"You'll what?" he inquired when she couldn't finish her sentence.

"I don't know yet, but you'll be sorry."

She spun and strutted away, and his rude laughter followed her across the garden.

"Thank you for coming. Thank you for coming."

Georgina was in the front foyer, the sole family member who'd seen fit to greet their guests. She welcomed another group and waved them toward the festivities, and as they wandered off, she breathed a sigh of relief.

So far, no catastrophes had erupted. Mr. Drummond had stayed away as she'd ordered him to. A few of his guards were present, but they'd blended in with the crowd, providing the impression that they'd been invited.

Augusta was still upstairs, which was always a benefit. She cast a dour shadow on any gathering. No one had asked after her or noted her absence. They wouldn't court trouble by speaking her name and conjuring her appearance.

Miles hadn't appeared either, and Georgina was both glad and irked. She wished he'd display more interest in the estate, but with Mr. Drummond lurking it was probably better that he hadn't arrived. He was a spoiled idiot and would only make matters worse.

Sophia was missing too. She'd been bickering with Harold and had flounced into the garden in a snit. She was miserably unhappy in her betrothal. Georgina had tried to confer with her about it, but Sophia refused to discuss it, and Georgina pitied her cousin. It left her deliriously pleased that she'd never succumbed to amour herself, that she hadn't ever had to ponder a sensible proposal from an unpalatable dullard.

Just then, Portia Smithwaite strolled in. Or perhaps it was more correct to say she floated in. With her white-blond hair, violet-colored eyes, and curvaceous figure, she was glamorous and beautiful in a way Georgina could never dream of being.

She was Miles's fiancee, the match between them another fiasco Augusta had arranged, just as she'd arranged the match for Harold and Sophia. Portia's mother and Augusta had attended the same boarding school as girls, and they'd pledged to each other that their children would marry in the future. Augusta was determined for it to happen, pursuing the conclusion with an almost maniacal zeal that had Georgina wondering if she wasn't proving a point to Portia's mother.

Portia and Miles were an odd couple. Miles was thirty-four and Portia twenty so he was old enough to be her father, and Georgina had never understood why she'd agreed to the engagement.

Yet the pair went through the motions of pretending to be happy, but as with Harold and Sophia, no wedding date was ever set. Whenever they were together, Georgina furtively observed them, and they were like two strangers at a ball who had nothing in common.

She didn't like Portia. She tried, but couldn't manage it. Though Portia was very pretty, she was a female version of Miles-entitled, selfish, spoiled-and Georgina worried about how horrid life would be once Portia married Miles and became mistress of Kirkwood.

As the poor relative, Georgina's position had always been precarious, but with each passing day, it grew more unstable.

"Hello, Portia," Georgina said. "I'm so glad you could join us."

"Why wouldn't I? Kirkwood is almost my home. It's only appropriate that I lead any entertainment that's hosted."

Then where were you when we were addressing invitations? When we were planning the menus and drafting the seating charts?

"Yes, it's been splendid to have you in charge." Georgina bit down a caustic reply and gestured to the main parlor that was packed with people. "Your guests await."

"Is Miles here?"

"Not yet, but we expect him soon."

"How about Augusta? Where is she? I should say hello."

"She hasn't come down."

"Not down?" Portia flashed a tight smile. "Should I go up and urge her to hurry?"

"I wouldn't. She'll be down when she's ready."

Portia slipped off her wrap and dropped it, a hovering footman jumping to grab it so it didn't land on the floor. From prior experience, he knew if he hadn't caught it, he'd have earned himself a terrible scold for being incompetent.

Georgina couldn't fathom why Portia had adopted such snooty attitudes. Her father was gentry, as Miles's had been. Her background and ancestry were equal to the Marshalls, but she viewed herself as being incredibly superior to them.

Oh, what a dreadful place Kirkwood would be when she took over. How would Georgina stand it? What if she couldn't stand it? What if Portia decided they wouldn't continue to support her and ordered her to leave? What then?

As the wild thoughts careened through her head, a vision of Mr. Drummond wedged itself front and center. No doubt he'd evict Georgina long before Portia ever had the chance.

"What would you like me to do?" Portia asked. "How can I be of the most help?"

"Just be your usual, charming self."

"I'm good at that."

She smirked and waltzed away, the scent of her perfume cloying and depressing.

There was no one entering behind her, and Georgina snuck away, tiptoeing down a deserted hall to a door that opened onto the verandah. She dawdled in the shadows outside the parlor where the furniture had been pushed back and the younger guests were dancing.

She loved to dance, and on any other night, she'd have been in the middle of the merriment. But when they were facing such calamity, the whole endeavor seemed silly and pointless.

