An awkward silence descended. For the first time realizing she had stepped out without so much as a shawl, Sarah gave a sudden shiver. "I should arrange to have the supplies stored lest they be piled in the center of the kitchen."

"I will gather my men," Lord Chance promised.

Returning inside, Sarah set about arranging the load of supplies being hauled in by a number of footmen. In a surprisingly short time, the carts had been unloaded. Slipping into her office, Sarah put a kettle onto her fire. For a moment she battled her nerves. Then, assuring herself she was only doing what was proper, she stepped out of her office and signaled Lord Chance to enter her private domain. He came without hesitation and firmly shut the door behind his large form.

Sarah felt a brief flare of panic as she realized just how close they were forced to be in the confined space of the office, but, turning to pour them both a cup of tea, she sternly dismissed her ridiculous unease. So what if she could smell the clean scent of his soap and feel the heat from his body? She was certainly mature enough to behave as a lady.

Wasn't she?

Firmly taking command of the situation, she handed him one of the cups. "I thought you had earned some tea."

He smiled as he took a sip. "Ah ... a private bounty."

"It is the strictest secret," she assured him.

"Nothing could pry the truth from my lips," he promised. Then, as he became aware of her unconsciously probing survey, he lifted his brows. "Why do you regard me in such a quizzical fashion?"

Abruptly realizing she had been staring, Sarah was forced to blurt out the first thing that came to her mind. She could hardly confess she was pondering what it was about this gentleman that so disrupted her normal composure. "I was merely thinking you must have far more entertaining pursuits than carrying coal for schoolchildren."

Thankfully, he appeared to accept her words at face value. "If you are speaking of the various soirees and assemblies, then you are wide of the mark, my dear," he drawled.

"You do not enjoy the social whirl?"

He paused as if debating whether to confess the truth. "I far prefer devoting my time to my collection of Grecian relics," he at last confessed.

Sarah did not need to pretend her surprise. "You are a scholar?"

"A very amateur one." His gaze lowered to inspect the remaining tea in his cup. "Would you desire to see my collection?"

The abrupt invitation caught her off guard. Before she could halt her words, she was giving a pleased nod of her head. "I should like that very much."

His dark gaze abruptly rose. "Thank you."

That breathless sensation once again threatened her, when suddenly the office door was pushed open. Lord Chance moved hastily forward as Mrs. Surton entered the cramped room, at last squeezing in beside Sarah to avoid being run down.

Sarah shivered at the imprint of his large body pressed close to her own, all too conscious of his breath stirring the chestnut curls atop her head. There was no room, however, to place a more proper distance between them. With as much dignity as possible under the circumstances, she regarded the unexpected intruder. "Mrs. Surton."

"There you are, Miss Cresswell."

"My lord, may I introduce Mrs. Surton? Mrs. Surton, Lord Chance."

Expecting the older woman to punish her with a sermon on being alone with a gentleman, she was surprised when Mrs. Surton did nothing more alarming than nod in Lord Chance's direction. "My lord."

Still uneasy at being caught alone with a gentleman, Sarah rushed into an explanation. "Lord Chance has quite generously donated a number of supplies for the school."

"Oh? How kind."

Sarah frowned, convinced the woman must be ill. It was one thing to overlook Lord Chance's presence in her office. It was quite another to miss the perfect opportunity to preen her own charitable efforts before such an envied member of the ton.

"Did you wish to speak with me?" she asked in cautious tones.

"No . . . I simply wished to assure myself all was well with the children."

"Quite well, thank you."

Mrs. Surton awkwardly cleared her throat. "Your uncle is not with you today?"

Sarah felt her heart sink. Good heavens. It was little wonder the woman was so distracted. The Devilish Dandy could make the most sensible woman behave as a cabbage head. "Ah, no. I fear not."

"I suppose he prefers to spend such a cold day before the fire."

The image of her father placidly huddled beside a fire made Sarah choke back a chuckle. Far more likely he was fleecing some poor soul of an inheritance.

"I believe he mentioned a visit to the tailor," she hastily lied.

"Of course." Mrs. Surton gave a heartfelt sigh. "Such an elegant gentleman."

"Ah ... yes."

Abruptly realizing she had revealed more than she intended, Mrs. Surton straightened in a brisk motion. "Well, I must not linger. When you do see your uncle, please give him my regards."

"Certainly."

Nodding, the woman disappeared from the room. Quite unexpectedly, Lord Chance tilted back his head to laugh with unabashed amusement.

"Good gads, the most dangerous enemy known to man ... a marriage-minded female. I suggest Uncle Pierre consider a swift return to Paris."

Sarah favored him with a jaundiced glance. "I could not possibly be so fortunate."

Ten.

December arrived with a flurry of snow.

Arising early, Chance stood at his window and experienced a tingle of anticipation. He had always loved the first snow. Perhaps it was childish, but there was something exhilarating in the pristine white that transformed the landscape into a fairyland.

Without giving himself time for second thoughts, Chance abruptly donned his clothes and called for his curricle. He wanted to enjoy the fine morning, and he could imagine no better companion than Miss Cresswell.

Taking the reins himself, he swiftly made his way across town and halted before the small house. He never paused as he tossed the reins to his groom and vaulted onto the street.

