"You know that I am right."

"You think you know me very well."

He laughed softly at the hint of pique in her tone. "On the contrary. You remain a tempting enigma. I do, however, possess enough sense to realize that a high-spirited minx would not wish to be caged by any man."

Her chin tilted. "And you would be driven to distraction by a sweetly demur chit who preferred you in your workroom rather than in her company."

Ah, so his earlier words had pricked a nerve, he thought with a flare of satisfaction. It was an intriguing discovery.

"Perhaps."

Rachel felt her heart quiver as Anthony leaned slowly forward. Over the past few days she had missed these tantalizing encounters. With so many guests it was nearly impossible to find a moment alone with him. And, of course, he continued to be aggravatingly elusive, disappearing without warning to the stables or the nearby village.

She discovered herself searching for him each time she walked into a room. And when he wasn't there she felt a sharp pang of loneliness that was nearly frightening in its intensity.

Never had a mere man managed to intrude so deeply into her thoughts.

Her breath caught as his gaze lowered to her lips, then the loud booming voice of the butler echoed through the room, making his elegant countenance suddenly tighten with annoyance.

"It appears we have more guests," he said in even tones.

Rachel glanced toward the door, where Lady Broswell stood with her two daughters and Lord Newell. It was precisely what she had desired when she came to Surrey. She had known that Lord Newell was bound to make an appearance with his godmother and soon-to-be fiance. It was the perfect opportunity to prove how easily she could lure the young gentleman from their side.

But rather than elation at having an opportunity to further her revenge, Rachel could not deny a stab of disappointment that her moment alone with Anthony appeared to be at an end.

"Lady Broswell," she murmured.

"And your devoted admirer from the opera."

"Yes. Lord Newell."

The dark eyes narrowed. "It pleases you that he prefers your charms to those of Miss Hamlin?"

Her expression became defensive at the edge of reproach in his tone. He could not possibly understand. No one could understand.

"It provides a certain satisfaction."

His lips twisted as he rose to his feet. "Then I shall leave you to your game."

She opened her mouth to beg him to stay. She did not want to be left on her own. Not even for the sake of furthering her revenge. Then realizing her absurd weakness, she forced herself to swallow the hasty words.

Good heavens, she was Miss Rachel Cresswell, she sternly reminded herself. She had no need to plead for a man's attentions. Any man's attentions.

Forcing an indifferent smile, she watched him stroll back to the far shadows of the room.

He would never suspect the sharp pang that shot through her heart at his sudden defection.

The stiff smile remained intact even as she realized that Lord Newell was hurrying in her direction. This was the reason she had come to Surrey, she forced herself to acknowledge. Not to be bedeviled by Anthony Clarke.

"Miss Cresswell." Lord Newell readily settled beside her, appearing rather ridiculous in a burgundy striped coat and a fussy cravat that no doubt took an hour to tie. Not at all like Anthony, who preferred a simple elegance, she inanely thought. Of course, Lord Newell was far too scrawny to appear anything but absurd without his padding and frills. "I could not believe my fortune when I learned you were a guest here."

"Lord Newell, how pleasant to see you again."

His gaze avidly devoured the white expanse of her bosom before reluctantly raising to meet her hazel eyes.

"You look beautiful. Like an angel fallen from heaven."

"How kind of you," she forced herself to murmur, inwardly wondering if gentlemen were taught such mundane compliments along with Latin and Greek in school. She had lost count of how many occasions she had heard those precise words. "And of course you are as handsome as ever. Is that a new coat?"

He instantly preened in delight. "I say, do you like it?"

"It is quite eye-catching."

Predictably missing the irony in her words, he ran a hand over the smooth material.

"Cost a wretched fortune, but well worth every quid."

"Does that mean your mother has halted her threats to have your allowance brought to an end?"

"Gads, no." His smile dimmed. "The old Tartar is determined to have me leg-shackled by the end of the year."

Rachel deliberately glanced toward where Lady Broswell and her two-long faced daughters were glaring daggers at her.

"What will you do?"

"What can I do?" he demanded in plaintive tones. "I shall have to wed the chit."

She slowly returned her attention to the boy at her side. "You could always refuse."

"Refuse?" He appeared deeply shocked by the mere suggestion. "You do not know my mother. She is contrary enough to end my allowance. It will still be three years before I will have control of my inheritance."

Rachel lifted a golden brow. "So, you will wed Miss Hamlin even though you do not care for her?"

He shrugged his indifference. "It is expected and I must marry someday. One maiden is as good as another."

Until that moment Rachel's sympathies had lain entirely with this gentleman. The mere thought of being bullied into marriage by Lady Broswell was utterly repulsive. Now she felt a faint, unwelcome stab of pity for Mary. She would soon be tied to this weak, self-absorbed gentleman, who did not even possess a morsel of affection for her.

With an effort she thrust aside the notion. She would not allow herself to weaken.

"And I thought you claimed that I was quite special," she teased in flirtatious tones.

