For a moment she just stood there, watching him. Phin could only stare back. She still wore her evening dress, the dark-green fabric black in the night. Moonlight gilded her shoulders and hair with a silvery light. "Emma," he whispered.

She stepped forwards, into the shadows, through the door. "Good evening."

Great G.o.d. She was here, in the moonlit garden, with him, just as he had fantasized about. Now what should he do? Probably not seize her and carry her inside to his bed, which was where his fantasies usually led. "Thank you," he said lamely. "For coming out."

Her smile began in her eyes, then her lips curved and a faint dimple appeared in her cheek. "Is that all you wished to tell me?"

"To tell you?" he repeated. "No, there is a great deal more I want to tell you . . . But first . . ." He stepped closer. Her head fell back as she looked up at him, and a lock of her hair slipped free and fell across her shoulder. Phin reached out and wound it around his finger. Her eyes half closed and her lips parted on a soundless sigh of want. He shuddered, sliding his hand around the back of her neck, digging his fingers into her glorious curls, and lowering his head to hers.

The kiss began gently. His lips brushed hers, and Emma shivered. He must have thought she was cold, for his arms went around her, enveloping her in the warm, male scent of him. Through the thin linen of his shirtsleeves she could feel his muscles flex and bunch as he pulled her closer, and Emma moaned softly. She slid her hands up the front of his waistcoat, anchoring herself to him as his mouth slanted over hers, more demanding, coaxing, seductive. This was a tempest she could lose herself in, most willingly . . .

"Captain," she whispered as his kisses drifted over her temple.

"Call me Phin." His breath stirred her hair, and she shivered again.

"Phin." He smiled when she said his name, a masculine, hungry smile. His hands slid down her back, curving her spine until her body pressed against his. Emma tried not to gasp aloud as her b.r.e.a.s.t.s flattened against him. Against her belly she could feel his erection, growing harder by the minute, and this time she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

"Phin," she said again, trying to keep hold of her fraying thoughts. "I should tell you . . . What your mother said . . ."

"I don't want to talk about my mother or your mother." He was kissing the side of her neck now. Emma tilted her head, shamelessly begging for more.

"But my mother is ambitious, even grasping. She . . . oh my . . . She coerced you into having a dinner party . . ."

"Emma," he said, his voice low and ragged, "if she'd suggested I host a circus in my parlour for you, I would have done it. If she said I could call on you only if my connections were good enough, I would have lined up every relation and friend I have, just to ensure I could see you."

"But you can see me any time," she protested.

"That's not what I want, with a wall between us." He kissed her brow, smoothing her hair back. "I want to see you like this."

"Phin." She slid her hands around his neck, making him look at her. "You didn't need to appease my mother to see me."

He paused. "No?"

Emma blushed. "I didn't spend so much time in my garden before you arrived."

He blinked, smiled and then threw back his head and laughed. "And I've been plotting a careful campaign to seduce you."

"You have been, all this time," she said. "With just the sound of your voice."

"Really." Interest sparked in his face. "Just my voice?"

"Yes," Emma admitted. "And your tales of adventure and danger in foreign lands. I would imagine I was there with you."

Phin laughed. "Well! That is good to know. For I have a tale of adventure to tell you, my darling Emma, and, while there will be no danger or foreign lands, I plan to seduce you most thoroughly, and with more than my voice."

She smiled up at him as he gathered her into his arms once more. "I've been waiting months for that adventure."

"It will be like none other," he promised. He kissed her again, bearing her back into the jasmine, and a shower of tiny blossoms covered them both.

The Catch of the Season.

Shirley Kennedy.

In the drawing room of her family's s.p.a.cious London townhouse, Miss Julia Winslow waited while her mother, Lady Harleigh, read the note Julia had just received from Lord Melton. When Lady Harleigh finished, her face lit. She gasped with delight. "I cannot believe this! Do you think he's going to propose?"

"It is possible," Julia replied cautiously.

