It remained for her to take herself, her gown, and her determination to have a child... and let events take their natural course. Because Esme had promised, nay had sworn up and down, that the gown would do all the work and Helene could simply choose a father for her child from a bevy of suitors. And for the first time, Helene began to believe her. Courage rose in her. Men would like the way she looked.

"Will you wear the diamonds tonight?" Saunders enquired.

"I believe my rubies would suit this gown." Helene never wore the rubies set because they had belonged to her late mother-in-law, and she herself had never really felt like Countess Godwin... but the color would be perfect. The rubies settled around her neck with a delicious rosy glow. Saunders put ruby drops in her ears. Helene almost laughed with the surprise of seeing her own reflection, even as Saunders fastened rubies around her wrist. Could this glowing, beautiful woman be her, Helene?

At that moment there was a knock and Esme tumbled into the room. "Hello, darling! I've just come to-" she said and stopped.

There was a moment of extremely gratifying silence. Then: "You are not to come within two feet of my Sebastian, do you hear? Not within two feet!" Esme squealed.

Helene made a little pout. It was the most delicious thing in the world to pout with cherry red lips, rather than her own pale pink mouth. "But Sebastian must dance with me at least once. We are attending the ball together, after all, and he's so handsome."

Esme was laughing. "I think not, my girl. I'm not letting him anywhere near you. However," she took a list from her reticule, "here are a few men with whom you may dance."

Helene dismissed Saunders. The last thing she wanted was the entire servants' quarters enjoying the contents of Esme's list, let alone discovering the reason for its existence.

Esme, meanwhile, had thrown herself into a chair and taken off her slippers. "It is so distressing," she said, revolving her slender foot in the air. "These slippers are deliriously beautiful but they already hurt, and I've only been in them for an hour or so. I shall have to dance barefoot, and that will offend Sebastian's sensibilities."

"I thought your husband was a reformed man, and no longer had any sense of proprieties," Helene said rather absentmindedly. And then, without waiting for an answer: "Esme, are you out of your mind? I can't lure Lord Guilpin into my bedchamber. The man is obviously searching for a wife. I myself saw him in Almack's the other week. The last thing he wants to do is dally with an aging, married woman!"

"You are no aging, married woman," Esme said. "You are about to be revealed as the most desirable woman in all London. And I like Guilpin's looks. Those gray eyes are very taking, don't you think?"

"I never gave his eyes the slightest thought."

"Well, you'll have to do so now," Esme said. "To my mind, Guilpin is tired of looking for a wife. We're well into the season, so he's seen all the young women being presented. More to the point, he's not dancing attendance on any of them, which means that he's quite likely to dance attendance on you instead. All three men on that list are debauched enough to lure you into a chamber at the ball and do what comes naturally to them. And each of them is both intelligent and reasonably good looking. That way, your child won't be born hunchbacked or hare-brained."

"I don't care very much about looks," Helene noted. "More important is that he know something of music. Just imagine if my child wasn't musical!" She looked horrified.

"Any child lucky enough to have you as a mother will undoubtedly end up horse-mad and unable to sing a note, Esme said, laughing.

Helene was still looking at the list, and she had begun to laugh as well. "Garret Langham? You mean the Earl of Mayne? The very idea of Mayne trying to tempt me into a side chamber is ludicrous. Half the women in London would like to bed him!"

"And the other half already have," Esme said smugly. "I being one of them. So I can tell you that Mayne's aristocratic nose is echoed with becoming size in other parts of his body, and he knows what he's doing."

"He's predatory," Helene moaned. "I couldn't allow such a thing!"

"Why on earth not? Mayne may be a wee bit rapacious, but I have only the most ravishing memories of our night together. And darling," she said, slipping her foot back into her slipper, "obviously poor Rees is a bungler in the bedroom. A night or two with Mayne and you'll feel entirely different about the whole experience of bedding. I'm quite certain he's very red-blooded. My mother-in-law informed me that red blood is the trick to conception, and she seems to know that sort of thing."

"Everyone is red-blooded," Helene told her, wondering if she should slip the little box of sandlewood into her reticule. If there was even a chance that Mayne would approach her, she would need ruby-colored lips for courage.

"There are matters of degree, I suppose," Esme told her vaguely. "Well, at any rate, Mayne may be a libertine, but he's not overly dissipated, and he happens to be between attachments. The very moment he sees you in that gown, he'll be dragging you into the library." She smiled fondly. "If I remember correctly, it was a library."

"Esme, you're married to Sebastian. You oughtn't to be sighing romantically over Mayne!"

