Since that day, Sarah had regularly visited with trifling gifts and, more importantly, with recommendations for establishing a small school for those children old enough to study.

Of course, as a rule she made her visits with Watts as a companion, she acknowledged with a covert glance at the dark-haired gentleman seated across the carriage. It was bound to be a trifle more awkward with Lord Chance.

With a silent chastisement at her uncharacteristic bout of nerves, Sarah pulled the large basket she had brought with her onto her lap.

Blast those ridiculous dreams. They were making her as silly as a schoolgirl.

Thankfully, Lord Chance had seemed far too distracted to note her odd behavior. Since he had arrived to collect her, there had been a reserve in his manner that had not been present since their initial encounter. She could only presume he was growing impatient with their lack of success in locating the diamonds.

No more impatient than she was, she acknowledged with a inner sigh. Even with all her silent admonishments, she could not deny she was wretchedly conscious of the male cologne filling the carriage and the occasional brush of his knee against her own.

Preparing to alight as the carriage pulled to a halt, Sarah was detained as Lord Chance gave a choked cough. With a flare of surprise, she turned to discover his aloof expression had been replaced with one of dark disapproval. "Good gads, you do not propose to enter such an establishment."

She gave a lift of her shoulder. "Of course."

"Miss Cresswell . . . Sarah . . ." he was provoked to mutter, his dark eyes uncommonly somber. "I will not allow you to expose yourself to such a place, even for the sake of retrieving the diamonds."

Oddly moved by his concern, she conjured a reassuring smile. "You need have no fear, my lord. I will survive quite nicely."

Without giving him an opportunity for further protest, Sarah slipped through the door being held open by the groom. She then set a brisk pace up the pathway to the front steps. Lord Chance had just managed to pull even with her when the door was opened to reveal a stout, decidedly muscular butler.

At the sight of Sarah, the servant abruptly dropped his intimidating scowl to smile with genuine pleasure. "Miss Cresswell, welcome."

"Thank you, Dodwell. Is Madame Vallenway available?"

Dodwell gave a brief, considering glance toward the silent gentleman at Sarah's side before nodding his head. "Of course. This way."

The butler led them through the overly lavish foyer and down a long hall to the back of the vast home. As always, Sarah kept her gaze averted from the shocking statues and paintings that lined the walls. Not until Dodwell had unlocked a heavy door and escorted them into the private quarters did she once again lift her head.

The salon they entered was far more traditional in decor. With solid oak furnishings and framed panels of crimson silk upon the walls, it might have belonged to the most prim hostess in London.

Stepping close beside her, Lord Chance bent to whisper in her ear. "You are acquainted with Madame Vallenway?"

She glanced up to meet his narrowed gaze. "I know many people in London, sir."

Whatever he might have retorted was halted as a magnificent woman rose from a writing desk to cross toward them.

Although no longer in the first blush of youth, Madame Vallenway was still breathtakingly lovely, with a mass of titan curls and dark eyes. It would be a mistake, however, to presume she relied solely on her beauty. There was an iron will and innate cunning beneath the carefully polished image.

"Sarah, dearest." She smiled happily, then turned a coy glance toward the handsome gentleman. "And Lord Chance."

The most absurd prick of annoyance entered her heart at Madame Vallenway's swift recognition of Lord Chance. The toad. Little wonder he was reluctant to enter the brothel.

"I see no introductions are necessary," she said in determinedly even tones.

Perhaps sensing Sarah's sudden tension, Madame Vallenway was swift to distract her young visitor. "Whatever are you doing here?"

Sarah held out her basket. "I have brought you this."

With a fond click of her tongue, Madame Vallenway accepted the basket and set it on a low table. "Sarah. I have told you that you must halt your generosity."

"It is just a few treats for the children."

"Children?" Lord Chance spoke for the first time, his tone one of confusion.

A faint smile curved madame's full lips. "A hazard for women in my profession."

Lord Chance gave a choked noise. Feeling her own surge of embarrassment, Sarah rushed into speech. "Madame ensures that the women are allowed to keep their children with them. She even hired a teacher for the older ones."

A hint of satisfaction could be detected in her lovely features.

