Elizabeth let herself be drawn forward a few steps and hesitated. "This is a mistake. Everyone will see us and think we've started it allover again-"

"No, they won't," he promised. "There's a rumor spreading like fire in there that I tried to get you in my clutches two years ago, but without a t.i.tle to tempt you I didn't have a chance. Since acquiring a t.i.tle is a holy crusade for most of them, they'll admire your sense. Now that I have a t.i.tle, I'm expected to use it to try to succeed where I failed before-as a way of bolstering my wounded male pride." Reaching up to brush a wisp of hair from her soft cheek, he said, "I'm sorry. It was the best I could do with what I had to work with-we were seen together in compromising circ.u.mstances. Since they'd never believe nothing happened, I could only make them think I was in pursuit and you were evading."

She flinched from his touch but didn't shove his hand away. "You don't understand. What's happening to me in there is no less than I deserve. I knew what the rules were, and I broke them when I stayed with you at the cottage. You didn't force me to stay. I broke the rules, and-"

"Elizabeth," he interrupted in a voice edged with harsh remorse, "if you won't do anything else for me, at least stop exonerating me for that weekend. I can't bear it. I exerted more force on you than you understand."

Longing to kiss her, Ian had to be satisfied instead with trying to convince her his plan would work, because he now needed her help to ensure its success. In a teasing voice he said, "I think you're underrating my gift for strategy and subtlety. Come and dance with me, and I'll prove to you how easily most of the male minds in there have been manipulated."

She nodded, but without any real interest or enthusiasm, and allowed him to guide her back through the French doors.

Despite his confidence, moments after they entered the ballroom Ian noticed the increasing coldness of the looks being directed at them, and he knew a moment of real alarm-until he glanced at Elizabeth as he took her in his arms for a waltz and realized the cause of it. "Elizabeth," he said in a low, urgent voice, gazing down at her bent head, "stop looking meek! Put your nose in the air and cut me dead or flirt with me, but do not on any account look humble, because these people will interpret it as guilt."

Elizabeth, who had been staring at his shoulder, as she'd done with her other dancing partners, tipped her head back and looked at him in confusion. "What?"

Ian's heart turned over when the chandeliers overhead revealed the wounded look in her glorious green eyes. Realizing logic and lectures weren't going to help her give the performance he badly needed her to give, he tried the tack that had, in Scotland, made her stop crying and begin to laugh. He tried to tease her. Casting about for a subject, he said quickly, "Belhaven is certainly in fine looks tonight -pink satin pantaloons. I asked him for the name of his tailor so that I could order a pair for myself."

Elizabeth looked at him as if he'd taken leave of his senses; then his warning about looking meek hit home, and she began to understand what he wanted her to do. That added to the comic image of Ian's tall, masculine frame in those absurd pink pantaloons enabled her to manage a weak smile. "I have greatly admired those pantaloons myself," she said. "Will you also order a yellow satin coat to complement the look?"

He smiled. "I thought-puce."

"An unusual combination," she averred softly, "but one that I am sure will make you the envy of all who behold you."

Pride swelled in him at how valiantly she was rallying. To stop himself from saying things he wanted to say to her tomorrow, in private, Ian looked around for another topic to keep her talking. He mentioned the first one he saw. "Am I to a.s.sume the Valerie I was introduced to earlier was the Valerie of our greenhouse notes." He realized his mistake the instant her eyes clouded over and she glanced in the direction he'd looked.

"Yes." "Shall I ask Willington to clear his ballroom so you have the requisite twenty paces? Naturally, I'll stand as your second."

Elizabeth drew a shaky breath, and a smile curved her lips. "Is she wearing a bow?"

Ian looked and shook his head. "I'm afraid not." "Does she have an earring?"

He glanced again and frowned. "I think that's a wart." Her smile finally reached her eyes. "Its not a large target, but I suppose-"

"Allow me," he gravely replied, and she laughed.

The last strains of their waltz were dying away, and as they left the dance floor Ian watched Mondevale making his way toward the Townsendes, who'd returned to the ballroom.

"Now that you're a marquess," Elizabeth asked, "will you live in Scotland or in England?"

"I only accepted the t.i.tle, not the money or the lands," he replied absently, watching Mondevale. "I'll explain everything to you tomorrow morning at your house. Mondevale is going to ask you to dance as soon as we reach the Townsendes, so listen closely-I'm going to ask you to dance again later. Turn me down."

