"You will not forget she is a lady?" he murmured, deliberately stroking his hands along the smooth wood of his cane.

Chance did not miss the significance of the gesture. He had no doubt the cane disguised a sword. He possessed a similar one himself. A rather wry smile touched his mouth. He never supposed he would be in the ignoble position of being threatened by a young maiden's guardian.

"I do not forget for a moment," he said in cold tones.

Pierre leaned forward. "I may be old and possess only one eye, but still I see," he warned with a glance that assured Chance he did see-all too well. "Have a care with Miss Cresswell."

Uncertain whether to be embarrassed or furious, Chance abruptly urged his restless horses into motion.

Good gads.

A devilish fix, indeed.

Eleven.

The snow had halted shortly after midnight-at half past midnight, to be precise. Sarah was well aware of the time, since she had devoted the greater part of the night staring out her window.

A ridiculous waste of time, she had assured herself, but that did not make sleep any easier to court.

In exasperation, she had at last arisen and attired herself in a sturdy gown. What she needed was something to occupy her mind, she told herself firmly. Perhaps then she would not be so hen-witted as to spend the entire night bemoaning her latest foolishness in the arms of Lord Chance.

After all, there was no reasonable explanation for why she found her breath elusive when Lord Chance was near, or why her heart halted when he touched her. Or why his kisses made her burn with an aching need.

It was as incomprehensible as the stars and the moon, and just as hopeless to attempt to alter.

Just a few more weeks, she had assured herself. Just a few more weeks and her time with Lord Chance would be at an end.

On the point of leaving her room and heading to the school, Sarah was halted as a note was delivered to her door informing her Emma had already called and awaited her in the front parlor.

With hurried steps, she had made her way to the parlor to greet her sister, giving her a hug before pulling her onto one of the tiny sofas.

"What a lovely surprise," she said, smiling.

"I hope this isn't an inconvenient time."

"Don't be a goose. Whenever is it inconvenient to see my own sister?" Sarah teasingly chided.

Surprisingly, Emma did not return her smile. "I wished to catch you before you left for your school."

With an effort, Sarah thrust aside her own troubles to concentrate upon Emma. She was well aware her sister would not have called unless there was something upon her mind.

Pouring them both a reviving cup of tea, she settled herself beside her sister and studied the pale countenance and the unmistakable shadows beneath Emma's eyes.

"You look weary," she said, frowning in concern.

Emma conjured a faint smile. "I must admit the Farwells are rather demanding."

"They are loathsome creatures who treat you more as a slave than a governess," Sarah retorted in blunt tones. Although Emma never complained, Sarah had occasionally called upon her sister, and it had taken little effort to discover the Farwells offered their servants barely concealed contempt and a thorough lack of compassion for their situation. It had taken every effort not to forcibly remove Emma from their poisonous clutches. "I wish you would return to your rooms here."

Emma gave a firm shake of her head. "I cannot. Besides, I have written to Lady Hartshore in Kent. She is seeking a companion."

Sarah felt her heart sink at her sister's words. Although she desperately wanted Emma away from the Farwells, it had never occurred to her she might travel so far away.

"You intend to leave London?"

"If Lady Hartshore will have me."

"But we shall hardly see you," Sarah protested.

An expression of discomfort flitted over Emma's delicate features. "I have decided I should quite enjoy life in the country. Unlike you and Rachel, I have never felt comfortable in town."

Sarah's heart clenched in sympathy. She was well aware Emma's discomfort was not due to London but the scandal of their father. She was also aware her sister hoped by fleeing to the country she could somehow hide from her past. A futile wish, Sarah realized, but she was wise enough to concede that Emma must come to acceptance in her own manner.

"I shall miss you," she said softly.

"Yes, I know." Emma reached out to pat Sarah's hand and smiled sadly. "Of course, it might be that Lady Hartshore shall decide I am not suitable."

Sarah was instantly on her mettle. Emma was the finest, dearest person she had ever met, and she would defy anyone to say otherwise.

"Nonsense. Only the veriest widgeon would not desire you as a companion."

Emma's smile twisted. She was clearly not as confident. "We shall see."

Sarah tilted her head to one side. She sensed that there was more troubling her sister than her upcoming interview with Lady Hartshore. "Is there a reason you wished to speak with me, Emma?"

Surprisingly, a flush of color stained Emma's face as she awkwardly set aside her cup. Sarah felt a twinge of unease as she waited for her sister's confession.

"Yes . . . I ..." Emma twisted her hands in her lap. "Actually, there has been some talk."

Sarah's unease deepened. Good heavens, did someone suspect that the Devilish Dandy had returned to London? "About Father?" she demanded in anxious tones.

"No." Emma swallowed heavily before lifting her head to meet Sarah's gaze. "About you."

Sarah gave a startled blink. Then, before she could help herself, she was chuckling in disbelief. "Goodness gracious, the rattles must be desperate to turn to me for their source of gossip. What have you heard?"

"Just that Lord Chance has been often seen in the company of a beautiful maiden with chestnut curls and blue eyes. It is also said the lady wears a sapphire pendant."

Sarah shook her head. She might have known any interest in her movements could be directly laid upon the shoulders of Lord Chance. Until he came into her life, the ton was thoroughly and thankfully unaware of her presence in London. "And you suspect me?"

Far less amused by the current gossip than Sarah, Emma thinned her lips. "Is it?"

"I am currently attempting to help Lord Chance with a family difficulty," she confessed.

"It is being whispered you are his current mistress."