"Of course I'm married to my darling Sebastian," Esme said with a wicked grin. "And I have every intention of dragging my libertine husband into a library if the opportunity presents itself. But marriage hasn't damaged my memory." She stood up and readjusted her bodice before the mirror.

"Mayne would never consider me." He was like a bird of prey-beautiful, untamable, and far above her head. Helene shook off the thought. She wouldn't want such an uncomfortably sensual companion. "You look absolutely lovely!" she said, looking at Esme in the mirror. "If only I looked like you, this whole escapade would be simple."

"This is the gown that you discarded," Esme said rather smugly. "I had it made up in violet. It only arrived this afternoon, but Sebastian was quite gratifyingly dumbstruck when I tried it on."

"I have no doubt," Helene said. Esme's black curls tumbled down in such a way that they promised to cover the lush expanses of breast barely confined by her gown, although they didn't quite do it. She looked back at the list. "Why on earth is Rees on your list?"

Esme wound her arm around Helene's waist and met her eyes in the mirror. "For practicality's sake. It would be considerably easier if you had a child with your own husband. I know Rees is an uncomfortable companion, and even worse, he's inept between the sheets. But should Rees show the inclination to drag you into a side room, you might want to give it some thought."

"You're out of your mind!" Helene said, shaking her head. "He would never consider such a thing, even if he were at the ball. Lady Patricia Hamilton is giving this ball for her daughter's debut, if you remember. Persons such as Rees and his inamorata won't be welcome!"

"The opera singer certainly is not," Esme said, "but Rees is. I asked Lady Hamilton to send him a card." She decided not to mention that she had also sent Rees a separate note.

Helene was frowning at her. "I may have jested about wishing to attract Rees, but truly, I was just funning. He's likely to burst with laughter when he sees me in this gown!"

"Now that," Esme said with satisfaction, "I truly doubt. He might puff up, of course, but it won't be a matter of humor."

Helene rolled her eyes. "Your puns grow worse and worse, Esme. Rees and I are married. Rees has never shown the faintest interest in what I wear, and the idea that he might drag me off to a side chamber in a surfeit of passion is laughable! In fact, I haven't heard of many husbands who have inclinations in that direction."

"My husband does," Esme said. "And we'd better return downstairs, Helene. I'm not sure that Sebastian and your Major Kersting have much to talk about, since Sebastian is not fond of opera."

Helene let Esme walk down the stairs before her. Only a deranged woman would stroll through a door arm-in-arm with Esme. She lingered for a moment and looked at herself in the hallway mirror. A fire of determination went up her spine. She could do this.

She heard the low rumble of Esme's husband, Sebastian, asking a question, and the quieter voice of her escort, Major Kersting, answering. If she didn't walk through the door, she was betraying all her dreams of having a child. She was dooming herself to living with her mother for years to come. More years. They had already lived together for eight years of her married life.

Helene straightened her back (which caused her breasts to point forward, she couldn't help noticing), and marched through the door.

Chapter Eight.

Of Cravats.

Number Fifteen, Rothsfeld Square.

He's at it again," Rosy shrieked, bursting into the butler's pantry. "Uncle John, the master called me a bad name!"

John Leke, butler to Earl Godwin and uncle to Rosy, looked up from the silver he was polishing. "There's names and names," he said. "The master may be one screw short of a dozen, but he's not ill-tempered. What did he call you?"

"Hell-begotten brat," Rosy said rather triumphantly. "And Mum said that I wasn't to stay in this position if I heard anything low. So I think I would do best to leave the house immediately."

"Why'd the earl call you such a thing?"

Rosy pursed her lips. "I needn't give any notice, Uncle John, not after such an objectionable thing was said to me. It's bad enough that I'm working in a house of sin, but to take abuse is more than a person such as myself need endure!"

Leke had known his niece since she was a mere bantling, and he took her dramatics with a grain of salt. Moreover, he and Rosy's mum had agreed that Rosy was a headstrong girl, and the better for working under her uncle's eye. "Now what did you do? I'm guessing that you earned the phrase the earl called you. What was it again?"

"Hell-begotten brat!"

"Nothing that I haven't thought myself," Leke said, eyeing her. Rosy was just fifteen, but her bouncing ringlets and saucy manners had started to bring entirely too much attention for her own good. The sooner they found her a solid husband, the better. "Rosy?"

Her pout turned sulky. "It's the master's own fault for not hiring enough staff."

"I'm in charge of hiring the staff," her uncle pointed out. "If we don't have many, it's because I won't hire the ones who aren't straight, and the others don't want to work in this house."

"Well, I burned his neck cloth, ironing it," Rosy said in a rush. "But if he had a proper valet, I wouldn't have had to go near an iron!"

