Angus rubbed his jaw. What was he to do now? He couldn't just leave her sleeping in the coach. Nor could he stand here holding the door for hours on end. He would have to wake her-but what was the proper way to awaken a snoozing lady guest?

Well, something had to be done. Angus glanced around the courtyard and, seeing no one within earshot, he leaned forward and cleared his throat as loudly as he could.

Miss Balfour stirred, but didn't awaken.

Angus frowned. Nothing. Not a bloomin' thing. He peered around again, and then rapped hard upon the door before stiffening to attention, his hands back at his sides.

The young lady stirred more, and the book slipped off her lap. Instantly, as if yanked from her sleep by an invisible connection to the book, Miss Balfour lunged for it, catching it by the cover just before it hit the floor.

Angus, who had jumped at her sudden movement, stared. The young lady was bent at the waist, her sudden movement leaving her hair partially undone and falling in odd loops about her face. Angus gulped as the young lady stared at him, her gray-blue eyes wide.

Angus managed a smile. "Miss Balfour?"

She blinked, her long lashes shadowing her eyes. "Yes?"

"Pardon me fer wakin' ye, but I'm to help ye fra' the coach."

"Coach?" She blinked again, sleep still heavy in her eyes, and looked about as if she'd never seen a coach before.

"Aye, miss. Ye were travelin'," he added helpfully. "Ye're comin' to visit her grace, the d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe."

"Oh. Oh yes." Miss Balfour slowly straightened. "For the Christmas Ball."

"Aye, miss! Ye were sleepin'. Ye were on yer way here, to Floors Castle, but ye've arrived and, ah . . ." He kindly pointed to the steps.

"Of course." She surprised him with a sleepy smile that warmed him despite the wind. "I cannot believe I fell asleep-during the best scene in this book, too. There was a fight between the hero and the villain, and it was most thrilling. But apparently not thrilling enough to keep me awake."

She shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs and then tried to smooth her riotous brown curls. As she patted them, she glanced around the coach floor. "Oh dear. I'm missing some pins. I'm always missing some pins."

Angus wisely kept quiet, though secretly he thought she looked rather nice, friendly even.

She flashed a rueful smile. "I suppose I shall just put my bonnet over the whole mess and refuse to take it off until I've reached the safety of my bedchamber."

"Tha' should work, miss."

"I hope so, although what shall I do if someone asks for my bonnet?"

"MacDougal-he's the butler-he will ask ye fer it, but jus' tell him no and he'll leave off. He dinna tease the guests as he does the footmen."

Miss Balfour sent Angus an amused glance that made his stomach do an odd flip. Though she was every bit as encased in lace and silks and other whatnot as the other ladies who graced Floors Castle like so many b.u.t.terflies, Angus couldn't remember a one who'd spoken to him directly, except to give him an order. Certainly none had sent him that laughing look through what he was now realizing were amazingly pretty gray-blue eyes.

Miss Balfour finished tying her bonnet, making a large bow under one dainty ear before she pulled a pair of gloves from her pelisse pocket and donned them. She then retrieved a large reticule from the tangled blanket on the floor of the coach, and tucked her book inside. "There. I'm ready. I daresay you thought you'd never hear me utter those words." She tilted her head to one side. "I know I've kept you waiting and-I'm sorry, but did you tell me your name?"

"No, miss. It's Angus."

"Very well, Angus, I'm finally ready." Miss Balfour then climbed down from the coach, graciously taking Angus's gloved hand to steady herself.

She was short, barely reaching his shoulder, and he was far from a tall man. She was generously fashioned, too, unlike so many other ladies, some of whom were precariously close to having sticklike figures. Miss Balfour was rounded and pleasingly plump, rather like a certain rosy-cheeked milkmaid he'd once been enamored of.

Miss Balfour stepped away from the carriage, tightening her pelisse about her throat. "Goodness, it's cold here!"

"Aye, miss. We've ha' odd weather this year, warm one day and chilled the next. I ne'er know whether to wear me wool coat or the lighter one!"

Dahlia decided she liked the freckled-faced footman. "I faced the same dilemma while packing-do I bring warm clothes or cooler ones? I finally just brought them all, which is why I have so much luggage."

"I'll see tha' it is unloaded and taken to yer bedchamber." Angus motioned to some groomsmen who hurried over, and together they set about taking down Dahlia's rather battered trunks and her precious bandboxes.

Dahlia looked up at the castle she'd be staying in for the next three weeks, and her breath caught in her throat. I've stepped from a coach and into a fairy tale! She tried to absorb it all but couldn't. Though she'd been here once before on the occasion of her oldest sister's wedding, Dahlia couldn't stop staring at the grand castle her G.o.dmother, the renowned d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe, deigned to call "home."