Sarah stiffened at the blunt words. Although she was frankly indifferent to the rattle mongers, she did care that her sister could think so little of her morals.

"And you've come to inquire if the rumors are true?" she demanded in low tones.

Emma's eyes widened with shock at the question. "Certainly not. I would as soon believe that cows could waltz."

Sarah's heart warmed at the fierce tone. "Thank you, Emma."

"I was merely concerned," Emma said. "As of yet, no one seems to know who you are, but it is only a matter of time."

Sarah shrugged. "I suppose it was bound to occur. Lord Chance is too prominent among the ton not to be a constant source of interest to others."

Emma abruptly leaned forward, her expression somber. "You must not see him anymore."

Although it was a tempting thought, Sarah had already dismissed the notion. "I have promised him my help," she said firmly.

A frown touched Emma's brow. "But surely with the gossip you will reconsider?"

"I have never concerned myself with what others might say."

Emma was far from satisfied with Sarah's glib response. "You cannot wish your name to be bandied about in such a fashion."

Sarah could not halt her wry smile. She desperately wished her only concern was what others were saying. It would be far easier to dismiss than the realization Lord Chance was swiftly becoming a vital part of her existence.

"No," she admitted slowly, "but then I cannot halt vicious tongues from wagging, and I certainly will not allow my life to be ruled out of fear that my actions might raise a brow or two."

Emma sat back in an abrupt motion. "You are not the only one affected," she informed her sister in stiff tones.

Sarah heaved a small sigh. She would never wittingly hurt her sister. Emma had endured enough. But while she could sympathize with Emma's fear of scandal, she could not change who she was. "I am sorry, Emma, but I must follow my heart," she said in firm tones. "I cannot turn my back on those in need, whether it is a child or Madame Vallenway or Lord Chance. It is who I am."

A stricken expression suddenly descended upon Emma's countenance at the low words, and she reached out to grasp Sarah's hand. "Forgive me, Sarah," she pleaded in a husky voice.

Sarah smiled as she patted Emma's hand. "There is nothing to forgive. I am not indifferent to the discomfort you must endure."

"I had no right to come here and criticize," Emma admitted, her gaze filled with regret. "You are such a very good person."

"Poppycock," Sarah instantly denied. "I am opinionated, bossy, and often act without thinking."

"You are the kindest person I know," Emma loyally argued. Then, after a brief pause, she regarded Sarah with a hint of curiosity. "What of Lord Chance?"

Sarah found herself caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

"What is he like?"

"Opinionated and bossy," Sarah promptly retorted.

"As opinionated and bossy as you?" Emma demanded with a faint smile.

"Even more so."

"He is very handsome."

Sarah grimaced. Yes, he was handsome. And intelligent and charming enough to steal the heart of the most elusive maiden. But it was his unexpected kindness she found most unnerving.

How could she remain impervious to his thoughtful gifts for the school? Or his vulnerable delight in sharing his collection with her?

And as for his kisses . . . well, she tried her best not to even think of his kisses.

Why could he not have been a hardened rake or a misogynist, she thought ruefully, or even a pompous fool like most gentlemen she encountered? It would have made her life far simpler.

Of course, a tiny voice whispered, deep down she was not certain she entirely regretted meeting Lord Chance. Her life might have been simpler, but it would have been far duller as well. "Yes, he is very handsome," she at last conceded.

Easily sensing her sister's reluctance to discuss the nobleman, Emma narrowed her gaze. "Do you not like him?"

Sarah paused before she met her sister's gaze. "Sometimes too much."

Emma gasped at the unexpected confession. "Oh, Sarah."

"Do not fear." Sarah briskly sat straighter, her expression determined. "I am a very sensible young maiden and I never forget he is a gentleman quite beyond my touch."

"Do you think it is wise to continue to see him?"

"It is only until Christmas," Sarah said, as much to reassure herself as her sister. "After that I shall never see Lord Chance again."

Never again . . .

Her heart twisted.

With a sense of relief, Sarah heard the gong sound for lunch. With a loud cheer, the children rushed from the room to take their places in the kitchen. Alone, Sarah ruefully regarded the large room scattered with holly, evergreen branches, and decorations the children had painted.

When she had awakened that morning, the day had appeared so gray and dismal she had been determined to find some means of entertaining the children. Preparing for the holiday season had seemed a perfect means of lifting their spirits, and she had to admit it had been an unqualified success. Still, it was nice to enjoy a bit of peace before finishing the greenery that was to be hung on the walls and draped on the fireplace.

Absently gathering the branches that had been discarded, Sarah had just placed them in the bin when the sound of the door opening had her turning about.

Her breath caught at the sight of Lord Chance. It had been nearly a week since she had last seen him, and her gaze eagerly lingered on the deep jade coat that was fitted to his firm body and the glossy Hessians topped by buff breeches. For days she had dreaded his arrival. She had been certain she would feel awkward and embarrassed after their last encounter. But now that he was actually standing before her, she felt nothing but a warm flood of pleasure.

She remained silent as his own gaze roamed over her woolen gown and untidy curls. A brief regret that she was not elegantly attired was banished as a slow smile curved his lips. "Miss Cresswell," he said with a slight bow.

"My lord."

"How very festive the school appears," he complimented as he strolled to stand close beside her.

She wrinkled her tiny nose. "It is far too early to hang the holly, but the days have been so gray that I hoped to lift the children's spirits."

He glanced over the pile of decorations. "I applaud your efforts."