At least it had cost him fifty pounds.

Of course to him fifty pounds was probably pocket change, an amount he could afford to lose on a whim and forget without a second thought. He'd been born into one of the wealthiest, most influential families in England and was now apparently rich in his own right in spite of being a younger son. No doubt he was used to getting everything he wanted, including his own way.

She scowled and drank her tea.

Oh well, she thought, determined to put the whole thing out of her mind. Pretty as it might be, the trinket box was just a decorative whimsy. As for the sentimental value, she would simply have to remember the day her father had given it to her and all the memories that had come afterward. No one could take that from her.

And she'd lost worse, she reminded herself. Much, much worse. Wounds that cut clean through to the soul and left scars that would never fully heal. Considered in that light, losing the trinket box was nothing more than a minor disappointment.

Suddenly, a quiet meow came from the other side of the gla.s.s, interrupting her thoughts. Thalia looked down to find a pair of round, green eyes gazing hopefully at her out of a furry brown-and-black-striped face.

"Hera," she said, smiling. "Have you been out in the garden stalking squirrels again?"

The cat gave her a look of complete innocence and meowed again.

"Well, come in." She set down her cup, then twisted the latch and opened the window. "Gotten chilled, have you?"

With a sinuous grace, the cat moved inside and leapt down onto the floor on silent paws. She circled around Thalia, brushing up against her skirts.

Thalia closed the window, then bent down to stroke the cat's sleek coat, eliciting rumbling purrs. "You're getting fur all over my skirts, you know. Parker will purse her lips like a lemon and complain about you when she sees the mess you've left."

Hera made another circuit around Thalia's skirts and meowed one more time.

"Oh never mind, she'll just have to understand," Thalia said. "What's a little cat hair between friends?" She petted Hera again and earned a head nuzzle into her hand. "I need to see to some correspondence. Care to join me?"

Thalia walked toward her desk. The little tabby followed and was up on the desk before Thalia had time to take a seat. Hera settled in one corner atop a pair of leather-bound books; it was a routine that was comfortable and familiar to them both.

Thalia regarded the account books and bills with a baleful eye. Then sighing in resignation, she reached for the first bill.

She'd been working for nearly half an hour when a tap came at the door. Glancing up, she saw her butler hovering near the threshold.

"Yes? What is it, Fletcher?"

He came forward slowly, a box held in his wizened hands. "A special delivery for you, milady."

"Really? How unusual." With the exception of holidays and her birthday, she never received gifts. "Did the messenger say who sent it?"

"There is a card, I believe." Fletcher set the package with its gaily tied, gold satin bow in front of her on the desk. Quietly, he withdrew.

She eyed the package for a moment, admiring the sophisticated elegance of the wrappings. Even more inviting was the nosegay of fresh purple violas secured underneath the ribbon; she touched the little flowers, finding their petals velvety soft.

A curious tingle of suspicion went through her, but she ignored it and tugged free the bow. After taking an extra moment to set the nosegay carefully aside, she lifted off the lid.

And there it was, nestled inside a protective coc.o.o.n of crumpled vellum and white silk-the Meissen trinket box. She recognized the tiny painted kitten paws and ball of red yarn first before she peeled back the silk to reveal the rest.

A silent inhalation of breath caught in her lungs, her heart giving an odd knock inside her chest.

She didn't need to open the card to know who had sent the gift. But she reached for it anyway, unfolding the paper to see what was written inside.

My Dearest Lady Thalia, Please accept this token of my esteem. I could not keep it, knowing that you would cherish it more.

Ever Your Servant, L.B.

She sat unmoving for a long moment, digesting his words and the fact that the trinket box, her trinket box, was in her possession once again.

After laying down the card, she reached for it. With utmost care, she lifted out the delicate piece of porcelain. She hadn't been able to touch it at the auction, not the way she'd wished, not holding it as she did now in a full, open, unhindered way. Reverent and admiring. The little box was exactly as she remembered, the paints just as bright, the expressions on the kittens' faces just as sweet and mischievous as ever.

She ran a fingertip over one feline back, memories crashing over her in waves. Then she sighed aloud, longing coursing through her with an almost tangible ache. Oh, how she wished she could carry it upstairs to her keepsake cabinet and place it inside.