She sent him a puzzled look, but she nodded. "Is there anything else?" she asked when he was about to relinquish her to her friends.

"There's a great deal else, but it will have to wait until tomorrow."

Mystified, Elizabeth turned her attention to Viscount Mondevale.

Alex watched the byplay between Elizabeth and Ian but her mind was elsewhere. While the couple danced, Alex had told her husband exactly what she thought of Ian Thornton who'd first ruined Elizabeth's reputation and now deceived her into thinking he was still a man of very modest means. Instead of agreeing that Thornton was completely without principles, Jordan had calmly insisted that Ian intended to set matters aright in the morning, and then he'd made her, and his grandmother ,promise not to tell Elizabeth anything until Ian had been given the opportunity to do so himself. Dragging her thoughts back to the ballroom, Alex hoped more than anything that Ian Thornton would do nothing more to hurt her good friend.

By the end of the evening a majority of the guests at the Willington ball had drawn several conclusions: first, that Ian Thornton was definitely the natural grandson of the Duke of Stanhope (which everyone claimed to have always believed); second, that Elizabeth Cameron had very probably rebuffed his scandalous advances two years ago (which everyone claimed to have always believed); third, that since she had rejected his second request for a dance tonight, she might actually prefer her former suitor Viscount Mondevale (which hardly anyone could really believe).

Chapter 22.

Bentner carried a covered platter of scones into the morning room and placed it before Elizabeth and Alex, who were seated at the table discussing last night's ball. Lucinda, who rarely ate breakfast, was sitting upon a narrow window cushion, calmly applying herself to her needlework while she listened to their conversation.

The morning room, like all the other rooms in the s.p.a.cious house on Promenade Street. was furnished in what Julius Cameron called "serviceable colors"-browns and grays. This morning, however, there was a bright rainbow of color in the center of it where the girls were seated at a table covered with a maize linen cloth, Alex in a dusty-pink day dress, Elizabeth in a mint-green morning gown.

Normally, Bentner would have beamed approvingly at the pretty portrait the girls made, but this morning, as he put out b.u.t.ter and jam, he had grim news to impart and a confession to make. As he swept the cover off the scones he gave his news and made his confession.

"We had a guest last night," he told Elizabeth. "I slammed the door on him."

"Who was it?" "A Mr. Ian Thornton."

Elizabeth stifled a horrified chuckle at the image that called to mind, but before she could comment Bentner said fiercely, "I regretted my actions afterward! I should have invited him inside, offered him refreshment, and slipped some of that purgative powder into his drink. He'd have had a bellyache that lasted a month."

"Bentner," Alex sputtered. "you are a treasure!" "Do not encourage him in these fantasies," Elizabeth warned wryly. "Bentner is so addicted to mystery novels that he occasionally forgets that what one does in a novel cannot always be done in real life. He actually did a similar thing to my uncle last year."

"Yes, and he didn't return for six months," Bentner told Alex proudly.

"And when he does come," Elizabeth reminded him with a frown to sound severe, " he refuses to eat or drink anything."

"Which is why he never stays long," Bentner countered, undaunted. As was his habit whenever his mistress's future was being discussed, as it was now, Bentner hung about to make suggestions as they occurred to him. Since Elizabeth had always seemed to appreciate his advice and a.s.sistance, he found nothing odd about a butler sitting down at the table and contributing to the conversation when the only guest was someone he'd known since she was a girl.

"It's that odious Belhaven we have to rid you of first," Alexandra said, returning to their earlier conversation. "He hung about last night, glowering at anyone who might have approached you." She shuddered. "And the way he ogles you. It's revolting. It's worse than that; he's almost frightening."

Bentner heard that, and his elderly eyes grew thoughtful as he recalled something he'd read about in one of his novels. "As a solution it is a trifle extreme," he said. "but as a last resort it could work."

Two pairs of eyes turned to him with interest, and he continued, "I read it in The Nefarious Gentleman. We would have Aaron abduct this Belhaven in our carriage and bring him straightaway to the docks, where we'll sell him to the press gangs."

Shaking her head in amused affection, Elizabeth said, "I daresay he wouldn't just meekly go along with Aaron."

"And I don't think," Alex added, her smiling gaze meeting Elizabeth's, "a press gang would take him. They're not that desperate."

