"Charming, beautiful, and utterly self-absorbed," she promptly retorted.

Chance gave a sudden laugh. "A perfect match for Ben."

A rueful expression softened her features as she turned to meet his teasing smile. "Heaven forbid."

"Yes, indeed," he said. Then, as he noticed the way she wrapped her arms about herself, he gave a rueful smile. "You are cold."

"Perhaps a bit," she admitted.

Without pause, Chance headed for the gate. Once on the road, he deliberately turned toward the fashionable neighborhood nearby. He had traveled some distance before Miss Cresswell at last realized they were traveling even farther from her home.

"Where are we going?"

"You expressed a wish to view my collection," he said smoothly, not about to admit he was simply loath to have their time together come to an end.

"But I cannot go to your home," she protested, shocked.

He sent her a speaking glance. "You visit brothels, but you cannot visit my home?"

"I was concerned with your reputation, not mine," she informed him pertly.

"Being seen in the company of a beautiful maiden can do nothing but enhance my reputation," he drawled.

"Not if they think I am a tart."

He slowly allowed his gaze to sweep her lovely countenance. "No one could ever mistake you for anything but a lady."

She gave an exasperated laugh. "Do you always have your own way?"

Chance pulled his bays to a halt with less than his usual skill. "No," he admitted in low tones. Then, as his groom hurried to take command of the bays, he vaulted to the street and rounded the carriage to help Miss Cresswell alight. Holding her arm in deference to the icy steps, he led her through the front door and into the spacious foyer. He flashed the stunned butler a warning glance as he helped remove Miss Cresswell's cape. "Pate, please have tea sent to the library."

Taking her cape and Chance's coat and hat, the servant gave a jerky bow. "Very good, sir."

Reclaiming Miss Cresswell's arm, Chance firmly steered her toward his private sanctuary. He had no doubt his peculiar behavior would scandalize his staff. Certainly he had never brought any female to his home except his mother. But at the moment he was indifferent to the speculation that might be brewing below stairs. He had awakened that morning with the intention of enjoying his day, and that was precisely what he intended to do.

Sternly thrusting aside the tiny voice that whispered he was behaving in a manner at distinct odds with his reputation as the Flawless Earl, Chance pushed open the door to his library. Intending to lead his guest to the adjoining chamber, he halted as she gave a sudden gasp.

"Good heavens," Miss Cresswell breathed, her gaze wandering over the towering shelves that held hundreds of leather-bound books. "How wonderful."

Chance smiled at her bemused expression. "Do you enjoy books?"

"Very much. I envy your collection."

"I suppose, like most women, you are in alt over Lord Byron?"

"Actually, I prefer Shakespeare."

"Ah, a lady of classical taste," he murmured, his hand raising to gently brush the clinging snow from the curls framing her face. Of their own volition, his fingers moved to trail over her cheek and across the satin softness of her lips.

He heard her sharp breath before she took a step backward.

"You were going to show me your collection."

He dropped his hand and smiled in a rueful fashion. Both knew he had momentarily forgotten his reason for inviting her to his home.

"This way." He walked toward the door across the room and pushed it open, then stepped aside to allow Miss Cresswell to enter before him, remaining beside the door as she directly moved to study the numerous relics housed in glass cases.

In silence she moved from case to case, lingering for long moments to study the etchings he had framed above the cases. The drawings were his own creations of scenes from ancient Greek society that included the artifacts as they might have been used in daily life.

For nearly half an hour, she moved through the room. Chance discovered himself carefully observing her reaction to his beloved treasures. This was the first time he had shared his collection with anyone, though many knew of its existence, and he felt oddly vulnerable. For some reason, it was important that Miss Cresswell not dismiss his fascination as a peculiar fancy.

He was not disappointed.

Slowly turning, she regarded him with a smile of wonderment. "Did you draw these?" she asked softly.

He gave a slow nod. "Yes."

"They are exquisite."

