," Mrs. Brown said.

Left with no option that did not leave him appearing churlish, and not about to allow Shelbourne to be alone with her, Robert accompanied them, his mood growing more grim each time Shelbourne touched her, which seemed to be constantly. Brushing his fingers against her arm to gain her attention. Resting his palm on the small of her back to lead her to the next painting. Tucking her hand through his elbow. Jealousy ate at him, made worse-and damn it, more hurtful-every time she offered Shelbourne one of her rare smiles.

Six, damn it. She'd smiled at Shelbourne six times since they'd entered the gallery. And eight times during dinner. Not that Robert was counting. But she hadn't offered him so much as a glance. Her obvious pleasure in Shelbourne's company concerned and genuinely confused him.

What about her devotion to her husband? Had Shelbourne's attention encouraged her to step out from her mourning? While he would be happy to see her abandon the outward signs of grieving, he found it hard to accept that Shelbourne would be the man to make her want to do so. Me. I want it to be me.

As much as he hated to, he was forced to admit that Shelbourne possessed the qualities that most women admired: He was wealthy, titled, and handsome, his dark good looks tinged with an edge of danger. But Mrs. Brown did not strike Robert as falling into the category of "most women."

Still, perhaps all she'd needed was for a man to court her. To sweep her off her feet. To show her, without a doubt, that he found her desirable. Me. I want it to be me.

His footsteps faltered at the thought, precipitously so, as he'd been about to plow into Shelbourne's back where he and Mrs. Brown had paused before what was, thankfully, the last painting.

"She's beautiful," Mrs. Brown murmured.

"Yes," Shelbourne agreed. "But she pales in comparison to you."

Robert's gaze flicked over the painting. A Gainsborough, he noted. Quite a nice one. And the subject, a young woman standing in a field of wildflowers, was undeniably beautiful. And she did indeed pale in comparison to Mrs. Brown.

And damn it, he wanted to be the one telling her so. Wanted her gaze directed at him.

Me. I want her to want me.

And it was about time he did something about it.

"Given your interest in art," Shelbourne was saying, "you must see the Elgin Marbles while you're in town. Why don't I call upon you tomorrow-"

"Impossible," Robert interjected, not even attempting to hide the edge in his voice. "We depart for Bradford Hall at first light. Indeed, it's time we take our leave of you."

Shelbourne led them down the corridor toward the foyer, his gaze never leaving Mrs. Brown's face. "I am desolate, Alberta. How long will you stay in Kent?"

"Six weeks."

"And then?"

"Then I sail home," she said softly.

Something squeezed in Robert's chest at her words.

"I may be traveling through Kent in the next few weeks. If so, I shall make a point to call at Bradford Hall. It would be a pleasure to see Bradford and the duchess again." Shelbourne leaned down, his lips nearly brushing Mrs. Brown's ear. "And a great pleasure to see you again."

Luckily they arrived in the foyer just then, for Robert felt like a teakettle about to spew a stream of steam.

"Thank you for dinner," Mrs. Brown said, tying her bonnet strings in a small bow beneath her chin. "I enjoyed the food and your artwork very much."

"As I enjoyed your company, Alberta." Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingertips-for much longer than necessary-and with a heated look in his eye Robert recognized all too well.

His hands fisted inside his gloves. The manners drummed into him since childhood were the only thing that kept him from dropping the man like a stone. Inclining his head in Shelbourne's direction, he said, "Lovely meal. My thanks." Then, before Shelbourne could so much as look at her again, he angled himself between them and swiftly escorted her to the waiting carriage.