Her smile froze as a tall gentleman dressed entirely in black caught her attention. Her knees almost buckled. He was the one gentleman she didn’t want to meet. Her enquiries had assured her Lord Bentley did not attend balls or parties, was a dissolute aristocrat, more interested in gaming and drinking than finding a wife. There was a sudden flurry of movement and the crowd parted like the Red Sea to let him through. He was staring directly at her.

Had he recognized her as the young lady who had tipped him into a ditch? That strange heat flickered through her, her cheeks coloured and her chest tightened. She couldn’t look away, was held by the gaze of his blue-black eyes and the arrogant thrust of his chin. This time he was smiling and she could not help responding. The master of ceremonies announced his name with due aplomb.

“His grace, The Duke of Rochester, Lord Bentley.” She dipped in a deep curtsy wondering if he knew who she was. Presumably his invitation card would have stated her name. Her cousin was the image of Aunt Laura so it must be immediately obvious she was Lady Isobel Drummond and not Miss Petunia Illingworth. She straightened, raising her head to discover him watching her. His smile made her toes curl.

“Lady Isobel, I am enchanted to make your acquaintance. I hope you will honour me with a dance or two.” This was not a question but a bald statement of fact.

Almost too late she found her tongue. “Thank you, your grace, it is I who shall be honoured.” He nodded and was gone. Someone touched her hand and she looked down to see her cousin staring at her round eyed.

“Do you realize who that was?”

Isobel smiled. “He was announced, he’s The Duke of Rochester.”

“No, silly, he’s the most eligible parti in the world and he has singled you out. Whatever happens next, your season will be successful.”

Now was not the time to tell Pet she had already made his acquaintance. She shivered. Was he planning some sort of revenge for her mistreatment? Would he lead her out and then abandon her on the dance floor and make her a laughing stock? Did one man have the power to do that? Her cousin was prone to exaggerate, no doubt this was another of those instances.

“I think he was an objectionable man, so top lofty I cannot imagine how he does not fall over his own feet. He did not stay to greet any of you; even a duke should have good manners.”

Aunt Laura looked scandalized and Petunia giggled. Her uncle winked and the moment of excitement was over. Having jumped the queue in his superior fashion, Rochester strolled off into the ballroom. As the remainder of the guests was introduced Isobel curtsied and smiled until her face ached.

An hour later she was finally free to join the throng milling about the place. Whoever arrived at her side first, if she liked them, then she would dance. Then, when she became bored with the evening, she could absent herself without giving offence to anyone.

Petunia was to lead the first set. No doubt some gentleman would invite her also. To her astonishment Rochester appeared neatly cutting out a small queue of hopefuls.

“I believe this is my dance, Lady Isobel.”

She was tempted to refuse, to say she was promised to another, but something in his eyes made her accept and she curtsied and stepped forward. Just the touch of his hand sent tremors rushing round her body.

“I believe I owe you an apology, my lady.”

Her eyes flew up. His expression was suitably solemn, but his eyes twinkled. “It is I who must apologize …”

His smile made her lose her feet and she stumbled, he steadied her. “I should have called on you, but was recalled on business matters. Without your intervention things might have been far worse.”

Her gurgle of laughter attracted the attention of the other couples in the set. “Shall we agree to forget the incident, your grace?”

He nodded. “As you wish. May I say that I almost didn’t recognize you this evening?”

With wide eyes she replied. “And I you, your grace. Mud is an excellent disguise, is it not?”

This time his shout of mirth caused the unfortunate young lady to her left to step on her hem and tear the flounce clean off. The dagger look Isobel received almost made her lose her composure. He whirled her away in the promenade and she struggled with her giggles; he not assisting her efforts by winking down at her.

The remainder of the ball whirled past far quicker than she’d anticipated. In spite of her reservations she was not bored, in fact had never felt so invigorated in her life. She had danced with a variety of gentlemen both young and old, but none had been as charming or as handsome as Lord Bentley.