"Bring him another cloth, girl. Step to it."

"There aren't any more!" Rosy moaned.

"What do you mean, there aren't any more? The man has at least five cravats. Mind you, in a proper household, he'd have upwards of two dozen."

"I ruined them," Rosy admitted.

"You ruined them all?"

"Honestly, Uncle John, I didn't know I was doing it! You know how untidy he always looks. I thought I'd better starch them. I did it just as mama does, with a cloth over them. Course the iron was sizzling hot, but I was thinking about not burning myself, and there was a terrible amount of steam, and then I don't like the smell of starch, so I just rattled through them as fast as I could-"

"You burned them ALL?" her uncle roared.

"They aren't exactly burned," Rosy protested. "The starch just put yellow streaks..."

But Leke was already bounding up the servants' stairs. He found the earl seated on a chair by the fire, scribbling on a piece of paper. He was tapping his finger against the armrest, looking as balmy as a breadbasket.

Leke gave a silent sigh of relief. Godwin didn't show signs of being driven mad by Rosy's ironing. "I am distressed to hear that your neck cloths have suffered an injury due to my niece's inept ironing, my lord," he said, bowing.

Godwin looked up, pulling his hand through his hair. He must have been dressing for the evening when he discovered the loss of his cravats; at any rate, he was wearing pantaloons. "Never mind about that," he said with his sudden smile. "My fault for not wanting a valet around the place, fussing with my clothes. Likely my neck cloths should go out of the house for laundering along with Lina's clothing. Could you send Sims out to buy a few more?"

"I'm afraid that the Christian & Sons have closed their doors for the night," Leke observed. It was at moments like these that he remembered why he hadn't yet deserted Earl Godwin, even when the rest of the household staff had fled like fleas from a dying dog. The man lived an irregular life, and one could not approve of the fancy piece living in the countess's quarters. But there was something disarming about Godwin, and he was far more reasonable when it came to household crises than many a gentleman Leke could bring to mind.

Rees grunted. "Well, if they're all closed, perhaps you could just pick out the least singed of those cloths, Leke. I can't say it really matters much to me."

Hell-born brat, indeed, Leke thought, turning over the cravats. Had Rosy confessed her ironing failures immediately, he could have bought more cravats, and no one the wiser. Instead, here was the master going out for the evening, and nothing to wear but yellowed cravats.

"I believe, sir, that if you tie a Mathematical with this pale pink cravat, the discolored starch will be inconspicuous. And may I offer my deepest apologies for this deplorable event?"

"Don't give it a second thought," Godwin said. "Does it have to be the pink one? I feel like a man-milliner in it."

"The white cloths are beyond use," Leke admitted. "I shall obtain new cravats at first light tomorrow."

"Right." Godwin bounded up from his chair and threw the cravat around his neck. Far from tying a Mathematical, he merely pulled it into a rough knot.

Leke restrained himself. He was no gentleman's gentleman; he was a butler. "Will Miss McKenna join you this evening?" he asked, backing toward the door as Godwin wrenched on a tailcoat in a russet color that clashed abominably with his pink cravat.

"No," Godwin said, folding up the paper he was working on and sticking it into the pocket of his waistcoat. "I'm off to Lady Hamilton's ball for her daughter."

No more needed to be said. The strumpet (as Alina McKenna was known to the staff) obviously wouldn't be welcomed by Lady Hamilton. Leke bowed and retreated back to the butler's quarters. But he was burning with curiosity.

Why was Rees Godwin attending a ball being given for a debutante? Could it be that he was the girl's godfather? Surely they would have heard something of that in the past.

"You are a hell-born brat," he told his niece severely. "I'm docking your wages to pay for those cravats, girl, and you're lucky to be a family member or I'd have you out the door in a twinkling!"

Rosy scowled but kept her silence. Neither the earl nor her uncle had noticed the little brown tinges around the cuffs of Lord Godwin's shirts, and she didn't want to push her luck.

Chapter Nine.

Of Great Acts of Courage.

Lady Hamilton's Ball.

Given in Honor of Her Daughter Patricia.

Number Forty-One, Grosvenor Square.

There are moments of great bravery in every woman's life. Helene had gathered from her friends that childbirth was one of those. She herself had exhibited a remarkably stupid form of bravery at age seventeen, when she agreed to elope with the heir to the Godwin earldom. But other than that one foolish act, there had been little cause for courage in her life. Until tonight.

