Francesca held his gaze and thought her heart would burst, with joy, with a happiness too profound to contain. Freeing her arms, she slid her hands over his shoulders, skating one to his nape as she raised her face to his. "Thank you, my lord. I accept."

She sealed the bargain with a kiss-a kiss that promised a lifetime of bliss in the shackles of an enduring love.

They had only one formal engagement remaining before leaving for Lambourn-Lady Dalrymple's Christmas dinner. It was early December, weeks before Christmas, but the last of the ton would soon depart the capital and return to their estates. Gyles would have given a great deal to escape earlier to Lambourn and escape the inevitable roasting from one of the few of his kind who would also be at the dinner.

There was to be no escape.

Francesca, superb in a gown of sea-green silk, drew all eyes, not just because of her lush curves but more so because of the radiant happiness glowing in her eyes, coloring her voice, implicit in her every gesture. To the irritation of his rakish self, he seemed incapable of doing anything other than beam with proprietorial pride.

Devil, of course, saw and understood, as few others would. From across the table set with silver and glittering crystal and the rich tones of Limoges dishes, Devil grinned-devilishly-and raised his glass in a private toast.

Gyles had no difficulty making out his words.

"Welcome to the club."