Unable to brave his piercing regard any longer, Sarah turned about, her hand pressing to the ache lodged deep in her stomach.

"How can we be?" she demanded in unsteady tones. "You now possess the diamonds. We shall never see one another again."

She thought she heard a sharp rasp at her low words.

"Is that what you desire?"

Sarah closed her eyes at the fierce urge to turn and throw herself into his arms. What would it serve? He would still be a gentleman far beyond her reach, and she would still be a maiden with too much honor to become his mistress.

Why prolong the pain?

"It is fate," she said in fierce tones. "We live in two separate worlds. Worlds that have nothing in common."

Although she did not hear him move, Sarah could feel the heat of his body as he halted mere inches from her rigid back. She shivered, desperately wishing she could halt her ridiculous reactions to his mere presence. No other gentleman had ever tangled her nerves in such a fashion.

"They did for a time." His husky words tingled down her spine.

"A time that has passed."

"And yet Lord Scott remains a part of your world."

Heavens above, why did he not leave her in peace, she wondered in desperation. He could not desire to continue their strange relationship. Did he feel guilt at walking away and leaving her once again on her own?

The mere thought he might pity her stiffened her resolve. She could not bear the thought of being the object of sympathy. She had survived a good many years without Lord Chance in her life. She would certainly survive when he was gone. "That is different," she said firmly.

"Ah, yes. He is such a dear friend." The mocking bitterness in his tone gave her the strength to turn and stab him with a glittering gaze.

"What do you want from me?"

"I ..." He halted at the sight of her rigid expression, a nerve twitching in his tightly clenched jaw. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Sarah drew in a shuddering breath, needing to be away from this man who created such a burning ache in her heart. "Perhaps you would be kind enough to drive me home."

His lips thinned. "Of course."

In brittle silence, they left the town house and entered the waiting carriage. Sarah determinedly stared out the small window as if she had never before beheld the passing houses and the occasional street vendor braving the frigid rain.

Inside the carriage, the air was even more frigid. Sarah could feel his black gaze searing her profile, but she forced herself to maintain her stoic silence. There was nothing left to say.

Nothing but good-bye.

The drive across town seemed to last an eternity, but at last they pulled to a halt. His precise manners too ingrained to ignore, he stiffly escorted her to the door.

As they waited for Watts to make his appearance, Lord Chance cleared his throat. "Thank you, Miss Cresswell, for all you did for my family."

Sarah kept her gaze firmly on the tips of her boots. "You are welcome, my lord."

"I ... I hope you have a happy Christmas."

She shivered, knowing her Christmas was bound to be as bleak as the weather. "I wish you the same," she muttered. Then, as the door at last opened, she breathed out a shaky sigh. "Good-bye, my lord."

She did not wait to discover if he had anything further to say. Indeed, she practically dashed through the open door and into the foyer. She had to be away from Lord Chance. She did not want him to see the tears already blurring her gaze.

Her flight led her up the stairs and to the landing before she was abruptly halted as her father stepped out of the library.

"There you are, my dear," he pronounced with a pleased smile. "Join me for tea?"

Sarah blinked back her tears with an effort. Dear heavens, all she wanted was the solitude of her room so she could nurse her wounds in private.

Surely that was not so much to ask for.

"No, thank you," she murmured, her head bent to hide her distress.

The Devilish Dandy, however, was far too shrewd to be easily fooled. He swiftly moved to stand at her side. "What has occurred?"

Knowing it would be a wasted effort to attempt to deceive Solomon Cresswell, Sarah reluctantly lifted her pale countenance. "The diamonds have been recovered."

Solomon arched a dark brow. "Indeed?"

"Yes, Mr. Coltran's friend had taken them."

There was a brief pause as her father carefully studied her reddened eyes. "I suppose Lord Chance is pleased?"

"Very pleased."

"And you?" he asked softly.

She lifted her hands in a vague motion. "Relieved that it is at an end."

Her father's lips twisted with wry disbelief. "You look as if you have lost your best friend."

Sarah felt her stomach twist. Her father was precisely right. She had lost her best friend. Beyond the tingling heat he inspired and the pleasurable sensation of being a desirable female, there was the utter delight of simply being in his company-the way he made her laugh, the absolute attention he gave to her every word, and how he had shared with her the man behind the image of the Flawless Earl.

That is what she would miss.

Every single day of her life.

Still, she was not prepared to share such emotions with anyone. Not even her father. "I am quite well," she lied.

Solomon tilted his head to one side. "Will you be seeing Lord Chance again?"

"No." She shook her head, her hands pressed to her stomach. "Why should I?"

"Because you love him."

Sarah gasped as she took an instinctive step backward. Had she been so obvious? "Absurd."

"Sarah." With a swift motion, Solomon removed the satin eye patch to regard her in an uncharacteristically somber fashion. "You cannot fool me. I have seen it in your eyes. You have fallen love with Lord Chance."

Her lips trembled as she battled to maintain her composure. "What would it matter if I had? Nothing could come from such emotions."

He reached out to gently tip her face upward. "Why?"