"There's always black magic," Bentner continued. "In Deathly Endeavours there was a perpetrator of ancient rites who cast an evil spell. We would require some rats' tails, as I recall, and tongues of-"

"No," Elizabeth said with finality. "-lizards," Bentner finished determinedly. "Absolutely not," his mistress returned.

"And fresh toad mold, but procuring that might be tricky. The novel didn't say how to tell fresh from-"

"Bentner!" Elizabeth exclaimed, laughing. "You'll cast us all into a swoon if you don't desist at once."

When Bentner had padded away to seek privacy for further contemplation of solutions, Elizabeth looked at Alex. "Rats' tails and lizards' tongues," she said, chuckling. "No wonder Bentner insists on having a lighted candle in his room all night."

"He must be afraid to close his eyes after reading such things," Alex agreed, but her thoughts had returned to last night. "One thing is certain-I was correct about having you go out in society. Last night was much harder than I imagined, but the rest will be easy. I have no doubt you'll be receiving offers within a sennight, so what we must do is decide whom you like and wish to encourage. I think," she continued gently, "that if you still want Mondevale-"

Elizabeth shook her head emphatically. "I don't want anyone, Alex. I mean that."

The dowager d.u.c.h.ess, who had arrived to accompany Alex on a shopping expedition, swept in on the heels of an intimidated footman whom she'd waved off when he offered to announce her. "What are you saying. Elizabeth?" she demanded, looking extremely disgruntled that her efforts last night might be going for naught.

Elizabeth started at the sound of her imperious voice. Clad in silver-gray from head to foot, she exuded wealth. confidence, and superior breeding. Elizabeth still thought her the most intimidating woman she'd ever met, but, like Alex, she had seen past that to the reluctant warmth beneath the sound of disapproval in her stern voice.

"What Elizabeth meant," Alex explained while the dowager d.u.c.h.ess seated herself at the table and arranged her silk skirts to her satisfaction, "is that she's only been back out in society for one day. After her unfortunate experiences with Mondevale and Mr. Thornton, she is naturally reluctant to misplace her affections."

"You're wrong, Alexandra," said the dowager stoutly, scrutinizing Elizabeth's face. "What she meant, I believe, is that she has no intention of wedding anyone now or in the future, if she can avoid it."

Elizabeth's smile faded, but she did not lie. "Exactly," she said quietly, b.u.t.tering a scone.

"Foolish, my dear. You shall and you must wed." "Grandmama is quite right," Alex said. "You can't hope to remain in society unwed without eventually encountering all manner of unpleasantness. Believe me, I know!"

"Exactly!" the dowager said, getting down to the reason for her early arrival. "And that is why I've decided that you ought to consider Kensington."

"Who?" Elizabeth said, and then she recognized Ian's new t.i.tle. "Thank you, but no," she said firmly. "I feel much relieved that things came off as well as they did, and grateful to him for his help, but that is all." Elizabeth ignored the little tug on her heart when she recalled how handsome he'd looked last night, how gentle he'd been with her. He had caused her nothing but grief from the time she'd met him. He was unpredictable and dictatorial. Furthermore, having seen the special closeness Alex seemed to share with her handsome husband, Elizabeth was beginning to question the rightness of choosing husbands as if practicality were paramount. Elizabeth couldn't remember much about the gay, handsome couple who had been her own parents; they had breezed in and out of her life in a swirl of social activities that kept them away from home far more than they were there.

"Grateful?" repeated the d.u.c.h.ess. "I would not have used that word. Besides, he did not handle it so well as he might have done. He should never have asked you to dance, for one thing."

"It might have looked more odd if he hadn't," Alex said reluctantly. "However, I, for one, am vastly relieved that Elizabeth has no interest in him."

The d.u.c.h.ess frowned in surprise. "Why is that?" "I cannot find it in my heart to forgive him for the misery he has caused her." Recalling again that he had let Elizabeth believe his home was a modest cottage in Scotland, she added, "And I cannot trust him." Turning to Lucinda for reinforcement, Alex asked for her opinion.

Lucinda, who'd been apprised of Ian's actions last night by Elizabeth, looked up from her needlework. "In the matter of Mr. Thornton," she replied noncommittally, "I now prefer to withhold judgment."

"I was not suggesting," the dowager said, irritated with such unprecedented opposition, "that you should fall into his arms if he made you an offer. His behavior, excepting last night, has been completely reprehensible." She broke off as Bentner appeared in the doorway, his expression one of distress and ire.

