With a swift motion Lady Hartshore was on her feet, her hands pressed together.

"I shall begin making out the list this moment."

She scurried from the room, leaving behind a bemused Emma.

Well, if she hadn't needed a brisk walk before, she certainly needed one now, Emma told herself wryly.

With determined steps she moved out of the room, then, collecting her spencer, she headed for the solitude of the garden.

Once assured she was alone, she slowed her steps and drew in a deep breath.

A Valentine ball?

The mere thought was enough to give her the hives.

Hardly surprising, she admitted.

The last ball she had attended had been an unmitigated disaster.

Her eyes grew dark as she recalled the horrid night. Strangely, it had all started off so well. Sarah had ordered her a new gown with white lace and tiny roses around the hem. She had been surrounded by eager young gentlemen the moment she had entered the ballroom, making her feel almost beautiful.

Unfortunately she had not realized that her father had been captured that morning, nor that his true identity was spreading through London with the speed of a wildfire. It was not until the hostess had approached her in the middle of the dance floor and shrilly demanded that she leave her house at once that she understood what had occurred.

Emma would never forget the long walk from the silent room. Or the disgusted gazes from her supposed friends as she had left.

Not one soul stepped forward to ease the shame that clutched at her heart. Or offered her a kind word to prove their loyalty.

She had been condemned a social outcast and no one would risk her bitter plight. Reputation was of far greater importance than loyalty or friendship to those of the ton.

Less than two weeks later, Emma had taken a position as governess for the Falwells.

Emma gave a faint shake of her head.

She supposed she had always known that the truth of her father would be revealed. Perhaps even a part of her had accepted the humiliating episode as her due for being the daughter of the Devilish Dandy. But that did not ease the regret that still lingered deep in her heart.

How different might her life have been had she been just ordinary Miss Cresswell and not the notorious daughter of the Devilish Dandy, she thought.

Would she be wed with her own family?

Would she be surrounded by friends?

"Miss Crane."

Pulled out of her thoughts by the imperious call, Emma reluctantly turned to discover Mr. Allensway hurrying in her direction. Her heart sank at the sight of his determined expression.

"Oh, Miss Crane," he called again, as if fearing she might make a mad dash for freedom before he could catch her.

Not that the thought did not cross her mind, she acknowledged as the gentleman came to a halt beside her. There was something in the vicar's thin smile that sent a rash of warning through her.

"Cresswell," she corrected him in firm tones.

He regarded her in puzzlement. "Pardon me?"

"My name is Miss Cresswell."

"Ah ... yes." He gave a shrug, as if the name of a mere servant were irrelevant. "May I have a moment?"

"If you wish."

As if sensing her reluctance, Mr. Allensway stretched his smile to reveal his prominent teeth.

"How are you enjoying Kent?"

She eyed him warily, well aware he had not approached her to discuss her opinion of Kent.

"It is very peaceful."

"Yes." He fingered his stiff cravat. "Tell me, did you know Lady Hartshore before becoming her companion?"

"No, I was hired in London."

"Ah." He gave a delicate cough. "Then it must have been something of a shock when you arrived at Mayford."

Emma hid a wry smile. Shock was rather an understatement.

"It was not precisely what I had been expecting," she hedged.

The vicar gave a sympathetic click of his tongue. "No, a gently reared lady such as yourself must find it very awkward. Yes, very awkward."

Oddly, Emma stiffened at his soft words. He was saying nothing more than she had said to herself on a dozen separate occasions. And yet she could not deny the stab of anger that raced through her body.

"Lady Hartshore is very kind."

"Oh, yes, do not think that I do not greatly admire Lady Hartshore. And, of course, Mr. Carson," he smoothly assured her, pressing his hands to his heart in a futile effort to appear sincere. "Still, I do find myself concerned at your unfortunate position."

Her eyes narrowed. "Unfortunate position?"

"Well, my dear, you must realize that this rather peculiar household is bound to cause its share of gossip. I would not like to see an innocent maiden's reputation tarnished in any manner."

She should have trembled with fear at his words. His insinuations struck at her deepest concerns. How could she bear to once again be the center of gossip and cruel amusement?

Instead, her hands clenched in anger.

"I have done nothing to tarnish my reputation, Mr. Allensway."

The gentleman sent her a pitying glance. "Simply being at Mayford is enough to set tongues wagging, I fear. You know how people can be. And Lady Hartshore's odd behavior is bound to create twitters."

"I would hope that true Christians would have more productive things to do with their time than mock others," she said in cold tones.

Undaunted, Mr. Allensway lifted his hands in a helpless motion. "Indeed, but human nature is human nature."