But a present such as this quite naturally came with strings. If she kept it, Lord Leopold would expect more. First supper, perhaps, then attendance at a play or maybe a drive in the park. Next an invitation to her town house.

Then finally into her bed.

She had no doubt what it would mean if she accepted this gift. He'd bought the trinket box for fifty pounds and if she took it, he would be buying her as well.

But she was not for sale.

Calling forth every ounce of resolve at her disposal, she set the porcelain with its familiar kittens inside the box, tucked it back into its nest of protective silk and vellum and replaced the lid. She secured the ribbon around the package again and tied it neatly, though not with the same expert skill the original wrapper had used.

She stood and crossed to ring the bell.

Fletcher appeared a short time later, almost as if he had known she would have need of him again.

"See that this is returned." She held the package out to him. "The sender's name is Lord Leopold Byron. I presume you can locate his address here in Town?"

"Certainly, milady. Consider it done."

"And be careful. The item inside is fragile."

Fletcher nodded. "Of course. The utmost care shall be taken."

It was only after he had gone that she noticed the nosegay of flowers. Another token from Lord Leopold, something else she could not accept. Picking them up, she moved to her wastepaper basket. But even as she reached to toss them inside, she stopped. They were so pretty and it had been such a very long while since she'd had fresh flowers in the house-another unnecessary extravagance.

What is the harm? she thought, stroking one of the petals again. Even overprotective mamas of innocent young girls had no objection to flowers. And heaven knew she was no naive, innocent young debutante.

Flowers meant nothing.

Carrying them back to her desk, she went to find a vase.

Early evening darkness obscured the dressing room windows as Leo finished tying a last knot in his cravat. He was promised for dinner and cards tonight with a group of his cronies. There would likely be further gambling and carousing afterward, but in spite of his justifiably wild reputation, he didn't frequent brothels. Far too great a chance of picking up one of the unspeakable diseases that made the rounds in such establishments. He insisted on women of a better cla.s.s who were clean and healthy. And if truth be known, he'd grown tired of quick, meaningless couplings. He preferred knowing any woman he took to his bed.

Turning, he allowed his valet to a.s.sist him into his black evening coat. The servant had just picked up a brush to remove any lingering specks of lint when a knock came at the door.

One of the footmen stood on the threshold. "Pardon me, my lord, but this was just delivered for you."

Leo eyed the small lidded box, recognizing it instantly by its familiar gold bow. "Was there a note?"

"No, my lord," the servant told him. "Just the package."

"Set it over there," he said, gesturing toward a small table.

The servant did as instructed, then withdrew.

Leo waited until his valet left before he opened the box and peered inside.

Well, d.a.m.n, so she sent it back.

Here he'd hoped his offering would please her, since she'd clearly wanted the little porcelain piece. Her expression had been one of acute disappointment after she'd lost the bidding to him. So despite his original plan to give the trinket box with its kitten duo to Esme, he had known he would offer it as a token to Lady Thalia instead.

But apparently she was having none of it, her att.i.tude toward him as remote and unyielding as ever. At least her rebuff hadn't been cold and wet and from a champagne flute this time.

Well, he hadn't expected that his pursuit of Lady Thalia would be easy. After all, any prize worth attaining demanded an extra measure of effort-and she was most definitely a worthy prize.

Reaching into the box, he withdrew the Meissen piece. He would keep it for now and be patient. The day would come when Lady Thalia wanted both him and his gifts.

Chapter 4.

"Here we are, milady," the coachman said a week later as he held open the carriage door.

Thalia gazed out at the immense Jacobean mansion that was located in the still countrified west side of London. The great house gleamed like a beacon of stone and gla.s.s in the waning autumn light. Even at this time of year, its exceptionally well-tended grounds, with their prized dahlia bushes, were a sight to behold.

She had never been to Holland House before but knew of its stellar reputation as a gathering place of Whig politicians, intellectuals and artists. Many agreed that it even rivaled the celebrated salons of Continental Europe for its influence and gracious style.

She'd been surprised when she'd received the invitation to attend this weekend's gathering. Once, many years before, she had received another such invitation to join Lord and Lady Holland at their estate, but she had refused. At the time, she'd been sunk too deep in scandal and despair to wish for company. Her pride had also stopped her from accepting what she'd seen then as an act of pity.