She reluctantly met his gaze. There were moments when she wondered what life might have been like if her father had been just another gentleman among the ton, what it might have been like to be raised free of scandal and with every opportunity to move through Society as any other debutante. But such thoughts were always swiftly dismissed. Whatever his numerous faults, she did love her father, and never for a moment did she doubt his love for her.

"Oh, Father, you of all people should know why," she said with a sad smile.

A grimace of regret marred his thin features. "Because you are my daughter."

Sarah stepped back. The day had been fraught with emotional confrontations. She did not feel capable of facing yet another. "Please forgive me, Father. I must lie down."

She turned toward the stairs that led to her private chambers as her father's voice floated softly through the air. "I am sorry, Sarah...."

Her head bowed in sorrow. "Yes, I know, Father."

Fifteen.

The Grecian bowl was exquisite.

Delicately molded, with traces of the original paint still intact, it was one of his best purchases to date. And yet, as he aimlessly sketched the priceless object, Lord Chance was forced to acknowledge it might as well be a lump of clay.

Blast and damnation.

With an exasperated motion, he tossed aside his piece of charcoal.

He had been so determined when he had awakened this morning. It had been two days since he had left Sarah at her home and driven away, two days that he had moped about this blasted house and accomplished little more than emptying a number of brandy bottles. Today he had risen with the resolution to put Miss Cresswell out of his thoughts and return to the life that had always brought him a great deal of satisfaction.

After all, she had made it decidedly clear that their relationship was at an end. She would not even accept a paltry gift for her efforts. And he had known from the beginning his connection would be but a fleeting thing. Even when he had held her in his arms and tasted her sweetness, he had known deep within him his desire was doomed to remain unquenched.

So why could he not reclaim the contentment he had once taken for granted?

He pressed his slender fingers to his temples in an effort to relieve the pain in his head.

At least the diamonds had been returned, he attempted to console himself. It was the day before Christmas, and tonight, when his mother prepared for her grand event, she would have no inkling they had ever been missing. Her only regret would be that her beloved son had taken an odd notion to travel to their estate in Kent.

It was a hollow triumph, he was forced to acknowledge. He had regained the diamonds, but in the process he had lost the most beautiful and gracious woman in the world. Hardly a fair bargain.

The pounding in his head only increased at the thought of his mother's party. Gads, the last thing he desired was to be surrounded by a hundred chattering guests as he attempted to pretend that all was right with the world. And worse would be the endless debutantes with their determined mamas all angling to attract his elusive interest. How could he not compare them to the woman who was so utterly their superior?

He would give his fortune to send his regrets. Surely he could conjure some dread ailment to excuse his presence. But the knowledge that he had already taken Ben from her side halted his desire to cry craven. His mother would never forgive him if he left her in the lurch.

No, duty demanded that he at least make an appearance for the party, as well as attend the Christmas supper she was sure to have planned for the morrow.

Duty.

Chance grimaced. He was swiftly beginning to despise the very word.

The sound of the library door being pushed open brought his dark thoughts to an abrupt end. The sight of his butler did nothing to ease his sudden tension. The last occasion Pate had intruded upon his privacy he had discovered his brother was a thief. He did not need yet another disaster.

"Pardon me, my lord," Pate murmured.

Chance leaned back in his seat in a weary motion. "What is it, Pate?"

"A Monsieur Valmere to see you."

"Damn," Chance muttered in exasperation. He had spent several hours pondering the mysterious Monsieur Valmere. Although he had come to no firm conclusions, he was certain the man was not who he pretended to be. He also suspected he was more closely related to Sarah than either wished to admit.

What the devil could he want?

Did he desire the reward Sarah had so vehemently refused?

If he were indeed the Devilish Dandy, it would certainly fit his style.

"Shall I tell him you are not at home?"

Chance smiled wryly, wishing he could rid himself of the gentleman so easily. "Do not bother. I have a peculiar notion that if Monsieur Valmere desires to speak with me, there is precious little we can do to halt him."

Pate gave a startled blink. "My lord?"

"Just show him in," Chance commanded with a sigh.

"Very good."

"Oh, and bring my best brandy," he called out as the butler backed through the doorway. "I shall no doubt have need of it."

Rising to his feet, Chance glanced briefly at the pier mirror over the side table. Despite his elegant plum coat and precisely knotted cravat, there was a pallor to his countenance he could not conceal, which was no doubt the reason his servants had been tiptoeing through the house as if there had been a death in the family, he acknowledged wryly. Odd, considering they had been annoyingly jubilant after his rather scandalous tte--tte with Miss Cresswell.

With an elegant motion, he adjusted a dark curl, and then turned to regard the decidedly flamboyant gentleman who swept through the door.

"My lord." Monsieur Valmere performed a deep bow.

"Monsieur Valmere."

"So good of you to see me."

Chance raised his brows. "Did I have a choice?"

A hint of a smile touched the thin face. "No."

Just for a moment there was something in that countenance that sharply reminded him of Sarah. He stiffened in pain. Gads, would he ever find peace? "What do you desire?"

The gentleman nonchalantly crossed his arms over the width of his chest. "You surely realize I've come to speak with you of Miss Cresswell."