Laughter and gaiety filled the air, along with the sound of music. The countess raised her hand as a signal to the orchestra playing in a corner of the drawing room, and the music instantly ceased.

"If I may please have your attention." Little by little the guests began to quiet until Lady Nightingale had their full attention. "Some of you may have heard of our very special guest tonight. For those of you who have not, it is my pleasure to present Madam Tsaya. Over the course of the evening, some of you may be lucky enough to have her seek you out. You see, Madam Tsaya has the ability to predict good fortune."

A rumble came from the crowd, followed by looks of interest. The countess turned the floor over to her guest. "Madam?"

"Good evening," Lily said. "It is my pleasure to be here. I hope I vill see good fortune for many of you tonight." She glanced round the room, spotted a number of familiar faces but, dressed in such wildly different clothes, her blond hair stuffed under the heavy black wig, she had no fear of being recognized.

As she moved beside the countess, she saw Sheridan Knowles standing next to Jonathan Savage and robust Dillon St. Michaels, men she had met at Lady Westmore's ball. St. Michaels conversed with an elegant young woman with honey-brown hair, while Savage spoke to a lean, attractive man with hard, carved features and a far-too-serious expression.

The men were Royal's conspirators, she knew, along with some she didn't yet know, perhaps the woman, as well. Her perusal continued past one guest after another and suddenly her breath caught. Tall and golden, the duke was impossible to miss in his black evening clothes. He chatted with his aunt, his head bent toward the elderly woman as he listened to what she said, but over her thin shoulders, his tawny gaze was fixed on Lily.

Her pulse kicked up, began to pound in her ears. For an instant, she couldn't look away. But if their plan was going to succeed, she needed to concentrate on her role, to forget the Duke of Bransford and become entirely Madam Tsaya.

Lily fixed a long-ago practiced, faintly mysterious smile on her face and returned her attention to Lady Nightingale, who escorted her round the room. The countess paused next to Lord Wellesley. "I believe, my lord, you have already met our guest, Madam Tsaya."

"Why, yes," said the viscount. "As a matter of fact, Madam Tsaya predicted I would win a wager I had made with Lord Nightingale, and so I did."

Two or three people turned at the announcement to study her more closely. Lady Nightingale kept moving, guiding Lily through the crowd. "Mr. Savage...I believe you are also acquainted with Madam Tsaya."

He flashed a devilish smile, caught her hand, bowed over it and kissed the back. "Indeed, I am." She wasn't wearing gloves and she could feel the warmth of his lips against her skin. He was an incredibly handsome man, dark and mysterious, the exact opposite of Royal.

"The lady predicted my stallion, Black Star, would win at the racetrack," he said. "I bet heavily, and I won-just as she said."

"Astounding," said the countess.

Lily just smiled. From the corner of her eye, she saw Royal, closer now, his jaw hard as he watched her interplay with Savage. Jocelyn was nowhere to be seen. She was ensconced in a suite at the Parkland Hotel, waiting for her lover.

Lily still found it hard to believe. Not only was her cousin's engagement soon to be announced, she was a virgin. But Jocelyn had always been headstrong and spoiled, and Royal's inattention had wounded her pride.

The countess led Lily toward the tall man with the carved features she had noticed before.

"Madam, may I present you to Viscount March."

"How do you do, my lord?"

March made a faint bow of his head, causing a strand of dark brown hair to tumble forward. "A pleasure, madam."

Lily studied him for several long moments, her gaze going over his dark eyes and lean features. "You will be playing cards later at your club," she said as if it were a fact and not a question.

"Why, yes. I plan to stop by on my way home."

"If you play tonight," she told him, "you will win."

He chuckled as if he found her prediction amusing but didn't give it much credence. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

At their next affair, March would announce his good fortune in winning at his club-whether he actually went there or not. A time would come when they would have to be careful to make sure each prediction could be verified, but not yet.

The evening progressed and Lily settled more deeply into her role. The countess made a number of other introductions, then left her in the care of a group of young men who were instantly enamored of the exotic woman she pretended to be. The description she had of Preston Loomis fit a man standing a few feet away. In his early sixties, tall and silver-haired, he reminded her of Charles Sinclair, with the same sort of imposing presence. But Loomis's eyes were blue and not brown, and he boasted an elegant silver mustache.

She made no move to approach him, just kept her attention fixed on the young men in the group, smiling and laughing as if everything they said was utterly fascinating. She lowered her lashes and kept her mysterious smile in place.

"So...Madam Tsaya, may I ask if you are a married lady?" This from the son of a viscount who was introduced to her as Mr. Emmet Burrows. "Or is there some hope for us poor besotted fools?"

She mustered an uncertain expression. "I vas married once," she said gravely. "My husband passed to the other side three years ago."

"You have my most sincere regrets," Burrows said.

"So you are a widow," said another young man. "You must be very lonely."

She shrugged her shoulders. "One gets used to being alone."

"There is hardly a need for that," said Burrows, slim, blond and eager. "I would be happy to entertain you. Perhaps you would care to accompany me to a play."