Helene was fairly sure that there was no moment more terrifying in her entire life than when she removed her pelisse and handed it to one of Lady Hamilton's footmen. There she was: practically undressed in the antechamber of the house. The door behind her swung open and a crisp breeze went straight through two layers of silk. She could feel the chill all over her body, even parts which normally never felt a draft, such as her bottom. There was only one thing to be done, and that was to brazen it out.

Sebastian Bonnington put a hand under her elbow and said "Courage!" in his deep voice. Then he gave her a look of such deep appreciation that Esme elbowed him and said laughingly, "Isn't it lucky that I already warned Helene to stay away from you?"

But then Sebastian turned from Helene to Esme, and the look in his eyes when he looked at his beautiful wife was far more potent than mere appreciation. He dropped a kiss on her lips that was so indicative of passion that Helene turned pink. Just seeing it stirred envy in her heart and an odd winkling feeling in her stomach.

They were announced by Lady Hamilton's butler. Helene had the distinct feeling that she was an imposter, and as such, she should have a new name. Was she really still Lady Godwin, the prim, contained Lady Godwin who was just announced? But at first, no one seemed to notice any difference. Lady Hamilton was frazzled by the stress of her daughter's first ball; she smiled at Helene's hair and whispered a compliment, but didn't notice her gown.

But little by little, the news spread. It was almost as if she could see it rippling through the ballroom. Helene solemnly paced through a country dance with Major Kersting. He and she, who had always been so comfortable with each other in the past, were quite the opposite now. He kept fingering his narrow mustache, and when they were greeted by three gentlemen at the close of the music, he fled with a look of extreme relief.

Helene had never had more than one aspirant for a dance at the same time. The thrill of seeing three gentlemen before her went to her head like midsummer wine. None of the three were on Esme's list, alas. Moreover, Lord Peckham was out of the question. The man was married, although he preferred to ignore the fact, and she would never be party to causing Lady Peckham the distress that she herself had suffered due to her husband's infidelities. She raised a cool eyebrow at him and accepted the hand of Lord Ussher. He was a bit younger than she would have liked, but perhaps that meant his blood was redder.

But by the end of their dance, she had quite decided against Lord Ussher. For one thing, he had sweated through his gloves, and his touch was unpleasantly damp. For another, he appeared to be quite overcome by her gown; he kept glancing down and then wrenching his eyes back to her face as if he were a starving man faced by an apricot tart. Tart being the appropriate word, Helene thought with some amusement. But the truly crucial thing was that he was unable to follow the music, and trod on her toes several times.

When the music stopped, instead of three gentlemen asking for her hand, there were seven. They crowded around her, brown-eyed, blue-eyed, young and old: surely Mr. Cutwell was far too old? Helene smiled at them all, trying desperately to remember what she had heard about each. Did anyone here have an affinity for music? How would she know if they did? Presumably the only way to tell was to dance with each, and assess his ability to keep from stepping on her toes.

She put out her hand more or less at random. Some minutes later, she returned from dancing with the Honorable Gerard Bunge to find that the crowd that surrounded her now rivaled any that had ever surrounded Esme, even at the very height of her popularity as Infamous Esme. But this time it wasn't so difficult to choose a partner. For as she smiled at the circle, acknowledging their bows with the smallest inclination of her head, Garret Langham, the Earl of Mayne, effortlessly brushed the other men aside without even seeming to notice them.

Mayne had never paid Helene the least attention. Yet now he walked toward her as if they'd known each other their entire life. He looked the epitome of a London buck: his hair brushed into a perfect tumble of curls, his pantaloons sleekly following the line of muscled thighs, his eyes alive with a wicked combination of laughter and desire. "Lady Godwin," he said easily, holding out his hand. "I believe this is our dance."

To Helene's utter surprise, rather than babbling agreement, she found herself raising an eyebrow and looking him over from his hair to his glossy boots. It was a look that she had seen Esme give various gentlemen, and never thought to use herself. But it seemed to come naturally to a woman surrounded by men, all of whom were clambering, nay panting, for the same thing. A dance. Or (insisted Helene's common sense), a chance to lure her into a side chamber.

Mayne seemed unbothered by her survey, just waited with a little smile playing around his mouth, as if he had always known that they would be partnered, and he had merely waited for her to discard her corsets before telling her.

The thought hardened Helene's heart. He thought he could just have her, did he? Well, he could. But on her terms.

She stepped forward, and silk embraced her legs. The other men seemed to melt away. "Lady Hamilton has an exquisite Broadwood piano," she said, giving him a provocative smile from Esme's repertoire. Goodness knows, she'd spent enough of her time in the past six or seven years watching Esme seduce gentlemen. "Would you accompany me to the music room? I should like to play... a tune." She lowered her eyes and watched him through her eyelashes.