After meeting Lord Alex, Elizabeth wasn’t the least bit surprised. With his piercing silver-gray eyes and dimple in his chin, the second son of the Duke of Hastings possessed looks and charm to spare. Truth be told, he and Lord Creswell shared a superficial resemblance, both tall and handsome, each with a thick black head of hair.

  “Very handsome indeed,” Elizabeth agreed with a sage nod. She flitted another glance in the men’s direction but the group at their side had shifted. The back of Lord Stanton’s silver-streaked head now obstructed her view and his voice boomed, threatening to render her deaf in one ear.

“He is a good friend of Alex’s. I can arrange an introduction if you’d like.”

The offer was tempting. Elizabeth had dreamt of their meeting since her mother had informed her she was to have a London Season.  Her father’s title had not only come with two entailed properties but a stipend of three thousand a year. A veritable fortune to a family who had thus existed in something close to genteel poverty.

“I’m certain Lord Creswell is deluged with admirers,” she replied evasively. Any sane woman would leap at the chance to meet the rich, handsome viscount, and the state of her mental acuity had up until that day, never been questioned. She’d very much like it to remain that way.

Charlotte chortled, the sound light and ebullient, which had Elizabeth chuckling in spite of herself. “You are quite right. He’s a particular favorite of the ladies.”

Their laughter faded under a companionable silence before Elizabeth spoke again. “Where can Catherine have got to?” She hoped her friend didn’t note and file the change of subject for precisely what it was.

Her question had the desired effect for Charlotte immediately went up on her toes and began scouring the room for her twin.  A mass of golden curls secured loosely at her crown with pale pink hair combs bobbed  as she twisted her neck from right to left and back again.

Situated at the rear of the estate, the ballroom stretched the entire width of the main house with the dance floor taking up a third of that acreage.  A refreshment room conveniently adjoined the dance floor and four sets of French doors opened out onto a stone terrace. The private garden beyond was said to be one of the most beautiful in all of London.

The last they had seen Catherine, Sir William Kingsley had come to claim her for a dance. The set had finished some five minutes ago but as London was experiencing a July devoid of the rain that sometimes plagued the summer month, perhaps he had taken her outside for a stroll.

“She must have—” Charlotte began but broke off when she saw Lord Alex approaching. Apparently, women were rendered speechless in the presence of gentleman with excessive good looks—particularly the ones they happened to be in love with.

“Charlotte.” From his lips, her name was a greeting, a familiar address…and something more. His head dipped in a bow but his eyes never left her.

Charlotte stood momentarily mute, transfixed as her blue eyes drank him in. And not in huge gulps but in savoring sips, as if she’d learned not to gorge herself. Elizabeth could have been a piece of furniture for all the attention the two paid her.

Then as if remembering Elizabeth's no doubt unfortunate presence and his own usually impeccable manners, Lord Alex shifted his focus smoothly to her. “Good evening, Miss Smith. I hope you're enjoying yourself.”

“Thank you, my lord. I’m having a fine time.” How fortunate Charlotte was to have captured the affections of such a man for it was obvious her friend’s feelings were duly returned.

“Alex.” Charlotte’s belated greeting sounded like a breathless sigh, her pleasure as transparent as the polished crystal glasses used to serve the wine and champagne.

For several seconds, very little could be heard above the haunting notes of the waltz and the collective rumble of three hundred guests. The small circle they had formed in the back of the room fell into the kind of silence that brought about a lot of throat clearing and fidgeting of fingers and toes. Inclined to the latter on such occasions, Elizabeth found herself smoothing the lace edge on her blue satin skirts.

“My friend has abandoned me for the greater outdoors.” Lord Alex broke the thick silence, motioning with his head toward the gray London night beyond the terrace doors. “And suddenly I found myself surrounded by dewy-faced debutantes.”

Elizabeth noted the imperceptible stiffening of Charlotte’s form. Pleasure faded from her eyes. “So you are using us to escape.” Her tone made it an indictment, her pursed lips a rebuke.

Lord Alex’s smile faltered and his brow furrowed, clearly taken aback by her charge. Before he could open his mouth to ask the nature of his transgression, Elizabeth excused herself, pleading heat, thirst and hunger, any of which would be true. She hurried away with no true destination in mind just the knowledge that she was superfluous to any situation with Charlotte and Lord Alex in each other’s company.

