Lily hid a smile. Savage would win, of course. And when he mentioned the business deal Tsaya had told Loomis about, Loomis would make the investment, which, like the wager, would also pay off. If all went well, Tsaya could expect a message from Loomis requesting a meeting in the very near future.

She watched the four boats in the water, her gaze honing in on Royal as if he were a magnet and she a splinter of steel. The men were racing as a means to an end, but also for the fun of it. All of them were grinning as they sat in their long, skinny little boats. It seemed a miracle they could keep their balance and not topple into the water.

"Gentlemen, are you ready?" Nightingale stood in his place atop a boulder at the edge of the river.

"Ready!" came the four men's reply in unison.

The earl fired the starting gun, the sound echoing down the channel. The crowd sent up a cheer and the boats were off. Oars stroked through the water; paddles flashed as the men put their backs into the rhythm. Each rower fought for the lead, digging deeply and with perfect precision.

Lily's heart leaped with excitement. Oars dipped and sliced, carrying the boats along the slightly more-than-two-mile course toward the small town of Putney, the sleek sculls moving with lightning speed as they skimmed over the glittering surface of the water.

Like the others, Royal bent to the task, his long legs working the slide that moved the rolling seat, biceps bulging, straining against the seams of his fine lawn shirt. The fabric, wet with perspiration and nearly transparent, stuck to the bands of muscle across his broad back and clung to his narrow waist.

Her pulse quickened. She remembered the feel of those muscles tightening beneath her fingers as he moved above her, thrust deeply inside her. A sweep of heat settled low in her belly. A flush crept over her breasts and moved up her throat. Lily took a steadying breath and forced the memory away.

Conversation swirled around her. "The duke is magnificent," said the Marchioness of Eastgate. "All those lovely muscles and that beautiful golden hair."

"That black-haired devil is also quite something," said Lady Severn. She was a striking brunette married to a man forty years her senior, and there was a lot of gossip about the countess and younger men. "Yes, isn't he? Savage, I believe is his name."

"I know all about him." The marchioness arched a dark red eyebrow. "The man's behavior borders on scandalous. I wouldn't want my Serafina anywhere near him."

"Well, I should say not," a third woman said.

Lily couldn't help wondering what sort of things Jonathan Savage had done to earn his black reputation. Being the son of an earl was all that allowed him to continue in society.

"Lord March is quite a catch," Lady Severn continued, the cluster of heavy dark curls on her shoulder moving as she turned to watch him. "The viscount is handsome and extremely wealthy. I hear he has entered the marriage mart."

Always on the hunt for a husband for Serafina, Lady Eastgate pursed her lips. "I wonder if he likes redheads."

All of them laughed and the cluster of women moved off toward the river as the boats traveled upstream.

Jocelyn reached over and clutched Lily's arm. "This is so exciting. Do you think the duke will win?"

Lily managed a smile. "I am sure he will." Like everyone else, her gaze remained riveted on the sleek boats slicing through the water, the precision-like dip and sway of the oars. "Lord March says the entire race takes only about twenty minutes. Then they turn round and row with the current back down to the park."

They were racing as part of the plan, but nothing said spectators and racers alike couldn't enjoy themselves. Earlier, tables had been set up and covered with linen cloths. A group of servants Lord Nightingale had provided busied themselves setting out an amazing array of food.

Lemonade, kegs of ale and jugs of wine sat next to trays overflowing with cold lamb and roasted beef, small meat pies, fresh-baked breads, Stilton and Cheshire cheeses. A sinful selection of candied fruits and custards, black-currant pudding and lemon tarts all vied for space on the table.

And the day was altogether glorious. Lily flicked a glance at Jo, was intrigued to see her scanning the crowd as if she searched for someone.

"Who are you looking for?" Lily asked.

Jocelyn glanced away. "Why, no one in particular. I just wanted to see who was here."

But her pink cheeks and evasive manner said it wasn't the truth. Jo had been acting strangely ever since the Wyhurst soiree. That night, Lily had believed it was because of her cousin's involvement with Royal. But he had denied an affair.

She looked at Jocelyn, whose violet eyes again skimmed the crowd. "Is it Barclay?"

Jo's gaze whipped toward her. "No, of course not!"

