Those moist, cherry-red lips puckered into an alluring smile. "Of course I recall, Lord Hawthorne. My father and I were stranded in the woods not far from here, and you offered your assistance. How could I forget?"

Everyone in the room seemed to disappear for a moment, while he and Lady Rebecca gazed openly at one another, as if there were no secrets or pretenses between them. There was a spark of attraction, potent and exhilarating. It had been pulsing between them since their eyes had met across the room earlier that evening, and neither was about to deny it.

God, he loved how direct and forthcoming she was. He wasn't in the mood to dance around the obvious. He had desired pleasure and excitement tonight, and, by God, here it was without pointless preamble.

His mother stammered slightly. "Was…Was your journey…I beg your pardon, Lady Saxby, was it a difficult trip from Gloucester, with the recent rains?"

He regretted that his mother was uncomfortable with his blatant flirtation right under her nose, but there it was. The evening had hit a high note, to be sure, and thank God for that.

Lady Saxby described the condition of the roads while he and the lovely Lady Rebecca continued to openly observe each other. What was going through her mind right now? He would dearly love to know. What a wonderful flirt she was.

And twenty-one. Thank God for the passing of time.

At last the right moment presented itself. There was a break in his mother's conversation with Lady Saxby, and he was able to request a spot on her niece's card. As it happened, she was free for the next one, a Strauss waltz, which began right away.

He held out a gloved hand, and Lady Rebecca's eyes glimmered enticingly as she took hold.

Chapter 6

Rebecca had been right about how she would feel upon seeing Lord Hawthorne again after all these years. Her entire body was pulsing with excitement and desire, for he was even more handsome and compelling tonight than he had been upon their first meeting in the woods four years ago.

And there was something different about him. Perhaps it was the way he looked at her. Though she had almost no experience with men, her instincts told her it was because she was no longer a seventeen-year-old girl. She was a woman now. A woman whose senses were blazing with untested desire. Could he see it? Sense it? Recognize it?

Lydie's lover in the woods had always known what she'd wanted. He'd been instinctive that way. Lydie had said so.

The notion that Lord Hawthorne was instinctive in a similar way excited Rebecca beyond any imagining.

They reached the center of the room, and he slid his arm around her corseted waist, never taking his eyes off hers. Her blood coursed even faster through her veins from the thrill of his touch, which she had longed to feel on her body on so many dark, lonely nights alone. Was it possible to die from the painful restraint of passion? She almost felt faint.

Then he spoke. "My sister, Charlotte, mentioned this is the first time you have accepted one of our many invitations. I'm glad you chose a time when I would be here to pay my respects."

He held her firmly but moved with grace around the floor, and she had no trouble keeping pace with him as he turned her about the room. "I dare say, Lord Hawthorne, it is the first time, and I am quite overwhelmed by the grandeur of the evening. I apologize for our absence over the years, but I am sure you have heard that my father enjoys his privacy. He is a quiet man and we do not engage in many society gatherings."

That was putting it mildly. But Lord help her. She had not intended to sound so provincial. Surely Lord Hawthorne preferred a more sophisticated woman, a woman who could match his knowledge and worldliness. She had seen him dancing with a duke's daughter earlier.

"But your father is out of the country?"

"Yes, and I confess, my aunt has been waiting for this opportunity to steal me away."

"Remind me to thank her, because you have brightened my evening, Lady Rebecca. I only just arrived back at Pembroke this morning, and to be honest, after the day I've had, I would have been just as content to go straight to bed an hour ago. I'm glad I did not."

"I am glad, too. I am also flattered that you remember meeting my father and me all those years ago. As for myself, I never forgot it, the way you came to our rescue. It was a very…exciting evening for me. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't come along."

"It was my pleasure, truly."

"But you were on your way somewhere at a very swift pace. I hope we did not make you late for an appointment."

"I assure you it was not important. Even if it had been, any concern over my poor punctuality would have been overshadowed by the unexpected adventure, and the very pleasant trip we took to the bog, you and I."