"Home," Dahlia whispered to herself. Floors Castle was beyond beautiful. Large mullioned windows shone silver, reflecting the late-afternoon sun, as proud banners of the Roxburghe blue and gold flapped gently from the ramparts, while puffy ivory clouds lazed overhead in a crystal blue sky.

This was it, what she'd dreamed about since the d.u.c.h.ess's invitation had arrived six long months ago. Both of her sisters had attended one of the d.u.c.h.ess's much-acclaimed house parties and b.a.l.l.s, and both had fallen in love while under this very roof. Dahlia was ready for her chance at that precious thing she'd thus far only read about-true love.

Her heart thudded with excitement. This was what she'd been waiting for her entire life, the culmination of all of her dreams, the- "Miss?"

She turned to find Angus nearby. "Yes?"

He offered a tentative smile. "Shall I escort ye to the door, miss?"

"Not now, thank you. I wish to look about before I go inside. I'm still half-asleep and I need to wake up before I meet the d.u.c.h.ess."

"As ye wish, miss. Jus' be careful ye dinna walk in front of a coach." He glanced about him and then leaned forward to say in a low voice, "Some of the grooms, they do like their drink."

"Ah. I shall be cautious, then. Thank you for your a.s.sistance, Angus. You've been most kind."

He beamed. "Och, 'twas naught. Good day, miss." He gave her an obviously much-practiced bow. "Ha' a lovely stay, miss, and if ye e'er need anythin', jus' say the word."

"Thank you, Angus. I shall."

He hurried off, pausing to pick up the carpeted steps as he went.

As a coach started up and rolled past, Dahlia moved out of the way, glancing about the bustling courtyard. She didn't know any of the dozens of guests who were walking toward the huge oak doors held open by liveried footmen. Not that she'd expected to know any of them, for with the sole exception of her oldest sister's wedding, which had occurred in the gardens behind this very castle, she'd rarely had reason to leave the villages around her home, Caith Manor, which was deep in the Scottish countryside near Aberdeenshire.

A peal of laughter caught Dahlia's attention and she saw a young lady surrounded by a bevy of handsome gentlemen, all vying for her attention. The lady was about the same age as Dahlia, and dressed in a pelisse of green velvet trimmed with brown braid. Though she was no more fashionably dressed than Dahlia, somehow she managed to look . . . better. More fashionable. Prettier.

Dahlia bit her lip. Was it the woman's perfectly coiffed blond hair? Dahlia liked her own hair, though it was far from fashionably cut. Instead of being neatly trimmed so it required few pins to attain the latest styles, her hair was long, thick, and curly, rather in the manner of the heroines in the novels she loved. She wasn't as fond of the color, which was a mundane light brown, but fortunately, due to her long walks through the fields around Caith Manor, the sun had streaked the brown with honey gold.

So perhaps it wasn't the woman's hair, but her creamy complexion. Sadly for Dahlia, the sun had been just as encouraging to her freckles, which now dotted her nose. She'd powdered her face before leaving the house, but the powder would be gone by now.

Her sister Lily used to warn her about the effects of the sun, but a walk was so much less enjoyable when one had to pin on a bothersome hat and wear ridiculously long-sleeved gowns as if preparing for a snowstorm.

But now, watching the pretty lady disappear through the castle doors with her admirers, Dahlia wished she'd heeded her sister's advice a bit more.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Freckled, tanned, and curly mopped she might be, but she was also the d.u.c.h.ess's G.o.ddaughter. And her grace had promised to a.s.sist her in meeting the most eligible men society had to offer. Surely that would be enough. Dahlia wanted to find true love, the kind that wasn't frightened away by a few freckles. The kind of love my sisters have found.

She headed toward the marble steps leading to the ma.s.sive castle doors. As sad as it was, she'd never been in love. Once, when she'd been much younger, she'd thought she might be, but that had turned out to be a mere infatuation. The man had proven to be most unworthy of her burgeoning affections, for he had no manners and no true heart, either-he'd ridiculed anything romantic, mocked anything tenderhearted, and eschewed anything that smacked of "silly feelings."

She almost scowled at the thought, but there was no point in thinking about that now. With the encouragement of her family, her short infatuation had ended. Now, if someone wished to woo her, she wanted it to be done correctly, pa.s.sionately, with soft words and whispered compliments, flowers and soulful glances, romantic notes and-oh, this time she wanted it all!

So here she was: walking into a real castle, ready to begin her own fairy tale, ready to be blessed by a G.o.dmother who, better than a mythical fairy G.o.dmother, was a wealthy d.u.c.h.ess who threw fabulous b.a.l.l.s and was known for her matchmaking skills. Such good fortune!

Hurrying her steps, she walked into the castle behind two young ladies who'd arrived in separate coaches. They'd fallen upon one another like lifelong friends and were excitedly chattering about a variety of people Dahlia had never heard of.