Mr. Peter Finley was the next name on her dance card but before she returned to the floor for the next set she could use a breath of fresh air. Well it wouldn’t be terribly fresh. This was London after all. But it would have to do until she returned to the much cleaner Wilton air.

My friend has abandoned me for the greater outdoors.

The statement taunted her…lured her as she escaped the ballroom and stepped out onto the lit terrace. What she was doing was foolhardy, her actions putting her vaunted mental acuity under question.

But, she reasoned, she was one of the many Smiths in a city teeming with Smiths, Smyths and Smythes. With her widowed sister living in Dorchester and her parents in Wilton overseeing the renovations of their new residence, what reason would the viscount have to connect her with them?

None.

So what possible harm could come from a chance encounter at a party hosted by the estimable Lord and Lady Windmere?

No harm a’tall.

A rash of gooseflesh appeared when the cool night air struck the skin of her upper arms. Elizabeth gave an involuntary shiver as she took in the long stretch of the terrace, which sat as desolate and silent as the Yorkshire moors. She had expected to see Lord Creswell there in a wide-legged stance, a cheroot in his mouth and a trail of gray smoke rising up to mingle with the equally gray London air that settled above the city like a dark shroud.

Behind a six-tiered stone fountain where water trickled from the mouth of a playful dolphin, the garden landscaped into a maze of lofty hedgerows, shrubs of honeysuckle, and neat rows of yellow daisies and red roses.  Toward the back of the property, three large elms offered shade to a white gazebo.

The scent of honeysuckle competed with the dank air and tonight was winning handily. Elizabeth inhaled the sweet fragrance deeply into her lungs as she ventured to the edge of the garden.

Slowly, she looked around and rolled up onto her toes in hopes of spying the viscount’s dark head above the first hedgerow. But for the buzz and chirps of nocturnal insects and the leaves rustling in the breeze, Elizabeth concluded she was quite alone.

“Where did he go?” she muttered to herself. Disappointed, she came down hard on the heels of her satin evening shoes.

“Were you looking for someone in particular?” drawled a deep masculine voice from behind her.


Chapter Two


Elizabeth spun around so quickly she lost her footing and stumbled headlong—well actually breast-first if she was striving for accuracy—into the hard wall of a male chest. Large hands shot out to steady her, his hold firm yet gentle on her arms. Elizabeth snatched her hands away from his chest and took a hasty step back.

Surely, fate would not be so cruel…? She peered up and encountered the arresting blue-green eyes of Lord Creswell.

Fate had a most unfortunate sense of humor.

“My lord, you frightened me.” Surprise may have caused her to stumble but it was the man who left her breathless.

And it wasn’t just his masculine beauty; she’d like to think she wasn’t that shallow. No, it was more than that. He had an aura of confidence about him—some might say arrogance—that drew women with the same pull the sun exerted on the Earth.

“I’m sorry. Please accept my apologies,” he said, all politesse and unimpeachable decorum. But his hooded gaze and the way his mouth twitched at the corners told her he wasn’t the slightest bit sorry a’tall.

Elizabeth had no doubt the viscount knew it was he she’d been searching for. He’d heard her. Heat flooded her face. She could only imagine what he thought of her.

Her mother had also warned that her impetuous nature would one day land her in a heap of trouble. Trouble of this sort must follow the viscount about like a starving mongrel in search of table scraps.

Truly, if she had a mite bit of sense where he was concerned, she would return inside now that her curiosity had been quenched. She’d seen him, spoken to him, touched him even; that should be enough. And if she were lucky, he’d never discover she was a member of the same Smith family his father had paid one thousand pounds to quiet her parents’ cries for his brother to redress her sister's honor.

“I-I didn’t expect to find anyone out here.” Elizabeth nearly groaned in dismay at such an obvious lie. At affairs such as this, gardens weren’t merely a floral feast for the eyes but also provided a haven for lovers seeking privacy from the crush, and tall and dense foliage proved the perfect shield to share a kiss and other such intimacies.

Lord Creswell continued to study her with slumberous eyes. Silence dragged along at a tortuous pace and with every second that ticked by, Elizabeth’s discomfort climbed. She wished he would say something.