"Are you still seeing him?"

Jocelyn shook her head. "Not lately. I am not entirely certain I wish to continue the affair."

"Why not? I thought you said he was an amazing lover."

She shrugged as if the matter held not the least importance. "The man is too cocksure of himself by half. I am not certain I wish to involve myself further." But clearly, she was looking for him there in the park.

It made no sense and yet, where her cousin was concerned, things ofttimes did not.

Lily looked back at the river. The men were just disappearing round the bend out of sight. Their return would be more leisurely, perhaps half an hour from now. While they waited, Lily and Jo wandered among the crowd, all of whom were rooting for their favorite and eager to learn who had won. Afterward, they would enjoy the sumptuous luncheon provided by the racers.

Lily tried to hide her anticipation at seeing Royal, perhaps even talking to him.

But it was not easy.

Savage had won, of course. The men arrived to a hail of cheers. Nightingale made the formal announcement and Savage received hearty congratulations from friends and acquaintances, which he accepted with a mischievous twinkle in his nearly black eyes. A few minutes later, the men disappeared inside the tent to change out of their sweat-damp garments into fresh clothing.

Lily wandered about for a while, paused to speak to Lady Annabelle and Lady Sabrina. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Preston Loomis in conversation with doddering old Mrs. Crowley and almost smiled.

Loomis was taking the bait, a trifle at a time, just as they planned. As the minutes lengthened, she looked past him in search of Royal and spotted him standing next to Jocelyn and her mother.

Lily's heart sank. She should have known the duke's attention would be directed toward his future wife. Hadn't she been the one to suggest that very thing? She'd been a fool to imagine he might seek her out and, even if he did, what good would it do?

He wasn't hers and never would be. She had to stop dreaming about him, mooning over him like a lovesick fool. Adjusting her straw bonnet against the April sun, she wandered off toward a line of trees away from the river. She didn't notice she wasn't alone until a man stepped out from behind a tree and started walking toward her.

She had seen him earlier, conversing with Lady Annabelle and Lady Nightingale, but she didn't know his name.

He smiled as he approached. "You're Miss Moran, are you not?" He was young, just a few years older than she, sandy-haired and attractive.

"I'm Lily Moran, yes. Have we met?"

"I am sorry to say I haven't had the pleasure. I know it is not the proper thing, but I saw you earlier and I simply couldn't leave without introducing myself. Phillip Landen, Viscount Hartwell, at your service. I hope you will forgive my ill manners and grant me a few moments of conversation."

He seemed so genuine. And who was she to quibble about a breach in manners, she who had once picked pockets for a living.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord."

"And you, Miss Moran."

They talked for a while, about the weather, about the boat race, the sort of conversation a man would have with a woman he had only just met.

They traveled a shady path through the trees, taking a circuitous route back toward the festivities. Before they got there, the viscount paused and turned toward her. "I realize I am being quite forward, but I am the sort of man who knows what he wants, and I want very much to see you again. I understand you live with your cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Caulfield. Is there a chance I might call on you at your residence?"

"You are right, my lord-you are quite forward. And also quite well informed."

"I have never been particularly shy."

A faint smile blossomed. "I can see that."

"Would Monday be convenient?"

The eagerness in his voice had her looking up at him. It was rare a man approached her. "I-I am not sure. As you say, we have only just met."

And she had enough problems without adding more. As attractive as the viscount was, she simply wasn't interested.

She started to politely decline, when a familiar deep voice rumbled toward her. "As a friend of Miss Moran's family, I am afraid I shall have to decline for her, since the two of you have not been properly introduced. Perhaps if you spoke to Mr. Caulfield, he would be willing to arrange an introduction at some later date."

Lily stared at Royal in amazement. He was about to become engaged to another woman. He had not the least say in her affairs and never would! How dare he have the cheek to interfere!

She turned an overbright smile on the viscount. "I own a millinery shop in Harken Lane, just off Bond. If that does not offend your noble sensibilities, my shop opens at nine in the morning. Perhaps you will drop by sometime."

The young viscount beamed. "I shall make a point of it." He made an extravagant bow. "A pleasure meeting you, Miss Moran."