The second she stepped into the foyer, all thoughts fled. Though she'd seen the room once before, she couldn't help but stare yet again. Her amazed gaze followed walls covered in blue Chinese silk painted with gilt and green flowers, to the high ceiling that featured a mural of a flowered paradise with plump angels and a benevolently smiling G.o.d. She noted that, though it was partially hidden by a large tree decked in silver and red ornaments, even the parquet floor had not been spared adornment, as the center had been fashioned into a trompe l'oeil pattern.

Added to the normal decoration was a flurry of glittering seasonal candelabras and garlands of greenery and holly, until Dahlia scarcely knew where to look next. Her dazed attempt to absorb all of these beauties at once stole her breath. It was an ostentatious display, yet it was so artistically done that the words "garish" or "vulgar" could never apply. It was simply beautiful beyond- A giggle made Dahlia turn and she realized she'd been slowly spinning in a circle, her head tilted back to take in as much of the foyer as possible, one hand plopped upon her bonnet and holding it firmly in place. Her face heated, and she lowered her gaze and released her bonnet.

The two women continued to smirk, and Dahlia didn't suppose she could blame them. She tried for a friendly smile. "h.e.l.lo. I daresay I look the b.u.mpkin, staring in such a way, but-" She waved at the ceiling. "It's simply beautiful."

They glanced indifferently at the mural. The taller of them said loftily, "I daresay you haven't yet seen the pavilion in Brighton. It's far more opulent. Ah, MacDougal. There you are."

The d.u.c.h.ess's very proper butler appeared as if from nowhere. MacDougal bowed and spoke in a deep tone that was surprisingly thick with a brogue. "Lady Mary, so ye've returned. How's yer father, Earl Buchan?"

"He's well, thank you. He'll be joining us before the ball."

"Tha' will please her grace. I'll make certain his favorite bedchamber is readied."

"Thank you." Lady Mary threw a hand toward her companion. "I'm sure you remember Miss Alayne Stewart. The Stewarts are neighbors of ours. She was a guest here last year, too."

"O' course I know Miss Stewart." The butler bowed. "If'n ye're ready to be escorted to yer bedchambers, I'll take yer pelisses and bonnets and ha' them brushed and returned to ye."

Lady Mary inclined her head and removed her pelisse and bonnet, revealing a beautiful traveling gown of blue with gold trim. The color set off her deep auburn hair to perfection.

Dahlia had to admit that Lady Mary was attractive, although her blond-haired companion was less so. Miss Stewart's face was longer, her nose pointed and her teeth protruding the slightest bit, so that she looked like an annoyed rabbit. Despite this unfortunate tendency, her traveling gown of pale pink adorned with green satin bows proclaimed her a woman of fashion.

Lady Mary peeled off her gloves. "MacDougal, where is her grace? I'd like to say good afternoon before I retire to rest before dinner."

"She's welcomin' other guests at the moment, but will be glad to hear tha' ye asked fer her."

Lady Mary didn't look too happy about the butler's answer, but he didn't seem to notice, turning away to a.s.sign a footman to escort her and Miss Stewart upstairs. As the two walked toward the grand staircase, he mentioned that-if the two ladies were so inclined-a light repast had been laid out in the dining room along with ratafia and sherry. That seemed to go a long way toward soothing Lady Mary's ruffled feelings.

When the other women had disappeared, the butler turned to Dahlia and his visage softened. "Och, Miss Balfour, how pleasant to see ye again. How are yer sisters?"

"Both still upon the Continent, enjoying themselves."

He smiled gently. "They be true ladies, the both of them."

"Indeed, they are." She hesitated and then confided, "I miss them very much."

"I canno' wonder at tha', fer we miss them here and we hardly had them wit' us fer a month. We've been lookin' forward to yer visit fer quite a while now."

Dahlia smiled. "Thank you."

"'Tis naught but the truth, miss. Shall I take yer coat and bonnet?"

"I believe I'll wear my bonnet up to my room. My hair-" She curled her nose. "It's not fit for human eyes."

He chuckled. "As ye wish, miss."

She'd just handed her pelisse and gloves to him when a feminine voice tinged with the faintest hint of a Scottish accent rang across the hallway. "MacDougal, has she come yet?"

Dahlia turned to see the d.u.c.h.ess hurrying across the foyer, a herd of pugs panting behind her. The d.u.c.h.ess wore a beautiful morning gown of yellow silk more suited to a much younger woman. Beautifully made, the gown swished as she walked and was the perfect foil for the red wig perched upon her head. One could instantly see the intelligence in the bright blue eyes that peered over a beaked nose at the butler.

"MacDougal, you must tell me the second she arrives! I've been waiting in the salon for- Ah!" The d.u.c.h.ess stopped in front of Dahlia. "Why, you are already here! My dear Miss Balfour, finally, you have come!"

