He watched her arise from her curtsy, waiting to see her eyes narrow with speculation, flicker with avarice, sparkle with anticipation of how to best put her unexpected meeting with "England's Most Eligible Bachelor" to her advantage.

He saw none of it. Instead, she seemed genuinely distressed. And anxious to get away from him. How very interesting.

"I'm so sorry I said I wasn't enjoying your party," she said, taking several steps backward. "It's a delightful party. Delightful. The food the music, the guests, they are all…"

"Delightful?" he supplied helpfully.

She nodded and retreated several more steps.

His gaze never left her face. Emotions streaked through her expressive eyes-embarrassment, dismay, surprise, but not once did he discern a hint of coyness or speculation. Nor did she seem particularly impressed with his lofty title. But it was the complete lack of something else that utterly fascinated him.

She wasn't flirting with him.

She hadn't flirted earlier, before she'd known who he was, but now…

How incredibly interesting.

"Thank you for escorting me, your grace. I believe I shall return to the house now." She took several more steps backward.

"What about your gown, Miss Matthews? Not even a Colonial Upstart would dare enter the ballroom in your present condition."

Halting, she looked down at herself. "I don't suppose there's any hope that no one would notice."

"No hope at all. Are you and your aunt spending the night?"

"Yes. In fact, we're staying on here at Bradford Hall for several weeks as guests of the dowager duchess…" Understanding dawned in her eyes. "Who is your mother."

"Indeed she is." Austin briefly wondered if his mother had arranged for the visit with the hopes of making a match, but he immediately discarded the idea. He couldn't imagine that his very proper mother would deem an American to be a suitable duchess. No, he knew all too well that she had her matchmaking eye set on several young women of impeccable British lineage. "As long as you're staying here, I believe I can solve your problem. I'll show you to a little-used side entrance that leads directly up to the guest chambers."

There was no mistaking the gratitude in her eyes. "That would certainly avert the social disaster I fear looms on the horizon."

"Then let us be off."

As they walked toward the mansion, Elizabeth asked "I hate to further impose upon your kindness, your grace, but would you mind giving my excuses to my aunt when you return to the ballroom?"

"Of course."

She cleared her throat. "Ah, what excuse shall you use?"

"Excuse? Oh, I suppose I'll say you suffered from a fit of the vapors."

"Vapors!" She sounded outraged. "Nonsense! I would never fall victim to such a frivolous thing. Besides, Aunt Joanna would not believe it. She knows I am of a most robust nature. You must think of something else."

"All right. How about the headache?"

"I never get them."

"Dyspepsia?"

"My stomach never causes me discomfort."

Austin fought the urge to roll his eyes heavenward. "Do you ever suffer from any malady?"

She shook her head. "You keep forgetting that I am-"

"Most robust. Yes, I'm beginning to see that. But I fear that any other excuse, such as a fever, would unduly alarm your aunt."

"Hmmm. I suppose you're right. I don't wish to frighten her. Actually, a headache is not far from the truth. The mere thought of returning to the ballroom sets my temples to pounding. Very well," she said with a nod her tone crisp. "You may say I've succumbed to the headache."

Austin's lips twitched. "Thank you."

She beamed at him. "You're quite welcome."

They arrived at the mansion several minutes later and Austin led her through the shadows to a side door almost entirely obscured with ivy. He felt for the knob and pulled the door open. "There you are. The guest chambers are at the top of the stairs. Be careful on the steps."

"I shall. Thank you again for your kindness."

"My pleasure."

His gaze searched her face in the dim light. Even completely disheveled she was lovely. And amusing. He could not recall the last time he'd felt so lighthearted. Pressing concerns awaited him once he returned to the house, yet he couldn't resist prolonging this pleasant interlude for a few moments longer. Reaching out, he gently grasped her hand and lifted it to his lips. Her hand was warm and soft, her fingers long and slender. The subtle scent of lilacs again assailed him.

Their eyes met and his breath stalled. Damn it, she looked so delightfully mussed… as if a man's hands had disarranged her hair and clothing. His gaze dropped to her mouth… her full, incredibly tempting mouth, and he wondered what she would taste like. He imagined leaning forward, brushing his lips over hers, once, twice, then deepening the kiss, sliding his tongue into the luscious warmth of her mouth. She tasted delicious, like-

"Oh my."

Her fingers tightened on his hand and she regarded him with wide eyes. Her gaze rested on his lips for several seconds, then she looked away, clearly flustered. Warmth crept through him, surprising him. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she'd read his thoughts.

He was about to release her hand when she gasped. Their eyes met and he noted she appeared suddenly pale. He tried to extricate his hand from hers, but she only tightened her grip.

"What's wrong?" he asked, alarmed at her pallor, unnerved by her concentrated stare. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"William."

He froze. "Excuse me?"

Her eyes desperately searched his. "Do you know someone named William?"

Every muscle in his body tensed. "What game are you playing here?"

Instead of answering, she squeezed his hand between her palms and closed her eyes. "He's your brother," she whispered. "You've been told he died while serving his country." She opened her eyes and the look she leveled at him gave him the eerie sensation she could see right into his soul. "It's not true."

His blood turned to ice. He pulled his hand from hers and stepped back, shocked by her words. By God did this woman know his darkest secret? And if she did, how did she know?

The images he'd spent the last year trying to erase crashed through his mind. A dark alley. William meeting with a Frenchman named Gaspard. Crates of weapons. An exchange of money. Haunting questions. A bitter confrontation between brothers. Then, only weeks later, the news that William had died at Waterloo-a war hero.

His heart beat heavily in his chest as he fought to remain calm. Could this woman be more than she appeared? Could she know something about the letter he'd recently received or the activities William had conducted with the French? Could she be the clue he'd spent the last year searching for?

His eyes narrowed on her pale face and he uttered the lie he'd told countless times before. "William died fighting for his country. He is a hero."

"No, your grace."

"Are you saying my brother wasn't a hero?"

"No. I'm saying that he didn't die. Your brother William is alive."

Chapter 2

Elizabeth felt the onset of the numbing fatigue that sometimes followed a vision. She wanted desperately to sit down, but the suspicion blazing from the duke's eyes held her pinned in place.