Gradually it dawned on her that she could smell smoke from a cheroot. She glanced down the verandah and saw Mr. Drummond loafing as she was, his hips resting on the balustrade. He was attired all in black, and he was very still, not moving the slightest inch so it was hard to detect him, but he was there.

For a few minutes, she surreptitiously watched him. To her consternation, she was eager to call out to him, to chat or shift closer so they could socialize. At her foolishness, she bristled with annoyance.

She didn't like him and wouldn't further an acquaintance. He had wicked intentions toward her family, was cruel and dangerous-probably a criminal-and he was determined to cause trouble. Why would any flicker of interest be ignited?

"Will you come to me, Miss Fogarty?" he suddenly said as if reading her mind. "Or should I come to you?"

"You should remain where you are."

"Why? Will we holler at each other from a great distance? Is that your plan?"

"I'm not about to holler, Mr. Drummond. In fact, I don't care to speak to you at all."

"Why is that?"

"Isn't it obvious? I don't wish to converse."

She whipped her focus to the dancers, observing as various couples promenaded by. When she glanced at him again, she was irked to note that he'd approached without her noticing, and he was right next to her.

How did he manage to be so stealthy? He was crafty as a large cat, like a snake slithering in so it could strike without warning.

"Why aren't you dancing?" he asked.

"I don't like to dance."

He studied her and scoffed. "Liar. I'm betting you love to dance and that you're very good at it."

She wasn't about to explain her maudlin mood so she changed the subject. "Why are you out here, Mr. Drummond? I could swear I told you to stay away from the party."

"You were very clear, Miss Fogarty, but let's review a pertinent detail you know about me."

"What is it?"

"I never listen to women, and I especially have no desire to listen to you."

"You're hurting my feelings," she sarcastically retorted.

"You keep forgetting that you're hosting this event with my permission."

"Oh, yes, you were so benevolent to allow it."

He scowled. "You don't believe that I own Kirkwood."

"No."

"You should."

"I don't."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Need you ask? You're a stranger who barged in unannounced and insisted you had the right to take over. But so far, you haven't provided a single piece of evidence that you have any legal authority to be here."

He shrugged. "As if I'd discuss my authority with a girl like you."

"A girl? Am I a girl now? Last time you insulted me, you claimed I was a decrepit spinster."

"Aren't you?"

She snorted with derision. "Why do I bother talking to you?"

"You're fascinated by me."

"Your vanity knows no bounds."

"No, it doesn't," he agreed.

"Why are you always dressed in black?"

"I like to appear sinister and menacing. The dark color helps me intimidate others."

"I'm sure that's true, and it definitely works. You seem absolutely sinister to me."

He abruptly switched topics. "Why isn't Augusta at the party?"

"I assume she will be. She hates entertaining."

"The same old shrew, hmm?"

"Don't disparage my aunt. I won't tolerate it."

"I'm not disparaging her. I'm simply stating the facts. She's a shrew and always has been. You must have told her about me. What was her response?"

Georgina wasn't about to reveal any of the conversation she'd had with Augusta. She'd written the letters Augusta had demanded she write, but Mr. Drummond had intercepted them. She hadn't apprised Augusta yet so her aunt was futilely expecting assistance very soon.

If Mr. Drummond knew that, it would only exacerbate his feelings of superiority, would only underscore his sense that he was in charge and in control. And he was in control. She couldn't stop him or put him in his place, but it wasn't her job to put him in his place or send him packing. Miles should be the one. Or perhaps Augusta.

But Miles was missing in action and Augusta was completely incompetent.

She stepped away as if to leave. "I'd say it was grand to see you again, but it wasn't."

He ignored the gibe. "Any sign of Miles?"

"He should arrive any minute. Then we'll find out if you're staying or not."

He chuckled. "Don't get your hopes up for a good ending."

"I have all my hopes up. I hope you wind up in jail for this."

"For committing what crime?"

"I'm certain-given sufficient opportunity-I can devise a very long list."

"As I said, don't get your hopes up." He pointed to the window where the dancers were still prancing by. "Who is the blond woman in the lavender gown?"

"Portia Smithwaite."

"She's a neighbor?"

"Yes, and Miles's fiancee."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"How long have they been betrothed?"

"Since they were children. Her mother and Aunt Augusta are friends, and they arranged it decades ago."

"Interesting..."

He was scrutinizing Portia so intently that she was unnerved by it. "Why is Portia interesting?"

"She's another thing I can take from your cousin."

"You'd take his...fiancee? How would you?"

"When he's dispossessed and rendered penniless, why would she continue her engagement?"