"Your uncle is here, Miss Elizabeth." "There is no d.a.m.ned need to announce me," Julius informed him, striding down the hall to the morning room. "This is my house." Elizabeth stood up, intending to go somewhere private to hear whatever distressing thing he was bound to tell her, just as Uncle Julius stopped cold in the doorway, flushing a little at the realization she had female guests. "Have you seen Thornton?" he asked her.

"Yes, why?" "I must say I'm proud of the way you've obviously taken it. I was afraid you'd fly into the boughs over not being told. There's a great deal of money involved here, and I'll not have you turning missish so that he wants it back."

"What are you talking about?" "Perhaps we ought to leave," Alexandra suggested. "There's no need for privacy," he said, tugging at his neckcloth, suddenly looking uncharacteristically apprehensive. "I'd as lief discuss this with Elizabeth in front of her friends. You are. I collect. her friends?"

Elizabeth had a horrible feeling that he was relying on her guests to keep her from making "a scene," which is how he described any sort of verbal opposition, no matter how quiet. "Shall we adjourn to the front drawing room?" he said in the tone of one issuing an instruction, not an invitation. "There's more room."

The d.u.c.h.ess's face turned icy at his impertinence and lack of taste, but then she glanced at Elizabeth, noting her sudden stillness and her alarmed expression, and she nodded curtly.

"There's no point in rushing into the matter," Julius said as he started down the hall, accompanied by the group that had been in the morning room. It wasn't just the money that pleased Julius so much; it was the triumph he felt because, in dealing with a man as incredibly astute as Thornton was purported to be, Julius Cameron had emerged the absolute victor.

"I believe an introduction is in order, Elizabeth," Julius said when they entered the drawing room.

Elizabeth automatically presented him to the d.u.c.h.ess, her mind ringing with alarm over an unknown threat, and when her uncle said, "I'd like some tea before we get into this," her alarm escalated to fear because he'd never partaken of anything since Bentner had put the purgative in his drink. He was stalling for time, she realized, to phrase his explanation; that alone meant it was news of the utmost import.

Oblivious to the park they were driving past on the way to Elizabeth's address, Ian idly tapped his gloves against his knee. Twice, women he'd met last night waved at him and smiled, but he didn't notice. His mind was occupied with the explanations he intended to make to Elizabeth. At all costs, she must not think he wanted to marry her out of pity or guilt, for Elizabeth was not only beautiful, she was proud; and her pride would make her oppose their betrothal. She was also courageous and stubborn, and if she discovered their betrothal was already an established fact, she sure as bell wasn't going to like that either, and Ian couldn't blame her. She had been the most sought-after beauty ever to hit the London scene two years ago; she was ent.i.tled to be courted properly.

No doubt she'd want to get a little of her own back by pretending she didn't want him, but that was one thing that didn't concern him. They had wanted each other from that first night in the garden. They had wanted each other every time they'd been together since then. She was innocence and courage; pa.s.sion and shyness; fury and forgiveness. She was serene and regal in a ballroom; jaunty and skillful with a pistol in her bands; pa.s.sionate and sweet in his arms. She was all of that, and much more.

And he loved her. If he was honest, he'd have to admit be had loved her from the moment she'd taken on a roomful of angry men in a card room-a young, golden princess, outnumbered by her subjects, dwarfed by their size, scornful of their att.i.tude.

She had loved him, too; it was the only explanation for everything that had happened the weekend they met and the three days they were together in Scotland. The only difference was that Elizabeth didn't have the advantage of Ian's years and experience, or of his upbringing. She was a young, sheltered English girl who thought the strongest emotion two people could or should feel for one another was "a lasting attachment."

She didn't know, could not yet comprehend, that love was a gift that had been given to them in a torchlit garden the moment they met. A smile touched his lips as he thought of her in the garden the night they met; she could challenge a roomful of men, but in the garden, when she was flirting with him, she'd been so nervous that she'd rubbed her palms against her knees. That memory was one of the sweetest.

