"How does your project go?"

"There are still a few details to be settled."

"May I see it?"

"No," he retorted without apology.

"No?"

"It is to be a s-surprise."

Her lips thinned. If she had ever thought herself irresistible to gentlemen, Anthony was swiftly teaching her that it was nothing more than a vain perception.

"You are very exasperating upon occasion," she informed him sternly.

His heart-stopping smile greeted her reprimand. "And I thought I had progressed to being quite wonderful."

The sharp, vivid memory of their kiss rose to her mind, bringing a swift end to her annoyance. He was wonderful. And intriguing. And utterly fascinating.

Not that she was about to reveal her fascination, she told herself. He was far too confident in his own charm as it was.

"I believe that a woman possesses the prerogative to change her mind," she quipped.

He gave a nod at her direct thrust. "By all means."

Satisfied that she had held her own in the exchange, she regarded him with a curious expression. She deeply desired to probe beneath that enigmatic manner of his. For all the undeniable attraction she felt, she knew precious little about him.

"Tell me of your family."

He appeared startled by her sudden question. "What do you wish to know?"

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No." His lips twisted in a humorless smile. "I believe my father was suitably disappointed in me without wishing for more offspring."

Rachel stiffened at his soft words. "Disappointed? That is ridiculous."

Anthony shrugged. "My father seeks perfection in all about him. He finds my stutter acutely offensive."

A sharp flare of anger raced through Rachel. "What an arrogant, unlikable ass he must be," she said fiercely.

Anthony gave a startled laugh. "Ah, Rachel, you never fail to amaze me."

"I do not know how you can laugh, Anthony," she protested with a scowl. "It is unthinkable that a father would not be extremely proud of you. I have met any number of men who claim the title of gentleman, but you are one of the rare few who can claim the title with honor."

His features abruptly softened at her fierce words. "Thank you."

"It is only the truth. And should I encounter your father I shall tell him so myself."

"I have no doubt that you would, my fiery beauty," he said in low tones. "But while I appreciate your readiness to defend me, there is no need. I have learned to accept m-my father's disappointment. Life is too brief to dwell upon those things that I can not alter."

The oddest pang clenched Rachel's heart. Ridiculous, of course. Anthony Clarke was perhaps the last gentleman who needed or desired her sympathy. But the mere thought of a father allowing his young son to grow up feeling unwanted made her teeth clench.

"You are far more forgiving than I should be."

He grimaced wryly. "It was not always so. I devoted years attempting to prove to my father that I was worthy of his admiration. I excelled in school, invested my allowance until I had acquired a fortune, and I purchased the finest estate in the county. It was never enough. In his eyes I w-will always be flawed. I at last realized that I desired his admiration only because I did not admire myself. Once I accepted I was worthy, I no longer needed his approval."

The sudden image of Lady Broswell rose to Rachel's mind. She could not deny that a small portion of her desire for revenge was the knowledge that her aunt considered her far inferior to herself. It was a thorn that refused to be dislodged. But unlike Anthony, she did not desire to ignore the slights and insults she had endured over the years. She wanted to force Lady Broswell to admit that she was as respectable and well-bred as her own daughters.

"It was his duty to love and cherish you. Why else do we have a family?"

He slowed their brisk pace as they came to a corner. "A lovely sentiment, but rarely a reality. Families are willed upon us whether we wish them or not."

She grimaced. "Yes."

"The more troublesome ones are best forgotten."

"Sometimes they make such a desire impossible."

He shot her a speculative glance, but before he could ask the obvious questions trembling upon his lips, they were coming into the outskirts of the small village.

"I believe we have arrived," he murmured.

Rachel gazed about with interest. Not that there was much to see. A handful of half-timbered buildings lined one edge of the narrow road while a solid inn with a wooden sign proclaiming it to be the FOX AND GRAPES dominated the far side. Farther down she could detect what she supposed to be a blacksmith and farther along a small gothic church and vicarage.

It was a quaint-enough sight, she acknowledged, with a gaggle of geese crossing the green and several young boys laughing as they kicked a ball down the street and then went rushing after it. Not even the locals who halted to openly ogle the smart carriage and elegant strangers managed to destroy the bucolic peace.

But she had not traveled to the village to appreciate the sights. She briefly feared her journey had been in vain.

"Goodness. There is not much to choose from."

Pulling the horses to a halt, Anthony gazed at her with curiosity. "Are you seeking anything in particular?"

"Yes. A dressmaker."

The dark brows rose in surprise, his gaze traveling over her expertly tailored gown.

"Would it not be wiser to wait for a new gown until you return to London? Any local seamstress is unlikely to possess the skill you are accustomed to."

She gave a decisive shake of her head. "I fear I can not wait. I must have the gown by the end of next week."

"For the ball?" he demanded in disbelief.

"Yes."

He studied her innocent expression for a long moment. "What are you plotting, Rachel?"

Enjoying the sensation that she had cleverly turned the tables on him, she merely smiled.

"I do not know what you mean."