"Good Lord, I was not referring to you, Miss Cresswell," he swiftly denied, anxious to assure her that he intended no insult. "You are a bright shining star. A vision that takes my breath away."

"My lord, you shall quite turn my head."

"I wish that I could," he said wistfully, leaning far too close. "May I call on you tomorrow?"

Rachel briefly considered Lady Broswell's response to the thought of her prospective son-in-law charging from her home to be with her hated niece. She would be furious, of course, and deeply humiliated that Lord Newell obviously preferred Rachel to her daughter.

It was precisely what she wanted.

But even as a part of her urged her to agree to his request, her gaze sought out the masculine form standing so still in a far corner of the room. She did not want to waste her day fending off the advances of this awkward boy, she abruptly realized. Even if it did mean infuriating her aunt. There would be any number of opportunities to tease Lady Broswell.

"I do not believe Lady Broswell would care for the notion," she at last retorted.

"There is no need for her to know."

"This is not London, my lord. I fear gossip would travel very swiftly through the countryside."

His lips dropped in a petulant fashion at the truth in her words.

"I suppose you are right." He heaved a sigh. "How I wish I could speak with you alone."

"Is there something of a private nature you wish to discuss with me?"

He reached out to grasp her hand in a near-painful grip. "There is so much. Things that I can not speak of with others so near."

Rachel determinedly pulled her maltreated fingers free, consumed with impatience with the overeager gentleman.

"My lord, you must think of your poor fiancee."

"Fah. As long as I wed her, she will not concern herself with my interests."

Realizing that there was only one certain method of ridding herself of his presence, she deliberately glanced at the Broswell clan, who were decidedly flushed as they stared in their direction.

"She does not appear disinterested at the moment. Indeed, I would hazard a guess that she is quite annoyed."

As expected, Lord Newell cast a hasty glance toward his soon-to-be fiancee. He seemed to shrink as he met Mary's gaze. He no doubt realized he was bound to endure a severe tongue-lashing for his betrayal.

"Blast. I suppose I should return to her side," he muttered, rising to his feet. "I shall have to speak with you later, my dear."

He hurried away without a backward glance and Rachel heaved a faint sigh. She had never been more relieved that she had been born into the scandalous side of the family. Her father would never pressure her into a cold, loveless relationship. He cared far more that she was happy than smothered in the heavy expectations of society.

It was perhaps the greatest gift he had ever given her.

Absently watching Lady Broswell furiously whispering in Lord Newell's ear, Rachel failed to note the elegant gentleman circling the room to stand directly behind her. It was only when a slender finger stroked a feather-light caress down the back of her neck that she realized Anthony had returned.

She shivered as her body immediately reacted to his proximity.

"W-well, my dearest, if you hoped to infuriate Lady Broswell I believe you have succeeded."

Knowing that she had been far kinder than she had intended to be and that it was entirely this gentleman's fault, she refused to apologize.

"I can hardly be responsible for the behavior of Lord Newell."

"You are thoroughly responsible, as you well know. You have bewitched the poor sod."

"I have been polite."

He gave a low chuckle, his fingers still trailing a disturbing path along the curve of her neck.

"I am not one of your witless admirers, Rachel. I can tell when a woman is encouraging a young gentleman."

She shrugged, not about to reveal that she had not been nearly as encouraging as she could have been. Lord Newell would still be at her side if she had not sent him on his way.

"You are at liberty to believe what you will."

There was a pause before she heard him heave a faint sigh.

"Ah, I do not wish to argue. Do you still find the room overly warm?"

All thoughts of Lord Newell fled as a tingle of anticipation rushed through her. She very much wanted to be alone with this man.

"What of my uncle?"

"He seems to have disappeared," he said in low tones. "Shall we take a turn on the veranda?"

"Very well."

She rose to her feet, waiting for Anthony to round the sofa and claim her arm. Together they moved through the guests and at last through the door that led to the veranda. Rachel drew in a deep breath as the dark peace settled about them.

It was lovely to be away from the chattering guests and baleful glares of Lady Broswell. And, of course, it was even more lovely to be close enough to Anthony to feel the heat of his body surround her.

A familiar shiver surged through her and Anthony glanced down in concern.

"Are you cold?"

"No," she hurriedly denied, not wishing the moment to end. "It is very mild."

"I believe that spring is attempting to make it's presence known."

"Yes."

Without warning he came to a halt, his hands reaching out to grasp her shoulders and turn her to face him. By the silvery moonlight Rachel watched as he studied her upturned countenance and slender form with thrilling urgency.

"You know, I have always thought of you as a woman of sunshine, so bright and warm with life, but you appear quite provocative by the light of the moon."

Rachel's breath became unsteady as she met the smoldering dark gaze.

"Why, Anthony, was that a compliment?"

"M-merely an observation. I leave empty compliments to rogues and schoolboys."

She stepped closer, her heart thundering in her chest. "Do you have any other observations?"

He smiled as his hands moved from her shoulders to trail his fingers along the line of her plunging neckline.