Another evening's entertainment to be readied for. In truth, she found she was looking forward to it. She was more than certain that Beau would be there, and the knowledge made her preparations all the more enjoyable. Tonight she would wear the pale green gown with light pink and wine red embroidered blossoms strewn about the neckline; the ruby necklace from her mother would do well with it.

Albert requested entry as she was choosing her gloves and fan; she kept her manner light, though she could feel her heart sink within her chest.

"Good evening, Clarissa," Albert said, choosing to remain standing though Clarissa had offered him a chair. "I don't mean to interrupt, but have you met anyone who might be suitable?"

Uncharitable thoughts and hard words rose in her mind, but she subdued them. Instead she tossed him her list with a carelessness she did not feel. Let her list speak for her. He would see how far he had pushed her. He would see to what lengths she had been driven in the name of familial duty and feminine submission.

She regally pulled on a glove as she awaited his declamations of sorrow, regret, and guilt.

"I commend you, Clarissa," Albert said. She turned to face him. His face was radiant with joy and pride. "You display a level of intelligence about the whole matter of choosing a spouse that I find wholly admirable. If more young women were of your caliber, Britain would have more productive marriages. In fact, I can think of a few names you may have overlooked in ignorance. You will allow me to add them?" Clarissa nodded dumbly. "Lord Chister has a lovely park in Tipperary as well as a small manor in France, now under dispute, of course, but that may right itself and must be considered, don't you think?"

"Naturally," Clarissa managed stiffly. "A manor in France would be delightful."

"And then there is old Lord Baring, who is of an age to need a nurse more than a wife, but one cannot ignore the fact that he is in possession of the finest estate in Kildare. I can see you now in his yellow salon… a striking portrait, if I do say. You are a clever girl to keep your head about you so well when so many girls flit off with the first pretty man with curling hair who happens to bow before them. Well, I won't detain you, seeing that you have the matter so well in hand. Given your abilities, I should not be surprised by a Christmas wedding, I tell you. Well done, Clarissa!"

He strode to the door of her chamber, and she could hardly find the words to bid him good night.

"You are satisfied, then?" she managed to say.

Albert turned at the door and considered her. She looked as forlorn as a pup in the rain, though he knew she was unaware of it. "More than satisfied-proud, if you must know. You are being remarkably reasonable about the whole business. Most gratifying. Shows the makings of a splendid wife." And he turned and left.

Once in the privacy of the hall, Albert gave in to the laugh he had been swallowing for the past ten minutes. Gad, that should do it. She'd drop the whole notion of the list now that she had been commended for it.

He hadn't missed the significance of Montwyn's name appearing with the rest. Oh, yes, the man had an Irish estate, but he was also well titled and of a firm and unyielding temperament: perfect for his young sister. That was a match well made; he could hardly have done better himself for her.

Resuming his characteristic stoic demeanor, Albert retired to his study to await the eventual-one could almost say inevitable-arrival of Lord Montwyn. One truth he had spoken: he anticipated a Christmas wedding. To be sure, Montwyn, from all that he had heard of the man, was not one to dally.

Chapter Five

The dinner was sumptuous, the company pleasing, the house spectacular, and Clarissa was trying very hard to appear to be enjoying herself. It did not help that the man seated to her right was Lord Baring, who was not only the possessor of the finest estate in Kildare, but of a very poorly designed set of false teeth. He was making quite a mess of his capon. She was trying desperately not to hear him wetly gumming the small bones of the bird in his mouth. Most unappetizing, even if his estate was glorious.

Matters were not helped in that Beau was seated halfway down and across the table next to a very pretty blond woman, Lady Elena Montaine, who appeared from this distance to be absolutely captivated by every utterance of Lord Montwyn. And Lord Montwyn appeared most gratified by her blatant attentions.

Clarissa felt the beginnings of a headache behind her right eye.

Small wonder.