Now she realized that she might have been foolish to a.s.sume that to have been the Hollands' only motivation, particularly given the social disgrace they themselves had endured. After all, she and Lady Holland shared something unique. They both had the dubious distinction of knowing what it was like to be divorced and cut off from polite society. Unlike Thalia, however, Lady Holland had been fortunate enough to escape a bad marriage in exchange for a happy one. The Hollands might be outcasts from the high sticklers of the Ton, but no one could dispute that theirs was a love match.

I wonder if I might have found a sympathetic ear all those years ago? Maybe I still might.

But it was curiosity, rather than a need for kindred spirits, that had led her to accept their present invitation.

That and her old nemesis-boredom.

She could spend only so much time writing letters to absent friends or curled up on the sofa with her cat and a book from Hookham's lending library before madness began to set in.

Then there was the loneliness-the other pitchforked devil on her shoulder.

A weekend in the country, among interesting people, had seemed an excellent restorative. And maybe if she was very lucky, she would make some new friends. She could use someone new in her life.

For reasons she couldn't begin to fathom, thoughts of Lord Leopold Byron popped into her head. She'd heard no more from him since she had returned the trinket box. She'd thought he might attempt to contact her, try to persuade her to reconsider her refusal to accept his gift. But there had been nothing-no notes, no visits, no further tokens of his supposed admiration. Apparently he'd given up his pursuit.

Which was just as she wished it, of course.

So why was he still on her mind?

Aware that her coachman was still waiting for her to alight from the carriage, she allowed him to help her down. At the same moment, the Hollands' butler and a pair of liveried footmen emerged from the house and hurried forward.

"Welcome to Holland House," the black-clad butler said with a genial smile. "If you will come inside, the housekeeper will show you to your room. Lord and Lady Holland will be receiving guests in the drawing room at seven."

"Thank you."

Taking one last look at the beautiful grounds, Thalia followed the servant into the house.

Three hours later, Thalia stood inside the luxuriously appointed drawing room.

She had met Lord and Lady Holland on her entrance. The middle-aged couple was all gracious smiles and kind words. They had put her immediately at her ease, despite Lady Holland's reputation for having a blunt tongue and rapier wit.

"You know, Lady Thalia," Lord Holland remarked while they chatted, "I believe you and I are distant cousins through the Lennox side of the family. Considering the connection, we ought to have done this far sooner."

Thalia smiled. "You are right. I wish that we had. The fault, I fear, is my own."

"Not a bit. You are here now, so that is all that counts."

Knowing there would be plenty of time to become better acquainted over the next couple of days, Lord and Lady Holland had moved on to greet their other guests. Thalia recognized a few of the numerous attendees, including the former prime minister and several lauded artists and writers.

"Champagne?" a footman inquired.

Thalia accepted a gla.s.s from a silver tray. As the servant moved away, she wondered how much longer dinner would be. She'd had nothing but a cup of tea and a small sandwich since breakfast and she was starved. She laid a hand on the waist of her blue velvet evening gown and hoped her stomach wouldn't disgrace her by rumbling.

"If I stop to offer my felicitations, will you promise not to throw that drink on me?" a silvery male voice said from behind her.

Thalia turned and met the bold green-gold eyes of Lord Leopold Byron.

"I forgot to pack extra neckclothes," he continued, "and have enough only to get me through the next three days."

Her heart thumped. Lord, what is he doing here! So much for not seeing him again.

Yet there he stood, looking tall and elegant in formal black and white. His gold embroidered waistcoat made a perfect foil for the dark golden brown of his hair. He smiled a moment later, the movement lighting up his entire face.

Seeing that smile hit her, as it always did, like a quick poke to the solar plexus.

My, but he's handsome. And what a simpleton I am for noticing.

She sent him an arch look, suddenly out of sorts with him and herself. "You may offer your felicitations if you wish, Lord Leopold, since I cannot prevent you. As for the drink, I never make promises I'm not certain I can keep."

Rather than take offense, much as he had at their last encounter, he laughed, his deep-set eyes alight with humor. "Then I shall take care to be on my guard, ready to stand clear at a moment's notice."

"Have a lot of experience with that, do you?"