"I do not complain." Solomon removed his snuff box and measured a pinch. "If Lord Maxwell wishes to squander his fortune in such a reckless fashion, I would be most ungracious to refuse his notes."

Sarah's fear swiftly altered to admiration at her father's cunning.

Belatedly she felt Lord Chance stiffen at her side.

"Lord Maxwell?" he demanded.

"Yes, a most . . . how do you English say . . . ill-natured reprobate." The older gentleman replaced his jeweled box. "Still, he did appear quite shaken when he realized just how much money he had lost. His countenance was a most unflattering shade as he confessed it would be next week before he could discharge his debt."

Although thoroughly conscious of Lord Chance's piercing regard, Sarah forced herself to concentrate on her father's words. It had been inordinately clever of him to maneuver Lord Maxwell into such a position. "Which means he shall soon be in need of a large amount of cash," she murmured.

The Devilish Dandy smiled. "My thoughts precisely."

"It appears I am in you debt," Lord Chance said abruptly, proving he was not indifferent to the significance of the notes the older gentleman held.

Solomon stabbed him with a steady glance. "Yes."

Feeling the prickly tension returning, Sarah gave a small cough. "I fear Uncle Pierre demanded an explanation for your numerous visits," she explained hastily.

The two gentlemen seemed to regard each other as prizefighters preparing for a bout.

"With her father gone, I have taken it upon myself to fill the position." Solomon smiled, but there was little humor to it.

Lord Chance remained impervious to the obvious warning. Indeed, a glint of amusement entered the dark eyes. "Oddly enough, Lord Scott informed me of much the same thing."

"Scott." Solomon gave a comical grimace. Not surprisingly, the two gentlemen had always detested one another. "A gentleman of good intentions, but no match for my Sarah."

"No," Lord Chance drawled, turning to regard her with a mocking gaze. "Only a gentleman of remarkable fortitude could hope to keep the reins firmly in check."

Her father possessed the audacity to give a sudden chuckle, as if pleased by the outlandish remark. "You are very perceptive," he complimented.

Sarah thinned her lips. "For your information, I do not appreciate being likened to a horse in need of firm reins," she informed Lord Chance tartly, then turned to regard her father in a stern manner. "You will discover if Lord Maxwell seeks a means of raising the necessary funds?"

He offered her a slight bow. "But of course. Now I am off for bed." He deliberately paused. "Watts, however, shall be just outside the door."

With his less than subtle warning delivered, the Devilish Dandy turned to leave the room. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief, even though it meant she was once again alone with Lord Chance. The less time the two gentlemen spent together the better.

As if emphasizing the danger of the accidental meeting, Lord Chance slowly turned to regard her with an unwavering gaze. "A most unusual gentleman."

She forced herself not to fidget beneath the piercing regard. "Uncle Pierre takes great delight in being unusual."

"You resemble him a great deal."

Blast those all-seeing eyes.

"Perhaps a bit," she hedged. "We are, after all, related."

A silence fell as he studied her determinedly bland expression. Then, quite unexpectedly, he gave a low chuckle. "All but the lips," he softly teased. "Those are uniquely your own."

She sucked in a sharp breath, wondering how she had ever considered herself a calm, unflappable maiden. Lord Chance somehow managed to make her as scatterbrained as Rachel. "My lord, please refrain from discussing my lips." She attempted to sound firm, only to end up sounding breathless.

He stepped closer, filling the air with the scent of warm skin. "Then shall we discuss the delightful shape of your legs?"

"No."

His hand raised as if once again to touch her face, only to abruptly drop as he shook his head. "Perhaps it is a good thing your . . . uncle is in residence," he murmured with a rueful smile. "Do you know I once considered myself quite above such foolishness?"

She frowned warily. "What foolishness?"

He waved aside her question, clearly not prepared to explain his enigmatic words. "I should be leaving. Oh ..." He appeared to have been struck with a sudden thought. "I almost forgot to tell you that my mother wishes you to visit her tomorrow."

Sarah stepped back in horror. "What?"

He appeared remarkably indifferent. "Some silly nonsense about writing the charades for her Christmas party."

"I cannot visit your mother."

He shrugged, a smile playing about his mouth. "Very well, but be prepared to have her descend upon you here. My mother is very tenacious once she takes a notion into her head, and she is currently convinced that the very success of her gathering hinges upon your contribution."

Have Lady Chance visit her here? Perhaps even encounter the Devilish Dandy? It was not to be thought of.

"You must do something."

He lifted his hands in a helpless motion. "I am no match for a determined hostess."

She could not conceive what he found humorous in the situation, unless he did not fully comprehend the significance of such a visit. "My lord, think of the scandal if it becomes known I have been in your mother's home."

"Who is to know?"

Really, for a sophisticated gentleman he was being extraordinarily dense. Did he not care about his mother's reputation? "The servants at the very least," she pointed out tartly.

"A brief visit by an unassuming miss is hardly the sort of thing to shock the natives," he perversely argued. "Besides, I can see no way out of it."

Her eyes narrowed in exasperation. "You could if you wished to."

He gave a wicked chuckle. "Ah, but you have just sternly stated you do not wish to have your . . . er ... reins in any way tampered with. I would not dream of interfering."

Sarah was unaccustomed to having her words so efficiently tossed back in her face. Lord Chance might be the most disturbingly attractive gentleman she had ever encountered, but that did not halt him from being the most aggravating as well. "Very well then, I will call on your mother. And when the gossip begins it will be upon your head."

Far from horrified, Lord Chance's grin merely widened. "I shall contrive to bear the scandal."

At promptly eleven o'clock, well before most visitors would be arriving, Sarah presented herself on Lady Chance's doorstep. It had been a dreadful walk across London. Not only had it been a great distance, but the sharp wind had easily cut through her cloak, and the endless puddles had soaked her feet.