Squeals of excitement issued from Julia's aunt and cousins who had all gathered for tea. "Lord Melton is the catch of the season," declared Aunt Elizabeth, who appeared to be in the same state of elation as her sister.

"An earl!" cried giddy cousin Lydia. "You will be a countess! It's almost too good to be true. Read it to us."

Julia took the note from her mother and read aloud, "'Dear Miss Winslow, if it's convenient, I would like to call upon you this afternoon at 4 p.m. on a matter of some importance. Melton.'" She regarded the a.s.sembled ladies. "So what do you think?"

"What else except a marriage proposal could be a matter of 'some importance'?" Julia's mother dropped into a rosewood armchair and began to fan herself with her inlaid ivory fan. "Oh, this is all too much. Lord Melton himself. I may need my smelling salts."

"Calm yourself, Mama," answered Julia. "Perhaps he simply wants to ask me to the theatre or to see the Elgin Marbles or some such thing."

"No," Lady Harleigh firmly replied, "he's going to propose, I feel it in my bones. What fantastic luck! Lord Melton is not only perfect in every way, he's going to be our new neighbour. Did you know that, Julia?"

"So he told me," Julia said. Her mother was referring to Lord Melton's recent purchase of Hatfield Manor, the vast country estate next to her family's own Bretton Court, not far from London.

"Imagine," Lady Harleigh continued., "we shall be connected to one of the most prestigious families in all England! True aristocrats, the lot of them."

"Except for his ne'er-do-well younger brother," contributed Aunt Elizabeth. "He's quite the rake, from what I understand, what with his drinking and gambling. But that was a while ago. Now, apparently, they keep him under wraps."

Lady Harleigh ignored her sister's comment and grew starry-eyed. "I can see it all now the conjoining of two great estates. Hatfield Manor and Bretton Court will become as one, eventually to be inherited, of course, by Julia and Lord Melton's eldest son, and then-"

"Mama, please! Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Despite her mother's overly vivid imagination, Julia rejoiced to see her smiling again. Only a year ago, Julia's beloved brother, Douglas, had been killed at the Battle of Waterloo, plunging her mother into a period of near-inconsolable grief for the loss of her only son. Lady Harleigh had seemed to age overnight, her once pretty face grown thin and gaunt. But now what a difference! The prospect of a brilliant marriage for her youngest daughter had put roses in her cheeks again and revived her bubbling enthusiasm.

From the gilt-wood settee where she'd been sitting quietly, Julia's tiny, sharp-eyed grandmother spoke up. "What's all the fuss about? Who is this Lord Melton?"

"Where have you been, Mother?" Aunt Elizabeth asked. "We're talking about Charles Carstairs, Lord Melton. An earl! Not only handsome and charming, he recently came into his inheritance, which is considerable, I a.s.sure you. Vast estates . . . a huge fortune. If you ask me, he isn't just the catch of the season, he's the catch of any season you can name."

A chorus of feminine voices agreed.

"Lord Melton dresses impeccably . . ."

"He's so handsome . . ."

"His manners are perfection . . ."

"He's just so . . . so . . . correct in every way . . ."

"Humph!" Granny cast her daughters and granddaughters a sceptical gaze. "Handsome and correct? That says nothing about the man himself. Where's he been? Why have I never heard of him?"

"He's been on an extended grand tour of Europe," Aunt Elizabeth replied, "and spent considerable time in Paris, I understand."

"Sewing a few wild oats, I suppose." Granny's shrewd eyes shifted to Julia. "I'm surprised you've finally made a choice, missy. Here you are, twenty-two years old, well into your fourth season-"

"Third," Julia interjected.

"Third then. You're beautiful enough to have had your pick, yet you've shown your strength of character by not settling for the first conceited fop who came along."

