She gave a teasing curtsy. "Thank you, sir."

His dark gaze stroked over her upturned countenance. "You have a gift for making life better for others," he said in soft tones. "A rare gift."

Her heart faltered at his compliment. It was perhaps the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

"Was there something you needed?" she demanded in an effort to distract him.

He took a long moment before a rueful smile twisted his lips. "I am uncertain."

Sarah gave a startled blink. Lord Chance uncertain? She would have thought the sky would fall before this utterly confident gentleman would admit to being uncertain of anything.

"I beg your pardon?"

He crossed his arms over the width of his chest. "I awoke this morning with every intention of examining my latest crate from Greece, followed by lunch with Lord Grayson and an afternoon reviewing the accounts from my estate. This evening I had planned to attend two soirees and a ball."

Sarah discovered herself decidedly puzzled by his smooth retort. "It appears you are quite in demand."

"And yet I awoke this morning, dressed, and without even bothering with breakfast, I called for my carriage to drive me here."

Sarah discovered her breath eluding her as she met his dark gaze. "Why?"

He stepped even closer, his hand reaching up to tease the curls about her forehead. "That is what I am attempting to determine."

She knew she should step away, but her legs refused to cooperate. Indeed, it took all her effort not to sway even closer to his large frame.

Thankfully, her shocking weakness was never discovered as a short, heavy-set woman with iron-gray hair bustled into the room. Sarah awkwardly turned as the woman walked directly to the table beside her and placed an armful of greenery on it.

"Here we go, dear."

"Thank you, Mrs. Sparks," Sarah murmured, about to suggest to Lord Chance that he return to his previous plans when he slowly reached out to pluck a tiny bit of greenery with white berries.

"Well, well. What have we here?" he drawled.

"Mistletoe, my lord," Mrs. Sparks promptly retorted.

A devilish grin touched his handsome features. "A most intriguing plant, do you not agree, Miss Cresswell?"

There was a flutter in her lower stomach, but she managed to shrug. "No more intriguing than any other plant, my lord."

He gave a teasing click of his tongue. "Come now. What of you, Mrs. Sparks?"

Surprisingly, the older woman gave a pleased chuckle. "Well sir, I must admit to a mite of fun beneath the mistletoe when I was a lass. Now I fear I am too old for such nonsense."

"One is never too old," Lord Chance denied. Then, with a languid motion, he raised the mistletoe and placed a chaste kiss on the older woman's cheek.

Mrs. Sparks blushed with pleasure, clearly bewitched by the charming gentleman. "Ah, what a rascal you are," she said. Then she flashed a coy glance at the silent Sarah. "I suppose I should return to the kitchen and ensure the young ones haven't emptied my larder."

With a satisfied smile, the woman hurried out of the room, leaving behind a distinctly wary Sarah. She did not trust Lord Chance in this teasing mood. More importantly, she did not trust herself.

Waiting until Mrs. Sparks had firmly shut the door behind her, Lord Chance held out the mistletoe.

"Now, Miss Cresswell, I believe it is your turn," he said, smiling in anticipation.

Sarah took a firm step backward. She had spent far too many sleepless nights because of this gentleman's kisses. She had no need for more. "Certainly not."

He promptly followed to stand close enough for her to smell the sweet warmth of his skin. "It is tradition."

"Why do you not take it to your soirees and balls?" she suggested in dry tones. "No doubt there will be a clutch of hen-witted maidens anxious to oblige you."

"No doubt," he readily agreed. "However, I have no interest in hen-witted maidens."

"Perhaps you should, sir."

"Now you sound like my mother," he complained with a grimace. "How she can possibly expect me to reveal an interest in chits who never open their lips except to giggle defies comprehension."

Sarah felt a stab of distaste at his casual reference to the numerous debutantes that filled London. Absurd, of course. She had never desired to gad about Society, and certainly she possessed no wish to be bartered off to the highest title. But somehow the knowledge that this man would soon be choosing his countess from among such maidens left a sour taste in her mouth.

"They cannot be so bad," she forced herself to retort.

"No." He gave a slow shake of his head. "The drawing rooms, of course, are filled with intelligent, well-read young ladies, but for all their numerous charms, not one has lingered in my thoughts."

She wished he would not gaze at her in that manner, she thought as her heart gave a leap. As if there was no one else in the world but her.

"One is bound to, eventually."

"How is that possible when my thoughts are filled by you?" he asked softly.

A poignant warmth flooded her body at his words, but Sarah battled to maintain her composure. "Very charming, my lord."

His brows knit together at her determinedly light tone. "You believe I am flirting with you?"

"Are you not?"

There was a long pause before he at last heaved a sigh. "I wish I knew."

Sarah was not comforted to discover he was as baffled as she by the tug of attraction between them. What did it matter that he desired her as a woman? This time together would soon come to an end, and he would return to his proper debutantes.

"I should be returning to my work," she stiffly retorted.

His hand reached out to gently cup her chin. "Do I not get my kiss?"

Sarah shivered. "I do not think it is wise."

"Sarah." His expression softened, his voice husky with need. "For once can we not be wise?"

No, a voice firmly warned her from the corner of her mind, but it was no match for the bittersweet ache that clutched at her heart.

"I ... yes . . ."

With exquisite care, his dark head lowered. She braced herself for the branding heat of his kiss, but instead his caress was feather light, barely brushing her lips. She shuddered, swaying to lean against his chest. His mouth moved to press against her closed eyes, her wide brow, and down her cheek to the curve of her neck.