MacDougal, beaming fondly, announced in an impressively deep voice, "Miss Balfour jus' now arrived, she did."

Aware of the bright blue eyes now examining her from head to toe, Dahlia sank into a quick curtsy. As she did so, one of the pugs ran up to sniff her skirt. Dahlia chuckled when it sneezed so hard that it jumped back several inches.

"Feenie, stop snuffing Miss Balfour's skirt!" The d.u.c.h.ess frowned at the dog. "I'm sorry, but they are sadly unruly. I keep a firm hand on them all, but the servants spoil them wretchedly."

Dahlia thought she detected a flash of disbelief on MacDougal's face, although the butler quickly hid it. To hide her smile, she bent to pat some of the less bouncy pugs. One of the dogs seemed to be considerably older, his eyes milky, his tail wagging calmly. She smiled at him and rubbed his ear before straightening. "What delightful dogs. I've always wished to have one, but my father does not believe they belong in the house."

"I'll remind you of that when they steal one of your good ribbons and run madly through the hallways, streaming it after them like a comet." The d.u.c.h.ess's eyes gleamed with humor. "Come, Lady Charlotte has been impatiently awaiting your arrival, too, and-Oh. You still have on your bonnet."

"I can't remove it, as my hair was sadly mussed on the way here. No two strands are pointing in the same direction. I fear that I slept upon it and only a damp brush will set it to rights."

The d.u.c.h.ess nodded in understanding. "Then by all means, keep your bonnet. My hair used to give me such fits, too, but I've since tamed it."

Dahlia glanced at the d.u.c.h.ess's wig. Was that how the d.u.c.h.ess had tamed her unruly hair, or were there other secrets underneath?

Her grace slipped an arm through Dahlia's and, as inexorable as the ocean, led her toward the salon. "I'm so glad you've arrived! We've such delights planned. It seemed to take the coach forever to bring you to us; Charlotte was certain you'd forgotten."

"Forgotten? To come here? I've been holding my breath for weeks, thinking the day would never come. To be honest, it feels as if I've been looking forward to this event for most of my life."

The d.u.c.h.ess looked pleased. "We feel the same, I a.s.sure you. I think you'll enjoy our Christmas Ball. It's much larger than our annual Winter Ball, which was our most festive occasion until Charlotte and I decided to expand our social calendar. It's so expanded now that Roxburghe swears he cannot come home without finding the house full of people. He's right; we've fairly packed the months with house parties and b.a.l.l.s. But then, what's a castle for, if not to entertain?"

"All year long? That must be taxing."

"Charlotte and I find it quite worthwhile. All of our b.a.l.l.s have been huge successes-well, all except our b.u.t.terfly Ball, which we held last year but will not be doing again."

"Why not? Lily said it was lovely."

They reached the huge double doors and the d.u.c.h.ess led the way through. "Your sister was being kind. For reasons I dare not explain for fear of making you shudder, Lady Charlotte and I've decided to never again- Ah! Charlotte, look who I found in the foyer."

A kindly looking woman came forward. Her fashionable gown of dove gray accented with heavy cream lace rustled as she walked, while the lace-trimmed mobcap perched upon her curls bounced with each step. Short and plump and beaming, she looked like a small, good-natured fairy. "Miss Balfour, what a pleasure!"

"Lady Charlotte." Dahlia dipped a curtsy. Just as she was rising, she caught sight of a tall figure behind Lady Charlotte, near the fireplace. The man stirred the fire with a bra.s.s-k.n.o.bbed poker but, to her faint surprise, didn't look around at her arrival. His lack of interest piqued hers.

He was fashionably dressed, his broad shoulders and narrow waist well displayed by his fitted coat and breeches. Why was he here, waiting in the room the d.u.c.h.ess had practically dragged her to? Could her grace think this gentleman could be a good suitor? Dahlia's pulse quickened.

Her grace's gaze followed Dahlia's to the stranger. The d.u.c.h.ess frowned and, obviously impatient with the gentleman's lack of attention, she cleared her throat.

The man finished banking the fire, apparently not in a hurry to heed the d.u.c.h.ess's hints. As she watched him, Dahlia had the oddest impression that he was hesitant to turn around. Perhaps he doesn't wish to be presented as a suitor. Has the d.u.c.h.ess forced him into this meeting?

Her uncertainty grew until, just as he bent to replace the poker, she caught a glimpse of his profile. Her heart gave an odd leap. Before he turned to face her, she already knew what she'd see-the red slash of a jagged scar, marring a face of such masculine beauty that it was worthy of the best Greek tragedies.

She was prepared for the scar. But what she wasn't prepared for was the fashionably cut hair that made him look younger. Much younger. It made him seem like a new man, one she didn't know at all.