"You, as well, my lord." Lily managed to keep her smile firmly in place as the viscount ambled away. She was still smiling when she felt Royal's fingers wrap around her arm, turning her to face him.

"What the devil are you doing?"

"I am doing exactly as I please. I was enjoying a pleasant conversation with a handsome man. What is wrong with that?"

"You don't even know him."

She lifted her chin. "I do now."

"You are encouraging him? Clearly he wishes to pay you court. You said you had a life of your own. You said you weren't interested in marriage."

"I am not utterly opposed to it, either. But should I wish to wed, it would be to a man of my choosing, not yours!"

Royal's golden eyes glittered, his temper barely in check. "And what do you think he will say when he finds out you were once a cutpurse living on the streets?"

The words hit her like a blow. He knew her innermost secrets. She had never dreamed he would use them against her.

He looked as stricken as she. "I'm sorry, Lily. I didn't mean that. Please forgive me, I just-"

"You are right, of course. The man is a viscount, after all. I am sure he would be appalled at the very notion of a woman with my sordid past."

"Lily, please-"

"On the other hand, perhaps I shall tell him and see what he has to say." Whirling away, she lifted her skirts out of the way and started marching back toward the group she had come with.

Royal caught up with her in two long strides. "I didn't mean it, dammit. I don't care about your past and if a man cares for you, neither will he. I just...I didn't want you to see him."

Lily ignored him, something she wouldn't have done even a few weeks ago. But she was a woman now, no longer a girl-Royal had seen to that. She owned her own business and had begun to earn her own living. She was starting to make her way in the world-and she was learning to stand up for herself.

Royal hurried to keep up with her. "Lily, wait!"

Sheridan Knowles walked up just then, interrupting whatever Royal wanted to say.

"Your fiancee is looking for you," Sherry said to Royal with a pointed glance Lily's way. "She is angling for an invitation to the opera. I think she wants to be seen in the ducal box. She is hoping you will escort her and her mother."

Frustration tightened Royal's features. Clearly he wanted to stay and yet he had no choice but to leave. "We aren't finished, Lily."

"Oh, but we are," she said sweetly.

A muscle bunched in his cheek. Turning away, Royal started walking toward the woman he would marry. Lily watched Jocelyn take his arm and her bravado slowly faded. Seeing Royal with Jo made her heart hurt. All she wanted to do was go home.

But she had come to Battersea with the Caulfields. She would have to return with them. Lily steeled herself to reenter the group and had nearly reached them when Quentin Garrett, Lord March, walked up beside her.

"Perhaps...Miss Moran, you would care to join me in a glass of lemonade," he said gently, offering her his arm. "It's a bit warm out today."

"Thank you, that would be lovely." Grateful for the reprieve, she accepted his arm. She wasn't sure how much Royal's friends had guessed about the two of them, but the men were a protective lot, and whatever they thought, they had been good to her.

Taking comfort in Lord March's escort, she let him guide her toward the punch bowl.

Twenty-Four.

Monday was a busy day at the millinery shop. Lily took several orders and also spent time working on the hats she had sold and currently needed to complete.

"I'll be leavin' now, miss." Flora, her helper, stood in the doorway of the backroom, where Lily sat working. It was already two o'clock. "I'll be back in the mornin', miss."

"Thank you, Flora." She watched the red-haired girl leave, grateful for the help, but she was always glad when the shop was hers alone.

It was late afternoon the next time the bell above the door rang. As Lily emerged from the back, she was surprised to see Phillip Landen, Viscount Hartwell, walk into the shop.

Wishing she hadn't been quite so impulsive at the picnic, Lily pasted on a smile and started toward him.

"Good afternoon, my lord."

He swept his beaver hat from his head. "Good afternoon, Miss Moran." His hazel eyes appraised her, then shone with appreciation. "My, don't you make a lovely picture."

A blush began to rise in her cheeks. "Thank you, my lord."

He glanced round the shop. "It is unusual for a young woman to own her own business. I admire your initiative."

She couldn't help a smile. "It's been a dream of mine for some time."

He meandered round the narrow interior, studying a bonnet here, a lace cap there. "Quite nice work, I should say. Though I am certainly no expert on ladies' hats. Do you make them yourself?"

"Why, yes, I do."