Oddly, it never occurred to him as he hastened up the steps that it was far too early to reasonably call on a young maiden. He only knew he desired to see Miss Cresswell on this wondrous morning.

He was kept waiting a moment before the door was at last pulled open by a startled Watts. "Good morning, Watts. Is Miss Cresswell in?"

"Oh ... yes, this way."

Chance allowed himself to be led up the stairs to the small parlor at the back of the house. Upon entering the room, he discovered Miss Cresswell seated upon a sofa, reading the morning paper. An unconscious smile touched his lips at the sight of her sturdy woolen gown and the manner her curls had been tamed into a tidy bun. She made no effort to attract attention to herself, and yet her natural grace and elegance was far more appealing than any expensive artifice.

His gaze lingered on the purity of her profile, thrown into relief by the blazing fire. There was a great deal of character in that profile, he decided, and an inner strength that made her as exasperating as she was admirable.

As if sensing she was no longer alone, Miss Cresswell abruptly turned her head to regard him with a startled expression. "My lord."

Performing an elegant bow, he offered her his most engaging smile. "Forgive me for intruding at such an unreasonable hour."

"Has something occurred?"

"Actually, it is such a lovely day I wished to take you for a drive."

She gave a swift glance toward the window. "But . . . it is snowing."

"Yes, most perfect weather for a turn in the park," he informed her. Then, as her mouth opened to refuse his request, he swiftly continued, "And you needn't fear. It is far too early in the day for others to be about."

She gave a firm shake of her head. "I do not think that it would be a good notion."

"Why?"

"I will be expected at the school."

"Surely they can survive one morning without you," he said softly.

"Perhaps, but I still feel it would be best if . . ."

"Please come." He overrode her words, uncertain why it was so vital that she agree to his request. "I promise I will not keep you long."

For a moment, Miss Cresswell wavered between propriety and his persuasive pleadings. At last she gave in to temptation. "Very well. I will collect my coat."

It took a few moments for Miss Cresswell to prepare herself for the unexpected outing, but with a minimum of fuss they were comfortably settled in the curricle, and Chance had his bays swiftly headed toward the park.

For a time they rode in a peaceful silence. Then Chance turned to regard his companion. "There, is this not refreshing?"

"It is most certainly brisk," she retorted, shivering.

He gave a low chuckle. "Do you not enjoy the snow?"

"I have to admit I have never given it much thought."

"When I was but a lad, I used to rush to the window every morning in the hope of discovering snow. It made everything magically different, as if I had been given a new land to explore. Does that sound absurd?"

A sudden smile curved her lips. "Not at all. I can just imagine you as a precocious pirate bat-ding snow drifts."

Chance felt his breath catch in his throat. She was so lovely, her cheeks reddened by the sharp breeze and the snowflakes clinging to her tangle of black lashes. His heart gave an odd twinge as he forced his gaze back to the road. "And what made you run to the window in the morning?" he asked in a deliberately light tone.

"I was usually attempting to ascertain where I was," she answered in dry tones. "As you can imagine, we spent little time in any one location."

Chance's smile fled at her words. Damn the Devilish Dandy. How could he have exposed his daughters to such a dangerous and scandalous existence? It went beyond the pale.

"You deserved better," he said as he efficiently turned into the park.

He felt her shrug. "It could have been worse. My father was kind when he recalled we were about, and I always had my sisters near."

Chance battled his instinctive flare of exasperation at her calm acceptance of her fate. "You are very forgiving."

"No," she denied in a low voice, "I simply realize I cannot change the past. I prefer to concentrate on the future."

With little traffic in the park, Chance risked a glance at those amazing blue eyes. "And what do you see in your future?"

Just for a moment her eyes darkened, as if in pain. Then she gave a sharp shake of her head. "I shall no doubt continue with the school."

"What of a family?" he probed, without understanding precisely why.

She slowly lowered her gaze. "I think we both know that is an impossible dream."

Of course he knew it, he told himself. No gentleman could reasonably tie his name to that of a renowned jewel thief. He held a duty to his family and his position to marry a respectable maiden who could bring only honor to their union.

No matter what the temptation.

"It is a bloody . . . deuced situation," he muttered.

As if startled by his fierce tone, she lifted her head to meet his glittering gaze. "I have my sisters and, of course, my ... Uncle Pierre. It is enough."

"It should not have to be."

"We must accept what fate has given us." She paused for a long moment. "Do you not have your own fate?"

Chance shied from the question. He did not wish to consider the knowledge that his fate included marriage to a staunchly proper maiden who would perform her duty and fill his nursery with heirs. Until this moment, it had never particularly bothered him. Now the mere thought made his stomach twist with distaste.

"It is too lovely a day to spoil with thoughts of fate," he said firmly. "Tell me instead of your sisters."

She flashed him a puzzled frown. "You cannot possibly be interested."

"I am interested in everything about you," he told her softly.

He thought he glimpsed a darkening in her eyes before she firmly turned to offer him her profile. "As I told you before, Emma is a governess and Rachel is staying with friends."

"But what are they like?"

There was a pause before she lifted one shoulder. "Emma is gentle and kind, but very independent."

"Much like you," he murmured.

She ignored his words. "Unfortunately, she is also very troubled by our father. I have tried to ease her pain, but she retreats from others."

"And what of Rachel?"