"I totally disagree." Lady Harleigh cast a long-suffering glance at her daughter. "Your grandmother calls it 'strength of character'. I call it just plain pernickety. Remember Viscount Lansdale? You didn't like him because you said he had a silly laugh. I also recall Lieutenant Dashmont who looked so resplendent in his gold-braided uniform. He-"

"Was balding and wore too much cologne," Julia interceded with a wry smile. That wasn't the real reason, but who in this room except Granny would understand?

Lady Harleigh continued, "At any rate, Julia's betrothal to Lord Melton will be the coup of the season. I feel sorry for all those mothers with marriageable daughters who spent considerable time trying to trap him."

Julia held up a protesting hand. "Wait. He hasn't proposed yet, and even if he does-"

"Just think of the wedding!" With shining eyes, Julia's mother clasped her hands together. "We shall spare no expense. I shall invite the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Sherford, and yes, why not? I shall invite the Prince Regent himself. Julia's wedding will be the biggest, the grandest-"

"Mama, please," Julia began, then changed her mind and said no more, knowing her protests would fall on deaf ears.

Later, after the others had left, Julia sank down on the settee across from her eighty-five-year-old grandmother. Granny always looked so sweet, Julia thought, with her lace cap perched atop her snow-white head and her lavender paisley shawl draped around her frail shoulders. But she wasn't sweet at all. In fact, one of the ongoing vexations of Mama's life was having a mother like Granny who said whatever she pleased and consistently ignored society's rules of proper behaviour. Julia loved her just as she was, though, and valued her judgment. "What do you think, Granny? Is he going to propose?"

Granny peered at her over the top of her spectacles. "Do you want him to?"

"I certainly ought to. You heard what everyone said, didn't you? How could I not want to marry Lord Melton when he's so perfect in every way?"

Granny levelled one of her shrewd, a.s.sessing gazes which in the past had always made Julia admit the stark truth and nothing but. "I'll ask you again, missy. Do you want Lord Melton to propose? In other words, have you fallen madly in love with him or will you marry him simply because everyone expects you to?"

"That's a very good question," Julia replied, stalling for time. "I am not dying to get married, but you know how I hate coming down to London for these seasons Mama insists upon. I intensely dislike putting myself on display so some man will find me attractive enough to marry with, of course, an eye on my dowry. It makes me feel like a slab of meat on show at the butcher shop."

"So you would marry simply to avoid another season?"

"Isn't it high time? Mama has managed to marry off all her daughters except me. I cannot stay single all my life. She would die of disappointment if I did." Julia sighed and continued, "Of course, if the choice were mine, I would be home at Bretton Court this very minute, out riding my horse or painting my landscapes, and not worried in the least about finding a husband." Her eyes shifted to several small oil paintings that hung in a group next to the marble fireplace. Each depicted a scene from the ruins of Swindon Abbey, which lay between Bretton Court and Hatfield Manor. She had spent many an hour there, not only painting but musing about those long gone days when Swindon Abbey had teemed with life, virtually a small city of its own. With a note of wistfulness, she added, "I could spend the rest of my life painting scenes from those ancient ruins."

"Your paintings are excellent," Granny replied. "You're a gifted artist, Julia. But however much I hate to say it, an outstanding talent such as yours doesn't mean a thing for a woman in your position."

Julia nodded in reluctant agreement. "I could be the greatest artist in the world, but all that's expected of me is that I make a brilliant marriage and then start popping out babies, as soon and as often as possible."

"Unfortunately you're right. Of course, you would have made things easier on yourself had you fallen in love with any one of your many suitors."

"Well, I didn't," Julia replied. "But perhaps I will with Lord Melton. Even if I don't, I shall probably marry him anyway. After all, he's the best of the lot, and if I haven't fallen in love by now, I doubtless never will."

"How well do you know him?" Granny asked.

"Actually not that well. I met him at Lady Gardner's ball. We've danced several times at Almack's. We've been to Covent Garden, and he took me to hear Catalanai at the King's Theatre." A thoughtful smile curved Julia's mouth. "At least he's been the perfect gentleman. He's never even kissed me."

"Have you wanted him to?"