"It is my hope they will be given the opportunities that too few are ever given. However, it is a modest effort when compared to dear Sarah's school."

Sarah felt Lord Chance's piercing gaze upon her profile. "Nonsense," she murmured. Then, anxious to bring the rather awkward meeting to a swift end, she came to the point of her visit. "I have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"Are you acquainted with Fiona Snow?"

"Of course." Madame's gaze once again shifted to Lord Chance. "Is she not currently under the protection of your brother?"

Chance cleared his throat. "Quite right."

Madame turned back to Sarah, clearly intrigued. "What do you wish to know?"

"What sort of woman is she?"

"Pretty, of course," Madame readily answered, "but unfortunately a silly widgeon."

"Is she devious?"

The courtesan gave a startled blink. "Good heavens, she hasn't the sense to be devious. Why do you ask?"

Sarah was well aware she had to choose her words with care. The last thing she desired was to stir undue gossip, not only out of fear that it might eventually flutter its way back to Lady Chance's ear, but because she had no wish to frighten the thief into flight, taking the diamonds with him.

"There are ... belongings missing from Mr. Coltran's home."

Madame shook her head without hesitation. "No, not Fiona."

"How can you be so sure?" Sarah demanded.

A twinkle entered the dark eyes. "In my business, you learn a thing or two about people. Now, Fiona might lie or even cheat if given the opportunity, but she has no nerve for theft. It takes a brassy wench to steal from a gentleman and then lie in his arms as if nothing had occurred."

She sounded so very certain that Sarah chose not to press the issue.

"If she happened to know of the belongings, would she share the information with her acquaintances?"

This time Madame gave the question considerably more thought. "Fiona has only been in town a few months, hardly long enough to develop many acquaintances," she at last retorted. "And in truth, I have not heard her utter anything that was not connected to her latest gown or the ribbons in her hair."

"Does she spend much time here or perhaps with one of the other girls?"

"Since being provided a house, Fiona rarely stirs from her bed," Madame retorted with a wry smile. "She is rather indolent and not at all inclined to make an effort to do much of anything. I've warned her such habits will soon ruin her beauty, but she hasn't the sense to pay me any heed."

"And none of the other girls have called on her lately?"

"Not to my knowledge. Actually, I would be very much surprised if they had. None of them were particularly close to her, and there is always a bit of jealousy when one girl or another is chosen by a handsome young gentleman."

Knowing that Madame would have been the first to notice if Fiona was behaving oddly or had suddenly come into a fortune, Sarah conceded defeat. Unless the chit was far more clever than she pretended, it did not seem she could be involved in theft.

"If you do manage to overhear any gossip among the girls or if Fiona happens to begin acting queerly, would you let me know?"

Although clearly curious, Madame merely nodded her head. "Certainly."

"Thank you. We must go."

Not waiting for the butler, Sarah turned to leave the room. Lord Chance was closely beside her as they moved back down the long hall in silence.

She was lost in thoughts of her next logical step when Lord Chance abruptly reached out to grasp her arm. Coming to a halt, Sarah glanced up at his handsome countenance in surprise.

"What is it?"

His dark gaze moved over her pale features, lingering a heart-stopping moment on her lips before seeking her wide eyes.

"I said when we first met that you were extraordinary. I did not fully comprehend just how extraordinary."

Unhinged as much by the sudden lurch of her heart as by the unexpected compliment, Sarah attempted to conjure a light tone. "Ridiculous. I am no way out of the common-unless you consider the fact I am the daughter of the Devilish Dandy."

His slender nose flared at her words. "You are Miss Sarah Cresswell, and never have I encountered a woman who would behave such as you."

She gave a breathy laugh. "Now that I readily believe."

Without warning, his hands reached up to cup her face. "I would admire them more if they did."

Her heart again gave that disturbing lurch and, barely aware she was moving, she leaned toward the heat of his body. She might be all that was sensible, but a force beyond her control held her spellbound as his dark head lowered and he claimed her mouth in a demanding kiss.

The world halted as a storm of sensations flooded her body. It was not her first kiss, but the fumbling meeting of lips she had once experienced was seared to an inconsequential mistake beneath the mastery of his mouth. She trembled, her stomach clenching with a sharp ache.