Her soot-blackened lashes swept down. "I do not know you well enough. Perhaps at some time in the future." She gave him a look of encouragement before making her farewells and walking off toward Lord Nightingale.

She paused just in front of him. "My lord?"

He looked up as if he hadn't been expecting her, which she knew he had. Like the rest of Royal's friends, Nightingale was handsome, with his nearly black hair and hazel eyes. He seemed older than the others, though she knew he wasn't. "What is it, my dear?"

"It has come to me that should you wish to increase your fortune, you should buy stock in..." She leaned over and pretended to whisper the name, as if the information were for his ears alone.

"I believe I've heard of that company. I shall give it some consideration. Thank you, my dear."

She turned away, barely glanced at Loomis, who was staring at her with shrewd blue eyes. It wasn't the first time he had noticed her. Loomis had been watching her off and on since the moment of her arrival.

It appeared she had accomplished what she had come for. She had captured his interest. The game would continue from here.

Exhaustion began to set in, as it always did after a performance. Grateful it was finally time to leave, Lily excused herself to the ladies' retiring room, made her way to the staircase and headed upstairs.

Royal laughed politely at whatever it was Sherry said, excused himself and followed the slender, black-haired Gypsy out of the drawing room. All evening, he had watched her. With her exotic beauty and gaudy silk skirts, she had lured men to her like bees to honey.

He had known Lily would be disguised, but the woman at the tavern seemed a mild version of the creature here tonight. He couldn't believe the seductive smile belonged to his sweet Lily, nor the kohl-rimmed, pale eyes that made her look even more exotic. Like the rest of the men, he found himself mesmerized by her husky laughter and faraway glances. Though she never quite flirted, she left men staring after her wherever she went, drawn to her dark allure, wanting her in their beds.

None of them wanting her as badly as he did.

Jealousy burned through him as he followed her up the stairs. He saw her disappear into the ladies' retiring room and walked on past, waited out of sight until she reappeared then strode toward her, his temper rising with every step. This woman wasn't some mysterious stranger, she was Lily, and Lily did not behave the way this woman did!

His hand clamped around her arm and her eyes flew to his. She didn't say a word, nor did she protest when he led her along the corridor, checked to be sure no one saw them, hauled her into one of the bedrooms, closed the door and turned the key.

"What is it?" she asked. "What is wrong?" She looked up at him with her long, black lashes, her pale skin in contrast to her glossy black hair.

"What is wrong?" he repeated, his temper barely in check. "What is wrong is that you have spent the entire evening seducing every man in the drawing room. You have half the men here imagining you spread beneath them. You smile and tease and let them believe you are interested in their advances. The fools are half-mad with lust for you."

Instead of being sorry, her chin went up. "I am playing a role, Your Grace-in case you have forgot. The role of Gypsy fortune-teller. A role I am playing for you!"

Her lips were stained a lush ruby red and when she moistened them they glistened. His groin tightened. He went hard to the point of pain.

"Is that so? You didn't look like you were playing a role when Savage kissed your hand. You looked like you were enjoying his attention, as if you would welcome him into your bed!"

"What are you talking about?"

"And that little pip-squeak, Emmet Burrows. You had him salivating at the thought of what would happen when he got you alone."

"I just wanted to keep his interest. It is part of the game."

"Really?" He moved toward her, forcing her backward till her shoulders came up against the wall. "What about me?" He slid his hands beneath her heavy black hair. "Am I a game to you, too?" Tilting her head back, he crushed his mouth down over hers and for an instant, Lily went still.

Then she moaned and parted her lips and her small tongue slid over his and any rational thought that remained inside his head slipped away. Desire crashed over him, burned through his blood. Lust sank its claws into his flesh and all he could think of was having the beautiful, exotic creature in his arms.

He plunged his tongue into her mouth, ravished her lips, cupped her breast through her thin silk blouse. Her nipple peaked instantly, pressing hotly into his palm. He pulled the string on the gathered neckline, drew the silk blouse off her shoulder. She was wearing only a chemise and he tugged it down as well, baring her lovely, apple-round breasts.

His body clenched as he bent his head and suckled her there, laved and tasted, turned to her other breast and ministered to it, as well. A soft moan came from her throat, urging him on, and her hands slid into his hair. She trembled as he nipped the rose-hued tip, circled it with his tongue, then pulled the diamond-hard point into his mouth. Returning to her lips, he drank from them as if they were nectar, breathed her in as if he couldn't get enough.

He was hard. Aching and throbbing with every heartbeat. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her over to the bed and settled her on the edge. He kissed her again, shoved up her bright silk skirts and began to open the front of his trousers.

She wanted a man. Well, he would give her what she wanted. He moved between her legs, looked up in time to see that she had pulled off her straight black wig. Silver-blond hair tumbled loose from its pins and cascaded round her slender shoulders. Soft tendrils framed her cheeks.

"Lily..." he said, the sight of her lovely pale face clearing some of the fog from his lust-starved brain. He stood there frozen, fighting to pull himself under control. "Good Christ...what am I doing?"

Lily looked up at him. "You are making love to me, Royal. I just wanted you to know it was me and not some other woman."