"I . . . don't know."

Granny emitted one of her disdainful sniffs. "Then I suggest you kiss the man, preferably before you accept his proposal, and see how you feel."

Julia grinned. "You mean sparks should fly? My knees should grow weak?"

"Just kiss the man before you agree to marry him."

"All right, I shall." Not that it much mattered. Mama, Papa, everyone expected her to say yes, and so she probably would. If she didn't, she would break her mother's heart. Not only that, everyone would think she had lost her mind if she turned down the catch of the season.

"Oh, Miss Julia, you look so exquisitely beautiful!" declared Yvette, Julia's lady's maid. "Look in the mirror. See for yourself."

Julia viewed herself in her full-length mirror. For Lord Melton's visit she had chosen her new afternoon gown, a soft-blue cotton batiste with short puffed sleeves. Lace frills and bands of light blue satin decorated the bodice, sleeves and skirt. Not bad, she thought, pointing a toe to admire a slipper made from the same fabric as the gown. And Yvette had done her usual fine job on her thick auburn hair, binding it up in a topknot held by a matching blue satin band.

Yvette stood behind and fussed with her gown. "I love dressing you. That full bosom! That tiny waist! Lord Melton is sure to propose."

"Thank you," Julia answered, silently amused. She wouldn't bother to ask how her lady's maid knew about Lord Melton. The servants knew everything.

At precisely four o'clock, the butler knocked. "Lord Melton has arrived, Miss Julia. I have put him in the drawing room."

"Thank you, Gettys. Inform him I shall be down directly."

So the big moment was at hand. Julia picked up her white lace fan and started down the staircase, making a conscious effort to put herself in the proper mood. The catch of the season would soon be hers! She was going to be the next Lady Melton! Married to the perfect man, admired and envied by all!

Strange, how her heart wasn't pounding with excitement. It soon would be, though, she was sure of it.

When Julia entered the drawing room, she found Charles Carstairs, Lord Melton, standing before the marble fireplace. Always attired in the latest fashion, today he appeared even more elegant than usual in a meticulously tailored serge spencer jacket over a waistcoat and drill trousers. A chitterling frill ran down the front of his shirt, which had to be of the finest linen, Julia was sure. As for his perfectly tied cravat, she could not imagine a spot of gravy landing on its snow-white surface. It simply wouldn't dare.

His handsome face lit when he saw her. "Ah, Miss Winslow!" he said with a bow.

"Lord Melton." She dipped a curtsey, further noting how absolutely gorgeous he looked. Tall and broad-shouldered. Thick head of wavy blond hair worn fashionably short with one careless curl falling over his n.o.ble forehead. Finely chiselled nose. Wide-set blue eyes with long, thick lashes . . .

Perfect in every way.

Rich and t.i.tled, besides.

For a short while they sat on the opposing settees and chatted. The weather . . . her parents' health . . . his parents' health . . . the Prince Regent's latest escapade. All the while, Julia grew more restless. Would he never get to the point?

"I suppose you are wondering why I am here," he said at last.

Finally. "I confess, Lord Melton, I am curious. 'A matter of importance', you said?"

Totally at ease, he smiled across at her, revealing his dazzlingly perfect white teeth. "Indeed it is a matter of importance to me, and of course my mother who is most anxious how can I put this delicately? to see the end of what she terms my profligate ways. To put it plainly, my mother feels it is time I married. That's why I'm here."

With one swift move, Melton arose from the settee and settled himself beside her. Taking her hand, he gazed deep into her eyes. "These past weeks I have developed a great fondness for you, Miss Winslow. You're everything my mother could ever ask for. Daughter of a viscount. Fine family. Charming and beautiful besides."

Something in Julia rebelled at his words. "But what about you, Lord Melton?" she tartly enquired. "How do you feel?"

"Of course I feel the same," he smoothly replied. "Indeed, I think I've fallen quite in love with you and want you to do me the honour of becoming my wife."