Chance felt a flare of warmth at her obvious appreciation. He could think of no other person whose opinion he valued more. "They are clumsy at best, I fear," he replied as he stepped forward.

She gave a sudden laugh. "Modesty from the Flawless Earl?"

Smiling into her sparkling eyes, he led her to a smaller case in one corner. "I have the jewelry here."

With great care, he pointed out the delicate beads and finely scrolled bits of gold. He was surprised by her swift grasp of his explanations and her probing questions. As a rule, only fellow scholars actually encouraged his vast knowledge of the era. He was even further surprised when she lifted her head to regard him with a determined expression.

"You should have a showing."

"Like Elgin?" he asked, recalling the nobleman's recent display of his marbles.

"Why not?"

Chance pleated his dark brows. "It never occurred to me anyone else would be interested."

"It is a marvelous collection," she assured him. "It should be shared."

"I shall think upon it," he murmured, knowing he had already shared it with the one person who truly mattered. Perhaps someday he would consider a public display, but for now he was satisfied. "Are you ready for tea?"

"Yes."

With a few steps, they were back in the library. After placing Miss Cresswell on a settee near the heavy tea tray, he settled himself close beside her. "Will you pour?"

"If you wish."

With her usual graceful style, Miss Cresswell poured them both a cup of tea and arranged two plates with the numerous pastries. Accepting his plate, he promptly set it aside and turned back to closely study her delicate features.

As if unnerved by his steady regard, she hastily sipped her tea. "I do hope your mother is well," she burst out.

"Well and driving her staff to Bedlam as she prepares for her glorious party."

"And your brother?"

"I have heard nothing, but I predict he shall be back in London within the week."

She gave a faint frown. "I do hope so. We are running out of time."

"Yes," he agreed softly. "I fear you are right."

She set aside her tea and absently reached for a tiny cake to nibble upon. "What will you do if the diamonds are not discovered?"

He shrugged, a sharp tingle of awareness heating his blood as her tongue darted out to capture a stray crumb from her lip.

"Tell my mother the truth and hand the matter over to the runners."

"There must be something we can do," she muttered in frustration.

Chance slowly leaned forward, all thoughts of the Chance diamonds far from his mind. "Yes, we can enjoy these cakes my chef takes such pride in."

She tensed as she realized how close he had drawn. "They are delicious," she stammered, swallowing her last bite in a rush.

Chance's gaze narrowed at another crumb that lay tantalizingly on her lip. When he had invited Miss Cresswell to join him, he had fully planned to behave as a gentleman. Certainly he would never lure a maiden to his home with the hope of seducing her. Only the worse sort of debaucher would behave in such a shabby fashion. But for all his noble intentions, he discovered Miss Cresswell's unwitting appeal was far more potent than any mere man could hope to resist.

With exquisite care, he stroked his finger over her bottom lip, brushing the crumb away. "There," he breathed in a raw tone.

Her breath rasped through her parted lips. "My lord."

His finger slowly outlined her trembling lips. "I very much wish to kiss you, Miss Cresswell."

She shivered, her eyes wide. "You mustn't."

"No, I suppose not," he agreed with regret. "You could, of course, kiss me."

"Lord Chance."

"Or we could both simply lean forward and our lips would naturally meet."

"My lord," she protested, but Chance did not miss the unconscious manner in which she swayed toward him.

"Just a kiss," he groaned as he wrapped his arms about her and lowered his head. Their lips met, and Chance felt his heart skid to a halt. How soft and willing her mouth was beneath his own. As soft as a rose petal. He savored the tenderness, gently parting her lips. Until this moment, a kiss had been only a prelude to more enticing activities. Certainly he had never felt his entire body flood with such pure pleasure. Now he thought he would give his entire fortune to hold on to this precise moment.

But, of course, that was impossible. Even as his hands rose to cup her face, his sadly lacking wits made an untimely resurrection. With a deep sigh of reluctance, Chance forced himself to pull away and regard her bemused expression with a rueful smile. "Ah ... I promised myself faithfully I would behave as a gentleman. It is not normally such a difficult task."