"You would not entrust something as important as your ball gown to the dubious talents of a country dressmaker," he retorted in impatient tones.

"I did not say that the gown was for me."

Her soft words took him aback and his mouth opened to demand an explanation. Then a sudden realization hit him and the dark eyes smoldered with a fire of pleasure.

"I do not suppose this gown will be blue with white lace upon it?" he demanded, referring to the wish Julia had made for just such a gown.

With a deliberate effort she acquired her most aloof manner.

"That, sir, is a secret."

He tilted back his head to give a warm, delighted laugh. "You know, Rachel, there are moments when you are quite wonderful yourself."

Seven.

Rachel was pleasantly surprised by the local seamstress. Although naturally intimidated to have a lady of Quality in her modest shop, she was eager to please and swift to grasp Rachel's notions of a suitable gown for Julia. Together they chose a satin material in a shade of blue that would match the girl's eyes and a lovely Brussels lace that would trim the hem of the gown with blue ribbons. There was a hint of panic when Rachel informed the woman that she would need the gown in less than a fortnight, but a charming smile and handful of coins had soon eased the momentary troubles.

Satisfied that the young girl would be vastly pleased with her new gown, Rachel strolled through the village green and seated herself on a bench to wait for Anthony.

Although the breeze still held a hint of winter, it was a lovely afternoon. She sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of baking bread and tender grass.

It was odd.

She had always considered such pastoral settings tediously dull. What lady of sophistication could discover any amusement in empty meadows and grazing cows? Today, however, she felt a sense of contentment as she allowed the sweet peace to settle about her.

For the moment she did not miss her usual crowd of anxious admirers. Or even the mad rush from one event to another. London seemed far away and she was happy for it to be so.

Not that she intended to dwell upon her queer sense of satisfaction, she acknowledged ruefully. She did not wish to ponder her sharp, almost fierce desire to help poor Julia. Or her deep fascination with Anthony Clarke.

Neither suited the carefree existence that she so enjoyed. If she truly allowed herself to consider her peculiar behavior she would no doubt be more than a bit disturbed.

It was far better to simply ignore the whispers of warnings that stirred in the back of her mind.

Nearly another hour passed before Anthony's elegant form at last could be seen striding down the lane with a heavy bag tucked under one arm. Rachel rose to her feet, unable to deny a jolt of excitement at the sight of him.

What was it about this gentleman that sent frissons of pleasure racing through her body? she mused.

Certainly he possessed a commanding form and handsome features. And there was an undeniable charm to his self-possessed confidence. But she had encountered men far more handsome. And flirted with the most charming men in all of England and Europe.

And yet it was only Anthony Clarke who had managed to teach her the dangerous temptation of desire.

With a faint shrug at the mystery she moved to where Anthony was storing the bag beneath the seat of the carriage. At her approach he flashed her a smile and promptly moved to help her climb onto the padded seat.

"Was your trip successful?" he inquired as he joined her and set the restless team into motion.

Rachel briefly imagined Julia's pleasure when she presented her with the gown.

"I believe so. And yours?"

He deftly urged the horses to a greater speed as they left the small village behind.

"I make progress."

She flashed him a frown of amused exasperation. "You are determined to keep your project a secret?"

"Yes."

Rachel ignored the urge to coax the truth from him. She had already discovered this gentleman could not be easily cajoled or manipulated. He would do as he pleased regardless of her supposedly irresistible charm.

"You were gone a very long time," she said instead.

As if sensing her inner thoughts, he smiled in a knowing manner.

"I must apologize. The local tanner was a rather gregarious soul who was quite determined to instruct me on the glorious history of Surrey."

She gave a lift of her brows. "It must have been fascinating."

"Actually it was, rather," he surprised her by admitting firmly. "For instance, he informed me that Edward the Second often visited a nearby manor to indulge his fascination with jousts. Unfortunately his visits came to an end when the owner of the manor was beheaded."

She grimaced at the gruesome tale. "Charming."

He chuckled. "What do you find offensive? The jousting or the beheading?"

"Both are barbaric."

"Oh, I d-do not know. There is something rather romantic about the chivalrous knights plunging into competition, all to win the heart of their fair maiden."

"My heart would be more readily won by the gentleman with enough wits not to risk his neck in such a foolish manner," she said dryly. "I find nothing romantic in dented armor and bruised backsides."

"And you claim me to be the only overly logical one," he teased.

She shrugged. "I can not conceive of you being compelled to prove your vanity by knocking another off his horse."

"Perhaps not." He flashed her a glance. "Although it might be worth the effort if you were willing to tend to my bruised backside."

"Sir."

He gave a pleased laugh. "Very well, perhaps you will prefer the tale of a village near here called Merstham where the tanner claimed that in 1851 an invading Danish army was retreating from a lost battle only to be met by the local women who attacked them with sticks and whatever else they could lay their hands on, including frying pans. The poor Danish were no match for the infuriated women."

A smile curved her lips. "Yes, I do like that story."