Avidly curious, Whitney nevertheless managed to respond politely that she hoped it wasn't because Monsieur DuVille was suffering from any affliction.

"Not," Therese said with a musical giggle, "unless one considers excessive boredom and shocking arrogance an affliction. Of course, Nicolas has every right to be so, with females constantly dangling after him. Mama says that if it were up to the females to do the asking, Nicolas would have had more offers of marriage than us four girls combined!"

Whitney's demure facade of polite interest disintegrated.

"I can't imagine why," she laughed. "He sounds perfectly odious to me."

"Charm," Therese explained gravely. "Nicolas has charm." After a thoughtful pause, she added, "It is such a pity Nicki is so difficult, because if he were to attend our debut and single you out for special attention, you would be an instant success!" She sighed. "Of course, nothing in the world will persuade him to attend a debutante ball. He says they are excruciatingly boring. Nevertheless, I shall tell him about you-perhaps he will help."

Only courtesy prevented Whitney from saying that she hoped she never met Therese's arrogant older brother.

Chapter Four

ON THE DAY BEFORE WHTTNEY'S OFFICIAL DEBUT INTO SOCIETY, A letter arrived from Emily Williams that left Whitney lightheaded with relief: Paul had purchased some property in the Bahama Islands and was planning to remain there for a year. Since Whitney could not imagine Paul tumbling into love with a sun-burned Colonial, that meant she had a full year in which to prepare herself to go home. An entire year without having to worry about Paul marrying someone else.

To help quiet her nerves over the ball tomorrow evening, she curled up on a rose satin settee in the salon and was happily rereading all of Emily's letters which were hidden inside a book of etiquette. So absorbed was she with them, that Whitney was unaware that someone was watching her.

Nicolas DuVille stood in the doorway with the note his sister, Therese, had insisted he deliver personally to Miss Stone. Since Therese had tried a dozen other ploys in the last month to put Miss Stone in his way, Nicki had no doubt that delivering this note was a fool's errand devised between the two girls. It was not the first time his sister had tried to interest him in one of her giddy young friends, and from experience, Nicki knew the best way to nip Miss Stone's romantic plans for him in the proverbial bud was simply to fluster and intimidate the chit until she was relieved to see him leave.

His cool gaze took in the fetching scene which Miss Stone had obviously planned in advance so that she would appear to best advantage. Sunlight streamed in the window beside her, highlighting her gleaming cascade of dark hair, a long strand of which she was idly curling around her forefinger as she feigned absorption in her book; her yellow morning dress was arranged in graceful folds, and her feet were coyly tucked beneath her. Her profile was serene, with long lashes slightly lowered, and a faint suggestion of a smile played about her generous lips. Impatient with her little charade, Nicolas stepped into the room. "A very charming picture, Mademoiselle. My compliments," he drawled insolently.

Snapping her head up, Whitney closed the book of etiquette containing Emily's letters and laid it aside as she arose. Uncertainly, she gazed at a man in his late twenties who was coldly regarding her down the length of his aristocratic nose. He was undeniably handsome, with black hair and piercing, gold-flecked brown eyes.

"Have you had an edifying look, Mademoiselle?" he asked bluntly.

Realizing that she had been staring at him, Whitney caught herself abruptly and nodded toward the note in his band. "Have you come to see my aunt?"

To Whitney's stunned amazement, the man strolled into the room and thrust the note at her. "I am Nicolas DuVille, and your butler has already informed me that you have been expecting me. Therefore, I believe we can dispense with your pretense of coy surprise, can we not?"

Whitney stood in shock as the man subjected her to a leisurely appraisal that began at her face and wandered boldly down the full length of her rigid body. Did his gaze actually linger on her breasts, or was it only her confused imagination that made it seem that way? When he was finished inspecting her from the front, he strolled around her, considering her from all angles as if she were a horse he was thinking of purchasing. "Don't bother," he said, when Whitney nervously opened the note. "It says that Therese left her bracelet here, but you and I know that is only an excuse for us to meet."

Whitney was bewildered, embarrassed, amused, and insulted, all at the same time. Therese had said her brother was arrogant, but somehow Whitney had never imagined he'd be this horrid.

"Actually," he said, as he came around to stand in front of her, "you are not at an what I expected." His voice held a note of reluctant approbation.

