The Devilish Dandy shrugged. "I have always believed that her jealous and bitter nature punishment enough."

"Not on this occasion."

Solomon chuckled. "Ah, my little firebrand. Always so passionate and impulsive. Too much like your father."

"I take that as a compliment."

"So what do you intend to do?"

"Nothing outrageous, I assure you."

Her father's smile was dry. "I wish I could be so easily comforted. You are always outrageous."

"I have been informed that it is a part of my charm," Rachel teased.

"So it is. Along with that very tender heart of yours."

Rachel gave a self-conscious grimace. "What of yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if you are recognized?" she demanded, her hazel eyes dark with concern.

"How could I be?" Solomon smiled with serene confidence in his own abilities. "It is well known that the Devilish Dandy fled to India. Besides, they shall all be too dazzled at encountering Mr. Foxworth, the newest arbitrator of fashion to the Prince."

Rachel gave a shake of her head. She was the only one in England to know of her father's latest charade as the aloof, caustic-tongued gentleman who had captured the Prince's interest. Not even her sisters, Sarah and Emma, realized he was not obeying their command to remain unobtrusive and hidden from proper society.

"You know that Sarah will have your head on a platter if she discovers you are in Surrey? You promised her that you would not deliberately court danger."

"I said that the Devilish Dandy would not court danger," Solomon corrected with a wicked smile. "I said nothing of Mr. Foxworth."

"A fine distinction, especially when Lady Broswell is certain to recognize you. How can you be certain that she will not reveal the truth?"

The lean, handsome features hardened. "She is well aware that I would not hesitate to reveal her very close relationship to the Devilish Dandy. Having managed to insult a great number of the ton over the years she can not afford to risk giving them a reason to slight her."

"I do hope you are right."

"Fear not." Solomon abruptly grimaced as the carriage came to a halt. "Ah, I believe we have arrived. You do realize this promises to be a tedious affair? Whenever engagements are announced the conversation invariably turns to marriage."

Rachel peered out the window to regard the plain stone manor house that had clearly seen better days.

"You are welcome to return to London if you prefer," she said in light tones.

"And leave you here alone? Ah no, my sweet. One Cresswell on the run from the authorities is quite enough."

"Fah." Rachel gathered her muff and reticule. "I intend nothing more than a bit of harmless fun."

"That is what concerns me."

Rachel ignored her father's dry words as the groom opened the door and helped her to alight from the carriage. With determined steps she headed up the stairs, only to come to a halt as the door was pulled open and a plump young maiden with dark curls and childlike beauty rushed out to greet her.

"Rachel," she cried, grabbing Rachel's hand with her own. "I am so very pleased that you came."

A fond smile curved Rachel's lips. She had taken an instant liking to the sweet, rather shy Miss Carlfield since she had made her debut two years before. She had also felt a measure of protectiveness toward the young maiden, who had endured her share of spiteful amusement at her timid nature.

"Violet." She sent her friend a stern frown. "How dare you presume to become engaged without consulting me? You know quite well I have not been allowed to give you my approval."

A surprisingly stricken expression marred the pretty features. "It was all very sudden."

A whisper of unease entered Rachel's heart. "It must have been very sudden. You said nothing of this mysterious suitor in any of your letters to me. Do not tell me that this is a whirlwind courtship?"

"Egads, Rachel, do not quiz the poor child on her doorstep," the Devilish Dandy abruptly chided from behind her shoulder.

Startled, Rachel turned to discover her father regarding Miss Carlfield with a most peculiar expression upon his lean countenance.

Returning her attention to her friend, she offered her a rueful smile.

"Forgive me, Violet. May I introduce my uncle, Mr. Foxworth?"

Violet dropped a proper curtsy. "Mr. Foxworth."

"Enchanted." With a flare most gentlemen could only envy, Solomon claimed the young maiden's hand and lifted it to his lips.

A predictable blush flooded Violet's cheeks as she gazed in the green eyes with a bemused expression.

"Oh."

Rachel's lips twitched. "I fear my uncle insisted that he accompany me."

"A young maiden can not be too careful," her father readily retorted, his gaze never leaving that of Miss Carlfield. "There are many unscrupulous gentlemen who would be quite willing to take advantage of a young, beautiful woman."

Violet's brown eyes darkened in a tragic fashion. "Yes."

"Violet, what do you mean keeping our guests standing in the cold?" a rough male voice abruptly intruded.

"Father." Miss Carlfield sharply stepped back as a heavy-set gentleman with a florid countenance appeared in the doorway. "May I introduce Miss Cresswell?"

The Honorable Mr. Carlfield gave a cold nod of his head, clearly less pleased at Rachel's presence than his daughter.

"Mr. Carlfield." Rachel's own tone was cold. She had always disliked this gentleman's habit of bullying his only child.

"And her uncle, Mr. Foxworth." Violet finished the introductions.