Each of her brothers in residence had felt it imperative to impart special instruction, counsel, and advice into her ear before she left for the evening. Lindley had urged her not to be a lackwit and let Montwyn slip by her. Dalton had stopped her to point out that Montwyn's Irish lands were very fine and that she wasn't the only young woman out for her first season who would enjoy an estate in Ireland, or Montwyn himself, for that matter. Russell had been considerably gentler when he had reminded her that Montwyn was well known as a guest at some of the more questionable house parties, in season and out; something he well knew, as he was often at the same parties. Perry, her most devoted brother, had warned her not to allow Montwyn to get so firm a hold on her attentions that all other possible suitors would bolt before the game had been played out. Though each bit of advice was as different as her brothers were different, the common thread was Montwyn himself.

Had the field narrowed so drastically and so soon, then?

Had it really all come down to Henry Wakefield?

Past the slippery sound of Lord Baring's crunching, she watched Beau. His dark hair was thick and shining, his brow noble and high, his eyes intelligent; he was a most handsome man. Tall, broad in the shoulder, trim in the waist, and powerful. He was a most powerful man. He was magnificent, and, of course, he had those very necessary Irish lands.

Lady Elena, rapt at his side, laughed sweetly at something he said, and Beau smiled his response to her.

Awareness surged through her as completely as a shiver. She wanted that smile to be for her. She wanted those eyes to look only at her. She wanted his attention and his conversation and his regard.

And as she was filled with wanting, Beau looked away from his dinner companion and stared straight into her eyes. Unerringly, he pinned her with a look. Unreservedly, she returned it.

Feminine awareness took hold and set its roots deep within her for the first time in her life. She understood his look, understood the wanting behind it, the power that drove it, the determination to fulfill its demands. Such a look, a look of hunger for her and recognition that it was she and she alone who could meet his need, filled her with a sense of joy and power such as she had never known. She held his look, wanting it. Wanting the desire she saw glimmering just beneath the surface, understanding that she aroused him. Glorying in the knowledge.

And then the look was broken. It was just a glance, really, nothing more, yet she had read all that in the short moment it took for a brief meeting of their eyes.

She had read something of his heart in that glance.

The list could be burned. Montwyn was her choice. The only thing left to do was let him know of his good fortune.


Their after-dinner entertainment was supplied by Lady Elena of the sweet smile. She played the pianoforte and she played it very well. She would make someone a very pretty wife. But not Montwyn. Montwyn was to be hers.

She could not see him from her position on the couch, but she knew that he was somewhere behind her. Where behind her? Looking fondly at Lady Elena, imagining her playing the pianoforte in Montwyn Hall?

Clarissa turned her head as casually as she could manage in order to look into the dim corners of the capacious room. She did not have to look so far as that, for Beau stood just behind her and met her eyes as she turned. Green eyes sparkled into deepest brown; she did not look away, but took in the sight of him, knowing that he had been looking at her and not at Elena.

The glance, growing into a stare of awareness, did not break. She could feel the power of him through his eyes. She could see him smile in self-satisfaction.

Oh, yes, that was what it was. She had ten older brothers; she knew the look well.

Clarissa turned away and fanned herself gracefully, pretending to listen to the crescendo of Elena's piece. Beau grew more confident by the hour, and such confidence, since it was directed at her, did not sit well. It was stupid to delay the inevitable when it would only gratify his arrogance. She would not be coy or flirtatious with the man she had chosen to marry. To what purpose to pretend hesitation or uncertainty? She had made her selection-all that was left was to pay the bill.

Elena concluded to a round of warm applause at her skill and her general prettiness. Beau left his position at Clarissa's back and went around to the pianoforte, bowing low over Lady Elena's hand and murmuring words that only she could hear-and that caused a most delicate blush to rise in her cheeks. Clarissa watched all with a cold eye and a trim smile of amusement. Let him play at seduction; he was already hers. She was certain he knew that as well as she, for she would never have chosen a man of low intelligence or dull sensitivity.

After escorting Elena back to her seat, Beau approached Clarissa. She rose so as to meet him standing. She had known he would return to her; it was inevitable.

His eyes searched hers again, and again she held his gaze. She was not insensible to him-hardly that, for he made the blood grow thick in her bosom and her legs felt as soft as pudding-but she would not be the timid miss for him; he would not want that, and she did not want it for herself. Let them meet as equals in this matrimonial excursion, and let them both willingly and openly pay the price of union.