"Keep your chin up," he advised her on the evening of their first public appearance, "and it will all blow past quickly enough."

As the first week moved into the next, she discovered that he was right. In fact, among the younger, ultra-fashionable set, she was considered something of a cause celebre, spoken of in reverential tones and given awe-struck glances. A few bold young women even cropped their own hair, dubbing their short new style la Marsden.

Then there was the gaming, people constantly inviting her to play cards in order for her to demonstrate her amazing skill. But despite her reputation, she wasn't a lady gamester and had no interest in proving herself as such.

As for her share of the winnings from her game with Lord Moregrave, Edward had taken the money in hand to invest for her. She'd won what many might consider a substantial nest egg and she had been rather grateful for his assistance, especially when he assured her the funds would be held in her name alone.

Most men would have kept the money for themselves. As their excuse, they would have cited the laws which stipulated that a woman's property belonged to her husband, or her father, and arranged for the funds to be included in her dowry. But not Edward. Instead, he'd established an account for her, suggesting that if she didn't spend it herself, she might want to consider leaving it to the children he hoped they would have one day.

But there would be no children, she thought with a wistful sigh, because there would be no marriage. For in spite of everything, she was still set on proceeding with her original plan.

Standing now inside Hatchard's on the second Tuesday of June, Claire idly browsed the stacks, Mallory and Cousin Wilhelmina busy doing the same in another section of the store. Holding open a book, Claire stared at the pages. But the words blurred before her gaze, her thoughts centered instead on Edward and her future with-or rather without-him.

Their passionate interlude in his study two weeks ago had quite literally shaken her to her toes. More than ever, she understood how deeply vulnerable she was to him, since all he had to do was touch her and she was lost. Just think what it would be like if she relented and married him. Only imagine how it would be if she lay in his bed, in his arms, each night.

Wonderful on the one hand, she thought with a dreamy sigh. Terrifying on the other, since she could easily see herself becoming his devoted supplicant-hanging on his every word, longing for each new touch, his next smile, his next laugh. How simple it would be to let herself believe there was more to his caresses than simple passion.

But what if that's all it was, lust?

Worse, what if his current interest came not from true desire, but was driven instead by their battle of wills, and his natural need to win? Once the war was over, what then? And if he won, would his interest in her die? After all, he would have what he wanted then, would he not?

She couldn't help but notice that he hadn't tried to touch her again since that afternoon, not even to steal a kiss. She told herself it was because he didn't trust himself not to take things too far, remembering how very close he'd come to claiming her virginity. But what if it was something else entirely? What if it really was all just a game?

Oh, heavens, I don't know anymore what to think or what to do.

He wanted her to set a wedding date, but she couldn't.

He wanted her to give in, but she was still afraid that she might be making the biggest mistake of her life if she did. Not without some declaration of affection on his part. Not without some assurance that he wanted to marry her for more than reasons of duty. For more than the necessity of assuring his line and producing the next Clybourne heir.

Snapping the book closed, she shoved it back onto its shelf.

"Not to your liking, I take it," said a voice in a smooth drawl. "Is it the subject matter or the author who has given offense?"

Turning on a sharp inhalation, Claire gazed up. "Lord Islington," she said, laying a hand against her chest, "you startled me."

"How thoughtless. Pray forgive me, since I fear that I am now the one who has given offense." Taking a step back, he made her an elegant bow.

"No, of course you have not," she rushed to assure him, shaking off her initial fright. "What brings you here this afternoon?"

A faint smile curved his mouth. "The same thing that has led you here today, I would imagine. I have been known to read on occasion, you know."

"I am sure you do and I have never imagined otherwise." Pausing, she drew a breath. "How have you been, my lord? Some while has passed since last we met. Have you been away?"

He nodded. "Indeed. Personal business called me into the country, but now I am returned. I hope you will not take it amiss if I tell you that I hear your name mentioned everywhere. I understand you've earned something of a reputation. Brooks's Club, was it not?"

She lifted her chin. "It was. But then you should know all about reputations, my lord."

He laughed. "Quite correct. It would appear you and I share something in common now."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far, particularly since I still do not know what it is that you are supposed to have done." She paused the moment the words were out, amazed at her boldness. "Forgive me, I had no right to inquire. Please forget I asked."

"No, it's quite all right," he said, dismissing her concern. "The matter involved a young lady and a rather unfortunate incident with a storm. We had gone out riding, just us two, and were some miles from her home when a severe thunderstorm struck. We took shelter in a nearby cottage, but by the time the rain and lightning passed sufficiently for us to return, evening had fallen. Her father claimed she was ruined. I thought otherwise and refused to do what some might deem the honorable thing. Nothing untoward had occurred and I couldn't see the point of forcing her into a loveless marriage, nor myself for that matter."

He sighed, his features reserved. "Since then, the story has been greatly embellished, casting me in the role of heartless debaucher. I assure you, Lady Claire, that I never touched that young lady and did only as I thought best for us both. It is unfortunate that so many in Society choose to see evil where only innocence exists."