"Foxworth?" Mr. Carlfield's eyes slowly widened in astonishment. "Not the Fox?"

Swiftly into character, Solomon raised his quizzing glass to stab the man with an icy displeasure.

"Only the Prince has received my permission to refer to me in such an intimate fashion."

Thoroughly enchanted by the notion that his gathering was to be graced by the Prince's current favorite, Mr. Carlfield gave a violent nod of his head.

"Yes, yes. Of course. Such an honor."

"Indeed." Solomon held out his arm for Rachel. "Shall we, my dear?"

"Yes."

They swept through the door as Mr. Carlfield anxiously called for his butler.

"Fallow. Damn your lazy hide where are you? Oh. Fallow, instruct Mrs. Fields to prepare the gold room for Mr. Foxworth."

"The gold room?" the elderly servant demanded in surprise.

"You heard me."

"Yes, sir."

Rachel hid a smile as the butler hurried away. She wondered what poor guest was being evacuated to make room for her father.

Hurrying to take his place at Solomon's side, Mr. Carlfield offered him a tentative smile.

"Perhaps you would care to join me in my library, Mr. Foxworth? I believe I have recently acquired a brandy you will find to your taste."

"Highly unlikely," the Devilish Dandy drawled. "My taste is extraordinarily selective."

"Oh, yes." Mr. Carlfield desperately searched for another means to impress his unexpected guest. "Maybe you would prefer a nice cognac?"

Solomon heaved a sigh. "If you insist. Rachel, I shall see you later."

Of course," Rachel murmured, hiding a smile.

With a royal air, the Devilish Dandy allowed himself to be led toward the library while Rachel turned back to regard her friend, who had lagged behind.

"Now, Violet, I wish to know why you told me nothing of your engagement while you were in London. I can not credit you would keep such a secret from your dearest friend."

Surprisingly the maiden flashed a frightened glance toward her retreating father.

"Perhaps we should speak later."

Rachel was taken aback by her abrupt manner. In her experience young maidens who had just become engaged were vastly enchanted with the notion of droning for hours on the wonder and brilliance of their beloved.

"If you wish."

"I will ensure your rooms are prepared. Excuse me."

With a frown Rachel watched Violet hurry toward the stairs. It was obvious all was not right with the sudden engagement. She briefly considered following after her friend and demanding the truth. Then she gave a shake of her head. No. She would have to wait until Violet was ready to confess her troubles. Only then could she determine how best to help her.

Aimlessly crossing the foyer, Rachel entered the front drawing room, noting the vague air of neglect about the worn carpets and faded curtains. It was becoming obvious that Mr. Carlfield was not as financially sound as he had boasted of in London.

Wondering if this was the reason for Violet's abrupt engagement, Rachel was suddenly startled by the sound of a dark, smoky voice that had haunted her for the past five days.

"Welcome, Miss Cresswell."

Spinning about, she regarded the elegant form of Anthony Clarke with wide eyes.

As he had been during their previous encounter, he was attired almost entirely in black with a striped black-and-white waistcoat. And as on that last occasion the smoldering midnight gaze sent a sharp tingle through her spine and down to the very tips of her toes.

"Mr. Clarke," she breathed in pleasurable surprise. "I did not expect to find you here."

A faint smile curved his lips as he crossed toward her. "I do on occasion receive invitations."

Her hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. Although she had sternly attempted to convince herself that it was merely her imagination that had instilled a shroud of mysterious bewitchment about their brief encounter, she could already feel a heady excitement stirring in the pit of her stomach.

"That is not what I meant. I thought that you preferred your inventions to society."

"S-so I do," he murmured, halting so closely that she could smell the clean scent of his soap. "It takes a rare temptation to lure me from my workroom."

Her heart tripped as she breathed deeply of his clean, slightly spicy scent. "And what rare temptation brought you to Surrey?"

"I have always enjoyed the country."

Realizing he was teasing her, she gave a click of her tongue. "I do not believe you."

"No? Well, Violet is my cousin. It would have been the height of ill manners to miss her engagement ball."

"I still do not believe you."

The black eyes shimmered with amusement. "P-perhaps I was intrigued by the guest list."

"Any guest in particular?" she demanded with a tiny shiver of excitement.

Anthony smiled, but with the unpredictability that she was beginning to expect of him he abruptly turned the conversation.

"What brings you here, Miss Cresswell? Or am I allowed to guess?"

"If you wish."

"You d-did not choose to heed my words of caution. You seek revenge."

Her chin jutted, the hazel eyes flashing. "Some would call it justice."

"Ah, Miss Cresswell." He chuckled, his hand suddenly raising to trace the line of her neck. "Why would you wish to waste such passion on revenge when there are so many other pleasurable uses for it?"

Her breath caught at the sensation of his slender fingers against her bare skin.

"Mr. Clarke, are you flirting with me?" she asked softly.

"Certainly not. I never flirt."