Her head lowered as a flush stained her cheeks. "Perhaps I should go home."

Chance opened his mouth to protest, then, with a flare of regret, realized the wisdom of her words. As much as he might desire to remain with this maiden in his arms, he had overstepped every boundary of propriety. Indeed, he had trampled the boundaries beyond repair-not that he could actually bring himself to rue the impulsive kiss. It had been far too pleasurable for that. But he sensed Miss Cresswell's maidenly confusion. With a smooth motion he rose to his feet. "Yes."

Keeping her head lowered, Miss Cresswell surged to her feet. Chance was wise enough to keep a discreet distance as they made their way to the foyer and retrieved their outer garments. With the same discretion, they climbed into the curricle and made their way across town. He longed to demand what had brought the deep frown to her countenance. Was she furious with his rash behavior or simply as mystified as himself at the attraction between them? But she refused to even glance in his direction, warning him she was in no humor to share her inner thoughts.

Perhaps for the best, he acknowledged with a wry smile. He had no desire to ruin a perfectly lovely day with a well-deserved tongue lashing.

With that thought in mind, he pulled his pair to a halt and escorted Miss Cresswell to the door. Before she could slip away, however, he grasped her hand and raised it to his lips.

"Thank you for viewing my collection," he said softly.

Just for a moment, her head lifted to meet his watchful gaze. He thought he could detect a glow in her beautiful eyes, but before he could determine the emotions flitting across her pale countenance, she abruptly turned and fled into her foyer.

Chance grimaced as he made his way back to his waiting vehicle.

For a gentleman who once presumed he knew everything there was to know about the fairer sex, he was in a devilish fix. Good gads, he had risked his reputation, a revolt by his servants, and his own self-respect, all to spend the morning with Miss Cresswell.

A wise gentleman would plot a strategic retreat at this point.

Pondering his troubles, Chance had just climbed into his curricle when an elegantly attired dandy with a familiar eye patch minced his way down the street. Lifting an ebony cane in Chance's direction, Pierre Valmere advanced to halt beside the vehicle.

"A moment, my lord."

Chance regarded the peculiar gentleman with a hint of wariness. Uncle Pierre was far too smooth for his liking. Not precisely a dirty dish, he acknowledged, but not a gentleman he would ask to hold his purse. And as for being from France . . . well, Chance would lay his last groat that the man was about as French as himself.

Still, he was currently residing with Miss Cresswell, and Chance could hardly be anything but polite. "Monsieur Valmere."

"I have something of interest for you," he murmured, reaching into his pocket to remove a velvet bag. With a few deft movements, he had pulled the strings apart and allowed a long string of pearls to tumble into his gloved hand.

"Pearls?" Chance questioned, wondering if the man was hoping to secure a loan.

As if sensing his less than complimentary thoughts, Pierre flashed him a wicked smile. "Not just pearls. The Maxwell pearls, to be precise," he explained. "Recently sold to an acquaintance of mine for a tidy sum."

"Lord Maxwell," Chance breathed in sudden comprehension.

"I believe so."

"Pearls, not diamonds."

"Yes."

Chance shook his head. He freely admitted he had wanted Lord Maxwell to be responsible for the theft. He not only disliked the scoundrel, but he knew a gentleman would be as anxious as himself to avoid any hint of scandal. Now he was forced to concede his vague hopes were for naught. Maxwell would never have parted with this family heirloom if he possessed the diamonds.

"It appears Lord Maxwell was not involved in the theft," he grudgingly conceded.

"Not unless he is clever enough to sense a trap." Pierre smoothly returned the pearls to his pocket. "A most unlikely notion."

Realizing he owed this gentleman a great deal, Chance performed a half bow. "It appears I am once again in your debt."

The gentleman shrugged as he regarded Chance in a thoughtful manner.

"You were with my niece, non?"

Caught off guard by his abrupt question, Chance gave a slow nod. "Yes."