Emma had endured enough. She was well acquainted with human nature. Including bumptious encroachers who cared for nothing beyond their selfish desires.

Commanding an unconscious hauteur, she glared at her unwelcome companion in an icy fashion.

"What do you desire from me, Mr. Allensway?"

The vicar appeared momentarily startled by her less than servile demeanor. Then, with an ingratiating smile, he at last came to the point of his visit.

"Well, as you are in a position of trust with Lady Hartshore, I thought perhaps you might speak with her concerning her habit of referring to Lord Hartshore as if he were still alive. I'm certain that a few well-spoken words would reveal to her that such ungodly behavior is unseemly for a countess."

So, that was why he had lowered himself to speak with a mere servant, she thought with a flare of disgust. The nasty little toad.

"Lady Hartshore truly believes that she speaks with her husband. No one can convince her otherwise," she said in lofty tones.

His lips thinned at her perverse refusal to concede to his wishes.

"At least you could speak to her about the gossip she is stirring. It does, after all, affect you as well."

At the moment Emma had no thought to the inevitable gossip that might be twittering through the neighborhood. She knew only that Lady Hartshore was a kind and generous woman who was far superior to this nodcock.

"No, Mr. Allensway."

He gave a blink of surprise. "What?"

"No, I will not speak with Lady Hartshore regarding her husband," she said in slow, concise tones. "Not only is it not my place, but I have no desire to do so. If it comforts her to speak with Lord Hartshore, then it is no one else's concern. Least of all yours."

Without warning the sound of clapping hands rang through the garden and the large form of Lord Hartshore stepped from behind a hedge.

"Bravo, Miss Cresswell," he congratulated Emma, smiling deep into her startled eyes.

Cedric was not above eavesdropping.

When he had spotted Miss Cresswell and the vicar in the garden, he had deliberately moved to stand behind the hedge.

He had no interest in Mr. Allensway. There was no doubt the sly little twit was up to something devious. He would never lower himself to speak with a mere servant unless he hoped to gain something from the situation. But he was very curious in how Miss Cresswell would respond to the vicar's demands.

He had not been disappointed.

She had not even paused in her staunch defense of her employer. Despite her own misgivings and reluctance to remain at Mayford, she had protected Lady Hartshore with a fierce loyalty that had made his heart flare with warmth.

Miss Cresswell might profess a burning desire to return to London, but she was no more immune to the charm of Lady Hartshore than anyone else.

All except the local vicar.

Slowly turning from the lovely countenance of Miss Cresswell, he stabbed Mr. Allensway with a glittering gaze.

"Mr. Allensway."

Clearly uneasy at being caught in his attempt to recruit Miss Cresswell, the gentleman gave a hasty bow.

"My lord. A fine day, is it not?"

"It was," Cedric deliberately drawled. "Why are you here?"

A dark flush stained the vicar's countenance. "I merely wished to visit with Miss Cresswell."

"Really?" He folded his arms over the width of his chest. "Surely a vicar has more pressing duties than pestering my aunt's companion?"

"Of course." His smile was sickly as he performed another bow. "Good day."

With satisfying haste the vicar scurried from the garden and with a rueful shake of his head Cedric turned back to Miss Cresswell. She was busily frowning at the retreating Mr. Allensway, and Cedric allowed himself a moment to sigh over her serviceable dark spencer that covered an even more serviceable gray gown.

Just once he wished to see her attired in a dress that was not utterly repulsive. Perhaps a deep blue silk, or ivory satin with Brussels lace. Or even a pale rose gauze with a neckline . . .

He abruptly brought a halt to his train of thought as he realized that his imaginary gowns were becoming more sheer and revealing with every passing moment.

Good heavens, he was close to having her stripped naked.

Not that he wouldn't enjoy stripping her naked, a treacherous voice whispered. He had no doubt that beneath those layers of hideous gray was a body that would inflame any gentleman.

"I am sorry that Mr. Allensway bothered you," he forced himself to say before he could no longer hide the direction of his scandalous thoughts.

Her frown abruptly lifted as she turned to meet his deliberately bland expression.

"He is very persistent."

"That is a polite manner of describing him," he said wryly. "Still, I have no desire to mar this lovely day with thoughts of Mr. Allensway. I brought you this."

He watched in pleasure as a blush touched her cheeks, and she reached out to take the rose he had plucked before leaving Hartshore Park.

"Thank you." A bewitching confusion rippled over her features before she restored the polite mask. "Did you wish to see your aunt?"

"Perhaps later. For now I have something I wish to show you."

"What is it?"

He flashed her a devilish smile. "It is a surprise."

"Another surprise?"

"Oh, I am filled with surprises," he assured her.

Her brows lifted. "So I am beginning to realize."

"Shall we?"