She could, of course, have hired a hack. It had, indeed, been her first inclination. But the realization that in this particular neighborhood such a vehicle would attract more than one pair of inquisitive eyes had halted the impulse.

Not that it wouldn't have served Lord Chance right, she seethed. After all, he could easily have fobbed off Lady Chance. His indifference to his mother's delicate reputation was reproachful.

Quite reproachful.

She had repeated those stern words throughout her long walk. Absurdly, it was either that or allow the perfectly ludicrous notion that he did not find her so utterly sunk in scandal to blossom to life. Stamping her feet to attempt to bring life to her frozen toes, she sighed in relief as the butler smoothly pulled open the door.

"Miss Cresswell."

After taking her bonnet and cloak, the servant led Sarah through the vast home to a private salon. Sarah struggled not to be overwhelmed by the oppressive wealth that was displayed with such grandeur-not an easy task when each step brought her past prominently displayed Rubens and at least one Gainsborough. There were gilt side chairs and a French oval parquetry table with Derby porcelain figures, even a gilt and bronze candelabra.

Little wonder Lord Chance possessed such natural arrogance, she ruefully acknowledged. Who could not be affected by such surroundings?

Entering the bright green and ivory room, Sarah discovered Lady Chance on a small sofa.

"My dearest, I thought you would never come," she cried.

Sarah shifted uneasily, feeling a fraud. "Lord Chance said you wished to discuss the charades."

Lady Chance waved an airy hand. "Oh, the charades are but one of a dozen difficulties." She gingerly scooted over to make space for Sarah on the sofa. "Please have a seat, and I shall ring for tea to sustain us."

With decided reluctance, Sarah forced herself to move forward and perch upon the cushion. Lady Chance was so genuinely pleased to see her that it made the entire situation even more ghastly.

Her faint pangs of guilt, however, were swiftly forgotten as Lady Chance launched into the details of her upcoming Christmas party.

There were conundrums to decide upon, carols to choose, the appropriate amount of holly to hang, and the precise spot for the mistletoe. She also demanded Sarah write down the proper recipe for the wassail bowl.

After nearly two hours, Lady Chance sat back, smiling with satisfaction. "How terribly clever you are, my dear. My party shall be the greatest success, and it shall all be due to you."

Sarah could not help but smile at the effusive flattery. Although she had never moved in Society, she was well aware the success of such gatherings depended far more upon who attended rather than what occurred. "I am certain my efforts shall have very little to do with the success of your party."

"But you are too modest," Lady Chance insisted. "How happy I am Oliver discovered you."

Knowing the older woman would not be nearly so happy should she discover the truth, Sarah gave a vague shrug. It was clearly time to take her leave, but before she could find the words to extricate herself, a deep voice spoke from the doorway.

"No more happy than I am," Lord Chance said in soft tones.

In spite of herself, Sarah discovered her gaze clinging to his elegant male form. Hardly surprising, she was forced to concede. Unlike most gentlemen, he wore the tight blue coat and buff pantaloons to advantage. Rather than revealing his various imperfections, they instead emphasized sleek muscles that moved with fluid grace.

With a sudden realization she was staring, Sarah abruptly lifted her gaze to meet his dark, probing regard. Her heart did its familiar leap, but thankfully Lady Chance provided a welcome distraction.

"Oliver."

Lord Chance performed a slight bow. "Mother. Miss Cresswell."

"I did not expect to see you today."

"I thought you would wish to know I have been to Brighton."

Lady Chance clicked her tongue. "So terribly odd of Ben to visit Brighton at this time of year."

Sarah unconsciously bit her lip as she waited for Lord Chance's response.

"I believe he desired a less hectic pace," he said smoothly.

Lady Chance seemed to accept the lie with swift ease. "Poor dear, he did appear a bit drawn when he last visited." She heaved a sigh. "I do not believe London agrees with him."

A sardonic expression settled on Lord Chance's countenance. "He is always welcome to return to Kent."

Lady Chance could not have looked more surprised if Lord Chance had suggested her youngest son sail to the colonies. "Goodness, what would he do with himself?"

"There are any number of duties I would be delighted to share."

Lady Chance wrinkled her brow. "I do not believe Ben cares for such duties."

Sarah bit her lip again, this time to prevent her hasty words. Had Lady Chance ever considered the notion that Lord Chance might not fully care for the burdens he must shoulder? Or that it was hardly fair that Ben be required to care for nothing beyond his own pleasure?

"It would do him no harm to learn a lesson in responsibility," Lord Chance said in neutral tones.

Lady Chance pressed a hand to her breast, her eyes pleading. "He has endured too much, Oliver. We must be patient."

Sarah thought the earl's masculine features hardened, but he gave a ready nod of his head. "As you wish."

A rather awkward silence descended. Well aware she was out of place, Sarah rose to her feet.

"I should be returning home."

Lord Chance promptly turned in her direction. "I will drive you."

"There is no need."

"I insist."

Well aware that Lady Chance was regarding her with a curious gaze, Sarah had little choice but to concede to the inevitable. "Thank you." Moving forward, she stiffly placed her hand upon his offered arm.

"You will ensure Ben is well, Oliver?" his mother demanded.

"As always." He glanced down at Sarah's troubled eyes. "Come, Miss Cresswell."

Nine.

Rumbling along in his carriage, Chance heaved a rueful sigh.

The morning had dawned with a gray drizzle. Warm in his bed, he had lingered far longer than usual before at last rising and making his way down to his breakfast.

Only when he was leisurely enjoying his slice of ham and lightly boiled egg had he been struck by a horrid thought: Surely Miss Cresswell would not be so foolish as to walk to his mother's. It had taken less than a heartbeat for him to have his answer.