Claire was silent, struck by the fact that she and Lord Islington did have more in common than she might ever have imagined. He too knew what it was like to be compelled to accept a marriage not of one's own choosing. He too knew what it was to refuse such a match, even in the face of immense disapproval. He'd only wanted his own happiness, as she did herself, yet he was condemned. Unfairly now, she could see.

"But enough of that," he said with a cheerful look, "especially since I haven't had the opportunity to compliment you on your hair. It is exquisite, worthy of being dubbed la Marsden. A pity there is a war, since the French would adore you. They love saucy jeune fille, unlike their stuffy English counterparts." Taking a moment, he tugged at the cuff of one glove. "So how is Clybourne these days?"

Claire forced her lips not to twitch. "His Grace is quite well."

"Frankly, I am surprised to see you here. I half expected you to be confined to your residence."

"Not at all. And I am out with Lady Mallory and her cousin Mrs. Byron for the day."

"Well, I am glad we had a chance to speak," he said.

She smiled. "As am I."

"A shame I cannot ask you to walk with me in the park one afternoon. Or to take a carriage ride. I've a brand new phaeton I should love you to try."

A carriage ride with Lord Islington?

Imagine the outcry.

Imagine how furious Edward would be.

And suddenly she knew precisely how to separate herself from Edward. Assuming she had the fortitude to go that far. Were she to do what she was thinking, Edward would not only break things off, he would likely never speak to her again. Was that what she wanted? Did she dare take such a drastic step? One she knew would be utterly irrevocable?

Suddenly she realized it was her only option, her very last chance.

"I would enjoy that too, my lord," she said, her heart beating painfully inside her chest. "Do you ever drive out into the countryside? London can become so close in the summer."

He lifted a brow, a curious light gleaming in his gaze. "It can indeed."

"But I suppose we couldn't go during the day," she mused. "Perhaps some evening during a ball, just for a lark. What would you say to that?"

"I would say that you like to court scandal. Then again, so do I. Tell me more."

Swallowing against the knot in her throat, she did just that.

Five evenings later, Edward stood aside as Claire was led onto the dance floor by her latest partner. Looking beautiful in a gown of creamy lemon silk, she glided across the room like a sunbeam whose radiance put the candlelight completely to shame. Her cropped golden curls bounced around her head with a lively impudence, her blue eyes gleaming with magic and mystery as she worked her charms on the young man with whom she'd agreed to dance.

The amazing thing was that Claire wasn't even aware of her power over the opposite sex. All she had to do was smile and men fell over their feet trying to please her. Lately he found himself fighting the urge to send the whole lot of them scurrying away, so he could keep her all to himself. But Claire had drummed up enough raised eyebrows and disapproving stares all on her own without him creating an entirely new stir.

At least she seemed to have finally accepted the reality of their engagement.

Or so he hoped.

Since their encounter in his study, she'd been a model of propriety. She never went anywhere without an appropriate chaperone, her behavior as circumspect as the most demure of maidens. Initially, he'd been suspicious, alert for any sign that she was up to her old tricks. But as the days passed without incident, his worry eased, leaving him to wonder if she had truly given up waging her campaign to convince him to let her go.

So unassuming was she, in fact, that he'd even overheard one of the patronesses remark that perhaps they'd been too harsh with Claire and should rethink their decision to revoke her Almack's vouchers. Of course, their change of heart might also stem from the fact that Claire was more popular than ever.

Rather than Claire becoming a social pariah, as was generally the case after expulsion from the Ton's most exclusive gathering place, her absence was apparently thinning numbers inside the hallowed assembly rooms on dance night. Many of the younger set, it seemed, were opting to attend whatever ball Claire decided to visit rather than spend their Wednesday evening on King Street.

Apparently Claire was de rigueur even in disgrace.

Edward would have found it all rather amusing were it not for one thing-she still hadn't set a wedding date.

He considered pushing the issue, and pushing it forcefully, but decided that perhaps she needed just a little more time to adjust. His patience was dwindling rapidly, however, and if she didn't choose soon, he would choose for her.

Since he had no interest in dancing, at least not with any lady other than Claire, he turned and made his way into the nearby library. There he found a group of gentlemen engaged in an enthusiastic debate about the war. Accepting a glass of port, he leaned against the fireplace mantel and listened.

Inside the ballroom, the dance drew to an end. After curtseying to her partner, Claire allowed him to escort her from the floor. They were halfway across when she faltered, weaving slightly as she came to a sudden halt.

"Oh, good heavens," she declared. "I think I've stepped on my hem." Glancing down, she inspected her skirt, while the man at her side stood by with an expression of bemusement on his face.

"I'm afraid I've torn my gown," she told him after a minute. "Forgive my clumsiness, but I am going to have to excuse myself to effect a repair."

Releasing her, he stepped aside. "Of course. Do you require assistance?"

She shook her head. "I'm sure there will be a maid in the ladies' withdrawing room who can help me. I shall be fine."