"You have bewitched me," he murmured against her satin skin.

Sarah sucked in a shaky breath, inhaling the scent of his soap and the pungent odor of evergreens. She felt intoxicated, as giddy as the first occasion, she had secretly sampled her father's brandy. And just as on that occasion, she knew deep down she was bound to regret her impulsive behavior.

"Please . . ." she at last managed to croak. "You must go."

She felt him still before he was reluctantly pulling away to regard her with a somber expression.

"I will go, but we both know I shall return. I cannot help myself." His head swooped down for one last, lingering kiss. "Good-bye, my dear."

Twelve.

When Lord Chance arose the next morning, he was wise enough to resist the urge to seek out Miss Cresswell. He had been absurd to think that a week away from the enticing minx would put an end to his simmering desire. Of course, in his own defense, he had never before encountered a female who had captured his attention past the initial thrill of attraction.

There had been the beautiful countess who had warmed his bed last year, the actress who had caught his fancy during the summer, and the delectable widow who had shared her favors throughout the pleasant autumn. None had managed to stir his interest once he had placed them out of his thoughts for a day or two.

But it had taken only a moment in the company of Miss Cresswell to convince him of his error. Nothing had altered in the long week he had forced himself to avoid her company. She was just as fascinating and just as damnably desirable as ever. And he was just as anxious to pull her into his arms and drown in her sweetness.

It was a wretched mess, he told himself.

Even had he wished to pursue his interest in Miss Cresswell, it was utterly impossible. She was neither respectable enough to become Countess of Chance nor disreputable enough to become his mistress. And so he was left to battle a desire that could not be satisfied, as well as the guilt of realizing he had done precious little to retrieve the missing diamonds.

Knowing he was far too restless to devote his attention to his studies, Chance called for his carriage and made his way the short distance to his mother's town house.

He was relieved to discover her at home. In short order, he was escorted to the private parlor at the back of the vast house.

Not surprisingly, Lady Chance regarded his entrance with a hint of curiosity. He rarely intruded without notice of his impending arrival.

"Good morning, Mother," he murmured as he crossed to kiss her offered cheek.

"Oliver, what a delightful surprise," she smiled, patting the cushion of the settee. "Shall I order tea?"

He shook his head as he settled his long frame on the cushion, careful not to wrinkle the unfashionably full skirt of his mother's figured silk gown.

"No, thank you."

"Have you heard from Ben?" she demanded in an anxious tone.

Chance was relieved that he had received a message from his brother only that morning. His mother always fretted when her youngest son was not beneath her watchful eye. Not that her watchful eye ever managed to keep his scapegrace brother from plunging into disaster, he wryly acknowledged. But if it brought Lady Chance comfort, that was all that mattered.

"Yes, he should return to London by the end of the week."

Lady Chance clapped her hands in pleasure. "Oh, then he shall be here for my gathering!"

"Who would dare miss the social event of the holiday season?" he drawled, a glint in his eyes.

"Hardly that, but it should be quite diverting." His mother preened. Then she gave a faint frown. "Of course I do wish you could convince Miss Cresswell to attend. Such a charming girl."

Chance stiffened. He had come to his mother's to put Miss Cresswell out of his thoughts. The last thing he desired was to discuss her numerous charms. "She appears quite adamant," he said in dismissive tones.

The older woman gave a faint pout. "I do not believe you have even attempted to convince her."

He lifted his dark brows at the accusation. "What would make you presume such a thing?"

"Well, she is obviously in love with you," Lady Chance shocked him by retorting. "Had you asked her to attend, she certainly would."

Chance surged to his feet in an awkward motion. He felt as if he had taken a blow to the stomach. "You are mistaken, Mother. Miss Cresswell is not in love with me," he rasped.

Lady Chance regarded him in vague bewilderment. "Then why was she seen driving in the park with you?"

Blast the London rattles, he silently cursed. Why could they not mind their own affairs? Miss Cresswell was above reproach. Indeed, she lived a life more full and worthy than any of the supposed ton. The thought that her name was being bandied about was untenable. "You should not listen to such worthless gossip," he told his mother.

"Then she was not with you?"

"Yes, but . . ." Chance halted in exasperation. Good gads, he could not explain his complex relationship with Miss Cresswell to his mother. He did not comprehend it himself.

A decidedly curious expression descended upon the older woman's countenance. "Why, I have never seen you so flustered, Oliver."

Chance did not miss the hopeful note in his mother's voice, a hope he was swift to dismiss. "Please, Mother, do not suppose that I am considering Miss Cresswell to become the next Lady Chance."

"Why ever not?" the current Lady Chance demanded. "She is beautiful, charming, and not at all intimidated by you."

His lips twisted. "Yes, I know."

"And I am not so old that I did not notice the way your gaze lingered upon her," she continued slyly.

Chance briefly closed his eyes. Of course his gaze had lingered. He truly believed he could gaze upon Miss Cresswell for the remainder of his days.

"It is impossible."

"Why?"

"Because she . . ."

"Oliver, for goodness sakes, what is it?" his mother demanded with a sharp impatience.

Feeling unjustly harassed, Chance realized that he would have to confess the truth. Now that his mother had taken the maggot into her head that Miss Cresswell would be a suitable daughter-in-law, she would drive him to distraction with her matchmaking efforts.

"She is the daughter of the Devilish Dandy," he burst out in blunt tones.

A stunned silence followed his words as Lady Chance struggled to accept the truth. "The jewel thief?"