But in truth he had always known it was her. There had never been anyone else for him, not since the day he had met her.

"Lily..." he whispered, saying her name like a prayer, knowing it was Lily he had wanted all along, that the anger seething through him was jealousy, that he was furious she had given her attentions to every man but him.

Leaning down, he kissed her, more softly this time, nibbling the corners of her mouth, his tongue gliding over her lips. "Make me stop, Lily. Tell me you don't want this."

Instead, she reached up, looped her arms round his neck and pulled his mouth back down to hers. Parting her lips under his, she encouraged the hot thrust of his tongue. Royal kissed her deeply, his fingers sliding into her silky pale hair. When he looked at her now, he saw Lily, the woman he wanted far more than the Gypsy, the woman he needed above all others.

Her thin silk skirts had ridden up her legs. Nestled as he was between her thighs, he could feel her mound against his hardness. His erection throbbed, ached for release. He tried to tell himself to stop, but his will was gone, his thoughts only of Lily and being inside her.

He popped the buttons on the front of his trousers and freed himself, positioned himself at the entrance to her passage. The bed was high, giving him perfect access. He spread her thighs wide apart, watched her lovely eyes slowly close as he eased himself inside her.

Reaching her maidenhead should have given him pause. Instead, he felt a wild exhilaration that no other man had possessed her. She belonged to him and had since the moment he had seen her lying like a silver-haired angel in the glistening white snow.

Royal leaned over her, braced himself on his elbows, kissed her deeply. As he drove himself home, a soft cry slipped from her lips. Lily froze at the painful breach of her womanhood, and Royal clamped down on the urge to thrust himself even farther inside.

"I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I'm all right." Her body relaxed and she managed a tremulous smile that wrapped around his heart. "I wanted you to be the one."

"Lily..."

She moved just then, taking him deeper, and Royal groaned. His body caught fire at the feel of her gloving him so sweetly and the last of his control completely faded. Plunging wildly, he took her again and again, absorbing the pleasure that was sweeter than any he had ever known. To his relief and joy, Lily cried out his name, and her body clenched around him, her womb pulsing against his erection as she reached a shattering release.

Royal came an instant later, driving into her fiercely, his muscles straining as he spilled himself inside her.

His heart was pounding, his chest rising and falling. For several moments, neither of them moved. Then reality began to set in. The sound of the orchestra playing downstairs, an occasional burst of laughter.

Regret slowly filled him, replacing the euphoria of only moments ago. He could scarcely believe what he had done.

"Royal..." Eyes still closed, Lily sighed his name on a whisper of air and Royal felt a tightening in his chest.

Sweet God, he had taken Lily like some paid-for strumpet, both of them still half-dressed, lying across someone else's bed in a house where at any moment they might be discovered. Cursing himself, unable to believe he had lost control so badly, he eased himself from the warmth of her body though it took every ounce of his will.

Lily's eyes slowly opened. She watched him as he refastened his clothes and she began to do the same, pulling her chemise up to cover her lovely breasts, donning her scarlet silk blouse.

Royal moved to the dresser, poured water from the pitcher into the basin, dampened a linen cloth and returned to where she lay. Lily took the cloth and turned away to cleanse the virginal blood from her thighs. More guilt assailed him. He had taken what he wanted and there was nothing he could do to make it right.

Royal returned the soiled linen to the basin, walked back to where Lily sat on the edge of the bed. She looked lovely and fragile and he couldn't believe he had broken her trust and violated her the way he had.

"Lily...sweetheart, I am so sorry."

She held up a hand as if to halt his words. "Please, I beg you, Royal, do not say you are sorry."

"I ruined you, but I can't marry you. Of course I am sorry."

Tears filled her eyes and Royal's heart twisted. He reached for her as she came up off the bed, but she only shook her head. "I don't want your pity, Royal. I never have." She fumbled with her clothes, finally got them all back in place. Grabbing her wig, she settled it on her head and began to stuff her pale hair up underneath.

She looked up at him. "I could have stopped you. You know that is true."

It was. He never would have taken her against her will. Lily had wanted him as much as he had wanted her. If anything, that made him feel worse.

"It is past time I left," she said. "I'll use the back stairs. My uncle will be waiting in the alley to see me home."

Royal just stood there, feeling more miserable than he ever could recall.

He watched her walk to the door, her silk skirts flowing round her ankles, her hair once more as black as midnight, but this time he wasn't fooled.

The woman was his sweet Lily. That had not changed.

Royal's chest squeezed painfully as he watched her walk out of the room and quietly close the door.

Seventeen.

Dressed in a plain white cotton nightgown, Lily sat in the window seat of her bedroom. Tonight, everything in her life had changed. She was no longer a virgin and she was deeply in love with a man she could not have.

A thread of guilt trickled through her. She was Jocelyn's cousin, no matter how distant, and Royal would soon be Jo's husband. Perhaps she could have denied him if she had not been aware of her cousin's tryst with Christopher Barclay and that Jo held no true feelings for the man she would wed.

Perhaps if things were different, Lily would have done the honorable thing and turned him away, but she would never truly know.