Ian smiled in amused self-mockery. In every other facet of his life he was coolly practical; where Elizabeth was concerned he was alternately blind and reactionary or, like now, positively besotted. On his way here this morning he'd stopped at London's most fashionable jeweler and made purchases that had left the proprietor, Mr. Phineas Weatherbone, caught somewhere between ecstasy and disbelief, bowing Ian out the front door. In fact, there was a betrothal ring in Ian's pocket, but he'd only taken it with him because he didn't think it needed to be sized. He would not put it on Elizabeth's finger until she was prepared to admit she loved him, or at least that she wanted to marry him. His own parents had loved one another unashamedly and without reservation. He wanted nothing less from Elizabeth, which, he thought wryly, was a little odd, given the fact that he hadn't expected or truly wanted the same thing from Christina.

The only problem that didn't concern him was Elizabeth's reaction to discovering that she was already betrothed to him, or worse, that he'd been made to pay to get her. There was no reason for her to know the former yet, and no reason for her ever to know the latter. He had specifically warned her uncle that he would deal with both those matters himself.

All the houses on Promenade Street were white with ornamental wrought-iron gates at the front. Although they were not nearly so imposing as the mansions on Upper Brook Street, it was a pretty street, with fashionable women in pastel bonnets and gowns strolling by on the arms of impeccably dressed men.

As Ian's driver pulled his grays to a stop before the Cameron house, Ian noticed the two carriages already waiting in the street in front of him, but he paid no heed to the rented hack behind him. Irritably contemplating the impending confrontation with Elizabeth's insolent butler, he was walking up the front steps when Duncan's voice called his name, and he turned in surprise.

"I arrived this morning," Duncan explained, turning to look askance at two dandies who were mincing down the street, garbed in wasp-waisted coats and chin-high shirt points dripping with fobs and seals. "Your butler informed me you were here. I thought-that is. I wondered how things were going."

"And since my butler didn't know," Ian concluded with amused irritation, "you decided to call on Elizabeth and see if you could discover for yourself."

"Something like that," the vicar said calmly. "Elizabeth regards me as a friend, I think. And so I planned to call on her and, if you weren't here, to put in a good word for you."

"Only one?" Ian said mildly. The vicar did not back down; he rarely did, particularly in matters of morality or justice. "Given your treatment of her, I was hard pressed to think of one. How did matters turn out with your grandfather?"

"Well enough," Ian said, his mind on meeting with Elizabeth. "He's here in London."

" And?"

"And," Ian said sardonically, "you may now address me as 'my lord'."

"I've come here," Duncan persisted implacably, "to address you as 'the bridegroom'."

A flash of annoyance crossed Ian's tanned features. "You never stop pressing, do you? I've managed my own life for thirty years, Duncan. I think I can do it now."

Duncan had the grace to look slightly abashed. "You're right, of course. Shall I leave?"

Ian considered the benefits of Duncan's soothing presence and reluctantly shook his head. "No. In fact, since you're here," he continued as they neared the top step, "you may as well be the one to announce us to the butler. I can't get past him."

Duncan lifted the knocker while bestowing a mocking glance on Ian. "You can't get past the butler, and you think you're managing very well without me?"

Declining to rise to that bait, Ian remained silent. The door opened a moment later, and the butler looked politely from Duncan, who began to give his name, to Ian. To Duncan's startled disbelief, the door came crashing forward in his face. An instant before it banged into its frame Ian twisted, slamming his shoulder into it and sending the butler flying backward into the hall and ricocheting off the wall. In a low, savage voice he said, "Tell your mistress I'm here, or I'll find her myself and tell her."

With a glance of furious outrage the older man considered Ian's superior size and powerful frame, then turned and started reluctantly for a room ahead and to the left, where muted voices could be heard.

Duncan eyed Ian with one gray eyebrow lifted and said sardonically, "Very clever of you to ingratiate yourself so well with Elizabeth's servants."

The group in the drawing room reacted with diverse emotions to Bentner's announcement that "Thornton is here and forced his way into the house." The dowager d.u.c.h.ess looked fascinated, Julius looked both relieved and dismayed, Alexandra looked wary, and Elizabeth, who was still preoccupied with her uncle's unstated purpose for his visit, looked nonplussed. Only Lucinda showed no expression at all, but she laid her needlework aside and lifted her face attentively toward the doorway.

"Show him in here, Bentner," her uncle said, his voice unnaturally loud in the emotionally charged silence.

Elizabeth felt a shock at seeing Duncan walk into the room beside Ian, and a greater one when Ian ignored everyone else and came directly to her, his gaze searching her face. "I trust you're suffering no ill effects from the ordeal last night?" he said in a gentle tone as he took her hand and lifted her fingertips to his lips.