"Nicolas!" Aunt Anne's gracious greeting relieved Whitney of the necessity of replying. "How lovely to see you. I've been expecting you-one of the maids discovered Therese's bracelet beneath a cushion of a sofa. The clasp was broken. I'll get it for you," she said, hurrying from the room.

Nicki's startled gaze shot to Miss Stone. A smile trembled on her lips as she lifted her delicate brows at him, visibly enjoying his chagrin. In view of his earlier rudeness, Nicki felt that some form of polite conversation was now required of him. He leaned down and picked up the etiquette book containing Emily's letters, glanced at the title, and then at Whitney. "Are you teaming good manners, Mademoiselle?" he inquired.

"Yes," Miss Stone replied, her eyes glowing with suppressed laughter. "Would you care to borrow my book?"

Her quip earned her a lazy, devastating smile of admiration. "I see that some form of atonement for my earlier behavior is in order. Mademoiselle," he said with laughing gravity, "would you favor me with a dance tomorrow night?"

Whitney hesitated, taken aback by his engaging smile and open admiration.

Mistaking her silence for coquettishness, Nicolas shrugged, and all the warmth left his smile as he said with mocking amusement, "From your hesitation, I will assume that all your dances are already bespoken. Another time, perhaps."

Whitney realized he was withdrawing his invitation, and she instantly decided the man was as arrogant and perverse as she'd first thought. "None of my dances are bespoken," she floored him by candidly admitting. "You see, you are the first gentleman I've met in Paris."

Her deliberate emphasis on the word "gentleman" did not escape Nicki, who suddenly threw back his head and laughed.

"Here is the bracelet," Lady Gilbert said, hurrying into the room. "And Nicolas, please remind Therese that the clasp is broken."

Nicki took the bracelet and left. He climbed into his carriage, instructed his groom to drive him round to his mother's, then relaxed back against the leather cushions. They drove past a park whose winding paths bloomed extravagantly with spring flowers. Two pretty females of his acquaintance lifted pastel-gloved hands at him in greeting, but Nicki scarcely glanced at the Gainsborough-like scene. His thoughts were occupied with the young English girl he had just met.

Try as he might, he couldn't understand how Whitney Stone and his addlepated chatterbox of a sister had become such boon companions, for they were as dissimilar as lemonade and heady French wine. Therese was a pretty thing, sweet as lemonade, but she had no hidden depths to interest a man.

Whitney Stone, on the other hand, was a veritable treasure of contrasts, sparkling like rich, red burgundy with the promise of hidden and tantalizing things to come. For a seventeen-year-old, she had borne his mocking disdain with remarkable composure. Given a few years, Nicolas decided, she would be fascinating. A chuckle welled up in his chest as he recalled how adroitly she'd retaliated for his remark about the etiquette book, by offering to tend it to him.

It would be a pity, he decided, for such a rare jewel as she to be relegated to obscurity at the crowded debutante ball tomorrow night, merely because she was a stranger to France.

Gorgeous tapestries adorned one side of the gigantic ballroom, and the opposite wall was mirrored to reflect the light from the thousands of candles in the glittering chandeliers overhead. Catching sight of her reflection in one of the mirrors, Whitney nervously studied her appearance. Her white silken ball gown was trimmed with broad scallops caught up and held in place with pink silk roses which matched the ones entwined in the heavy curls at her crown. She looked, she decided, a great deal calmer than she felt.

"Everything is going to be wonderful, you'll see," whispered Aunt Anne.

Whitney did not think everything was going to be wonderful at all. She knew she couldn't possibly hope to compete with the dazzling blondes and redheads, the demure little brunettes, who were laughing and talking easily with smiling young men garbed in black, but with brightly colored waistcoats of silks and satin. Whitney told herself she didn't care a pin about anything as foolish as a silly ball, but she knew it wasn't true. She cared very much.

Therese and her mama arrived only seconds before the musicians raised their instruments for the first dance. "I have the most splendid news," Therese whispered breathlessly, looking like a confection in her white lace gown with her cheeks pink and her shining blond hair elegantly curled atop her head. "My maid is cousin to Nicki's valet and he told her that Nicki is coming tonight. And he is bringing three of his friends as well-he bet them five-hundred francs against two hours of their time tonight on a roll of the dice, and they lost, so they have to come and dance with you . . ." She broke off with an apologetic shrug to Whitney and bestowed a charming curtsy upon the young man who had come to ask her for a dance.