He had returned to claim her for the supper dance and by the end of the evening she had quite revised her former opinion and was halfway to liking him a great deal. She was not so I as to believe he was so afflicted and did not expect to hear from him again.

*   *   *

The next morning when she returned from her early morning ride she was greeted by a frantic Aunt Laura.”My dear girl, such an honour, indeed it is quite worth the aggravation of rising at the crack of dawn.”

“Aunt Laura, I’ve no idea of what you mean. Indeed, I am astonished to find you abroad so early.”

“I told you, my love, The Duke of Rochester has come to call on you. He’s been here half an hour already. Poor Illingworth has been obliged to talk to him. I could not remain in the same room, he puts me all in a flutter, he stares at one in such a way as to make you believe you have a smut upon your nose.”

Isobel was dumbfounded; for such an illustrious person to make his appearance but a few hours after the end of the ball was incredible. Had he been as taken with her as she was with him? Had their encounter in Norfolk made her seem a friend and not a stranger?

“I had better not waste time by returning to my chamber and changing from my riding habit.” The look of horror she received from her aunt made her laugh. “He cannot expect us to be in our finery if he chooses to call so early. This is a very becoming habit, it exactly matches my eyes, have you not told me so several times before?”

Not waiting to hear the reply Isobel walked straight across the chequered entrance hall and into the drawing-room. Two heads turned. Her uncle was patently relieved and the duke showed unmistakable appreciation in his eyes.

She dipped in a deep curtsy; the jaunty ostrich feather on the brim of her military style swept the floor. Straightening, she gazed across the room at the two men, waiting for one of them to speak.

“Lady Isobel, forgive me for calling so early, but like you I am in the habit of riding before anyone else is around. I wished to invite you to drive in the park with me this afternoon.”

She was surprised at his statement. He did not look like a man who relished exercise at any time. Then she recalled his wild appearance last year and reconsidered. He had a slightly jaded air about him today, as if he had been spending his days in idle pursuits not something as invigorating as a gallop around Hyde Park.

“I should be delighted to accompany you, your grace, if my uncle gives me permission.”

“I am quite happy for you to do so, my dear, as long as you are accompanied by your abigail.”

A flash of something passed across the duke’s handsome features. This was quite possibly annoyance. Had he really believed his title would allow him to ride roughshod over her good name?

“Forgive me, gentlemen, but as you see I have not yet had the opportunity to change from my riding habit …” She stopped, appalled she’d been so immodest as to mention changing her apparel. This time his eyes glittered with something she did not recognize. Her cheeks blazed. Hastily she curtsied a second time and without further comment turned to go.

His deep voice followed her. “I shall arrive to collect you at two o’clock, Lady Isobel.”

She was sorely tempted to return to the drawing-room and tell this autocratic gentleman that two o’clock was not convenient, but common sense prevented her. A man like him had been born and bred to issue orders in the expectation that they would be obeyed without question. His dark visage had often filled her dreams these past few weeks. Indeed, it would be no hardship to drive with the most attractive man in Town.

She ran upstairs with her skirt draped over her arm and smiled at the thought of being seen in his company. If Petunia was to be believed, she would now be the talk of the town. Was it really possible one man could influence opinion in this way?

*   *   *

Mary stood back, her dear face glowing with pride. “My lady, I don’t believe there is another as beautiful as you in Town this season. The leaf green of your promenade gown was a perfect choice. I must say I wasn’t sure it was quite right for you when you selected it.”

“It seems a pity to cover the pretty beading on the bodice with my pelisse, but it’s decidedly chilly this afternoon. I know it’s the end of March, but it doesn’t feel like spring.” Isobel lifted the hem of her dress to stare at her new half-kid boots dyed to exactly match her ensemble. “These are decidedly uncomfortable, it’s fortunate I shall not have to walk far in them.”

“You know how it is, my lady, they will ease with wear. Your bonnet brim is so deep it’s going to prevent you from speaking to the duke. You will have to turn your head in order to see him.”

“That’s exactly why I selected it. If I find his company tedious I can stare straight ahead and he will have no notion that I am pulling faces at him.”