Lord Chance gave a soft moan as her lips willingly parted. His hands stroked the soft skin of her cheeks before trailing down the line of her neck. Sarah was oblivious to all but the feel of his lips and the trailing fire of his fingers. Nothing else mattered but that she discover where these wondrous feelings might lead her.

Of course, it was bound to come to an end. Even as the tip of his tongue sought entrance to her mouth, the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps brought them sharply to their senses. Pulling away, Sarah pressed a hand to her racing heart.

Insanity, she numbly assured herself. She was clearly and irrevocably going mad.

With great reluctance Sarah lifted her head to meet his disturbing black gaze, rather surprised to discover a dark flush on his noble features.

Was he as shaken as she by the heat that had flared between them? Or simply embarrassed at having momentarily desired the daughter of a jewel thief?

There was no time to inquire even if she possessed the nerve, as a scantily clad female tripped down the stairs. Not surprisingly, her eyes widened at the sight of Sarah and the tall gentleman at her side.

"Lord Chance, how delightful," the cyprian cried. "Are you here to see me?"

A fierce shudder of pain racked through Sarah's body. Was there any cyprian in all of London who was not acquainted with Lord Chance?

Heavens above, she was a fool, she sternly chastised herself. How could she have allowed him such liberties? No, not allowed, she corrected, invited. Why, she had behaved more brazenly than any of the doxies upstairs.

Furious with herself as well as with the man who had stirred to life such unwelcome sensations, Sarah sent Lord Chance an icy glare. "Shall we go? Or would you prefer I have the carriage sent back to fetch you?"

With a decided scowl, he grasped her arm and began hauling her toward the door. "Good gads, let us go."

Sarah was tugged through the door and down the path at a crisp pace before she angrily wrenched her arm free. "I am perfectly capable of walking on my own, sir."

"I do not . . . know that woman," he muttered in low tones.

Sarah battled the impulsive flare of happiness at his confession. What if he had not enjoyed the favors of the pretty courtesan? It in no way diminished her own reprehensible behavior. "It is really none of my concern, Lord Chance."

His dark eyes suddenly smoldered in an alarming manner. "If we were not in such a public setting I should prove it is very much your concern," he rasped in a tone that sent a quiver down her spine. "But for now I believe I should escort you home so I can go to my club and drink away all thoughts of missing diamonds, brothels, and lips that could drive a man to distraction."

Seven.

True to his word, Chance did indeed spend the better part of his evening at his club. Also true to his word, he consumed an admirable amount of brandy in a valiant attempt to forget the disturbing day.

Predictably, the brandy did nothing more than cause his head to pound, and the memories of the day haunted him far into the night.

In peculiar detail, he had recalled the pleasure of holding Miss Cresswell in his arms-the feel of her slender form, the scent of her skin, the willing softness of her lips, and the fierce heat that had raced through his blood as he had at last kissed her.

That kiss ...

Chance was no innocent. He had enjoyed the pleasures of mistresses, most of them as beautiful as they were experienced. And while he considered his time devoted to them as pleasurable, they certainly had not troubled his thoughts when they were not near. And not one had ever made his heart shudder to a halt with the merest touch of her lips.

It was absurd, he decided as he rose from his bed and attired himself in a jade coat and fawn breeches. Miss Cresswell was handsome enough, but not the delicate beauty he preferred. And while her swift intelligence and generous nature might inspire his admiration, she possessed none of the allurements necessary to attract a gentleman of discretion.

So why, then, did he long to gather her into his arms and kiss her insensible?

Insanity was the only explanation.

Miss Cresswell might not be socially acceptable, but she was a lady nevertheless, he was forced to remind himself. A lady who would no doubt box his ears if he so much as hinted he would be willing to take her as a mistress.

His unexpected passions would have to be sternly dismissed.

Well, perhaps not entirely dismissed, a renegade voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Surely a stolen kiss or two would not be entirely scandalous. After all, their acquaintance was destined to end at Christmas, one way or another. It would be a sin not to indulge in an occasional temptation.