Despite the tension she felt-because so much of her future happiness depended on this single, vital dance-she somehow managed to laugh. "Pleasant?"

He leaned closer-so close, she could feel the heat of his moist breath in her ear. "I greatly enjoyed the perfect curve of your elbow that night."

A delicious shudder of surprise danced through her. She had come here to secretly entice him, but suddenly he seemed to be the one enticing her. Could it be, that after all she had been through lately, the fates were finally smiling down on her?

"You're the only man in the world," she confessed, "who has ever touched my elbow."

God help her, she felt as if she had just bared her soul to him. Perhaps it was too much. Her aunt had told her to be elusive.

But then he chuckled, as if he found her reply very witty, when it had not been a joke.

He spoke close to her ear again. "I wonder if one of these days I might be fortunate enough to touch it again."

She wanted to say, "Yesterday wouldn't be soon enough," but thankfully, she had more sense than that, and managed to simply smile daringly at him as he guided her around the outer edges of the dance floor, keeping perfect time with the music.

"Pardon my ignorance," he said, "but are you and your aunt staying here at the palace tonight? If so, I hope you have found your accommodations satisfactory."

"No, Lord Hawthorne, we are not staying at the palace." Did she detect a hint of disappointment in his eyes? She hoped so. "We only decided to come at the very last minute, so we are staying in the village."

"The Pembroke Inn?"

"Yes."

His voice, soft and low, filled her with quivering anticipation. "How unfortunate for me that I won't see you at breakfast in the morning. I believe the sight of you over coffee would be a most promising start to my day."

"Why don't you picture me in your mind," she suggested with a sensual lilt in her voice-the kind of lilt Lydie had once written about. "I will be wearing a rose-colored gown with white trim when I order my toast with strawberry jam, and I will ask for milk in my tea. Perhaps even a little sugar if I feel in the mood for something sweeter than usual."

He smiled again. "I promise you, I will think of nothing else all night, Lady Rebecca."

She felt a moment of triumph as he swept her past the tall tree fern near the orchestra, then toward the open French doors that led out onto the flagstone terrace. She caught a whiff of the cool, nighttime air and inhaled deeply as they passed by, feeling rejuvenated by their open flirtations and hopeful for her future once again. Mr. Rushton seemed a thousand miles away. He didn't even exist for her now, when she was being swept around the room in Lord Hawthorne's strong arms. She wished she could dance with him until dawn.

Sadly, however, the orchestra soon finished the piece, and she was forced to step out of his arms.

But that couldn't be it. It couldn't be over. She prayed for another opportunity to converse with him before they said goodnight.

He escorted her back to her aunt, then bowed to both of them. "Thank you, Lady Rebecca. May I hope to escort you to the dessert table later this evening?"

Her prayers had been answered, and her heart drummed with delight. She accepted his invitation.

"I presume it went well," Aunt Grace said, speaking quietly after he left.

"It appears so."

They watched him circle the room. He stopped to speak to the young lady he had danced with earlier-the duke's daughter with the strikingly dark features-and Rebecca let out a sigh.

"Perhaps I am dreaming, Aunt Grace. Look at him. Surely he must prefer a woman like that-tall and graceful, with a neck like a swan. A woman who knows how to behave in society. I feel like such a novice."

"Maybe that is your charm."

Lord Hawthorne joined his younger brother, Lord Blake. They spoke briefly, then left the ballroom.

"Do not worry," Aunt Grace said. "He will return, and he has promised you a trip to the dessert table."

"But then what? Dancing with a man is one thing. Getting him to propose is quite another. And there are so many other attractive women here tonight. It appears I have quite a bit of competition."

Her aunt considered it. "You must have patience, darling. Rome wasn't built in a day."

Just then, Devon's mother, the duchess, approached again, and Rebecca turned to find herself gazing up at another handsome gentleman-tall and dark like Devon, with shiny black hair. His eyes were brown, however, instead of blue. The strong, attractive angles of his face resembled Devon's closely, but there was something very different about this man's demeanor. There was a bold, rather callous look in his eye.