With a bow, he accepted her word and stepped aside.

The instant he was gone, Claire whirled around and hurried toward the doorway. There was nothing wrong with her gown, of course, but she'd needed some plausible excuse in order to get away. She was late, the clock having struck ten some minutes ago, the time she was supposed to have met Lord Islington for their planned evening ride. They'd agreed they would rendezvous outside and then be on their way.

Her tardiness was Edward's fault. She'd thought he would never leave the ballroom and she'd had no choice but to accept another dance, even though the appointed hour was already upon her. Then, finally, she'd looked up and Edward was gone. She knew if she wanted to proceed with her plan that this was the moment.

The only moment.

Her heart pounded beneath her breasts, nerves jangling, as she moved into the corridor leading to a side exit that Islington had suggested might aid her departure. Reaching the garden door, she took hold of the curved brass handle, then paused.

Do I really want to do this?

Do I honestly want to keep an assignation with Lord Islington that will ruin me utterly and completely in the eyes of Society?

More importantly, one that will damage me forever in Edward's estimation?

Of course she had no intention of making her ruin an actual fact, since she wasn't about to let Gregory Islington touch her. But if Edward believed he had, if he thought she'd given her innocence to another man, all his talk of duty and responsibility would cease. For what man would abide a sullied bride? What duke would want a duchess who had been unfaithful to him even before the vows had been said?

Her hand trembled on the doorknob. It wasn't too late to change her mind. All she need do was return to the ballroom and no one would realize what she'd been contemplating. A queasy swell crested in her stomach, knowing that once she set foot outside this house, her path was fixed. Then again, her path was fixed if she turned back. She would marry Edward. The battle between them would be done.

A murmur of voices sounded in the distance and she knew it was now or never. Stay or go, the choice was hers to make.

Five seconds passed, then ten.

Drawing a sharp breath, she opened the door and stepped outside.

Edward tossed back a draught of port, then set his glass aside. He'd listened to the conversation and had gleaned nothing of particular import. Most of the men gathered liked to puff around as though they were privy to all sorts of vital secrets. Edward knew for a fact that they were not.

The only man in the group with any real connections was Lord Lymehurst and he was a close-lipped sort. Actually, he rarely spoke freely about any subject unless it had to do with horses or women; he was always available for a conversation about those. The last Edward heard, Lymehurst had been dallying with Jack's old flame, Philipa Stockton. But then Lady Stockton dallied with a great many men. If rumors were to be believed, she'd taken several lovers since Jack had ended things with her, as though she was trying to erase his memory.

Maybe his brother really had broken her heart-assuming she had a heart to break, that is.

Edward was shrugging off that train of thought and considering whether to return to the ballroom and Claire when Adam Gresham strode into the room.

Moving with purpose, Gresham crossed to his side. "Hallo, Clybourne," he said in a low voice. "Sorry to interrupt, but I wonder if I might have a word?"

Edward lifted a brow, but didn't hesitate. "Yes, of course." Keeping his curiosity to himself, he made his excuses to the other men, then followed Gresham. But Gresham didn't stop on the other side of the room, as Edward had expected. Instead, he led him out of the room and into an empty study, where there was no possibility of being overheard.

"What's this all about?" Edward asked the moment they arrived, the other man closing the door.

"Lady Claire," Gresham explained without preamble.

Edward's mouth tightened. "What about Lady Claire? What has she done now?"

"Left, that's what. I was outside in the garden smoking a cigar not five minutes ago, when I saw her traipse across the side lawn."

"And?" Edward encouraged in a glowering tone.

"And she got into a carriage." Gresham paused, as though reluctant to continue. "I think she's with Islington."

Edward froze, his body ceasing to function for a full count of five.

Islington!

What in Hades was she thinking? Was this another one of her ridiculous escapades? Or had she actually run off with him? Surely not? Either way, though, she'd gone much too far this time. Whatever her reasons, she'd put herself at far greater risk than she could conceive. Fury and fear twisted like slippery serpents in his gut, as he considered all the possibilities.

Edward met Gresham's gaze. "Did you see which direction they took?"

Gresham nodded. "I thought of following them myself, but sent a groom instead. He's to trail them, then come back. I told him if it was very late that he was to go straight to Clybourne House with the news."

"Thank you."

A brief silence fell.

"We'll hope Islington's only taken her out for an evening drive around Mayfair," Gresham volunteered. "With luck, they'll be back within the hour."

"Yes. Let us hope."

But Edward knew they wouldn't be back, since he was certain Islington had no intention of returning Claire anytime soon. Meanwhile, there was little he could do. The pair of them could be anywhere in the city by now. Or anywhere out of it as well.

"I know I can count on your discretion," Edward said, relieved Gresham was the one who'd seen Claire leave. If it had been anyone else, there would be no hope of recovering her without her reputation ending up in irreparable shreds. As it stood, the chances weren't terribly good anyway.

Suddenly Edward realized what she'd done and why.

Good God, she's deliberately trying to ruin herself. She's going to truly force my hand.