It won’t do you a bit of good to wear a path through the carpet,” Berta told her. “We’ll both be spending time enough on the carpet when that Miss Throckmorton-Jones hears what you’ve been about.”

“She won’t hear anything,” Elizabeth said with more determination than conviction, and she sank into a chair, nervously plucking at the skirt of her bright green traveling costume. Her bonnet and gloves were on the bed beside their packed valises, waiting to be brought downstairs when Robert arrived. Even though she’d been expecting it. the knock on her door made her nerves jump. Instead of telling her that her brother had arrived, the footman handed her a note when she opened the door.

With clammy hands she unfolded it, praying that it wasn’t news from London that Robert couldn’t be found to fetch them. For a moment she frowned in blank incomprehension at the hastily scrawled, almost illegible note that said “Meet me in greenhowse. Must talk to you.”

The footman had already started down the hall, and Elizabeth called after him, “Who gave you this note?”

“Miss Valerie, my lady.” Elizabeth’s relief that it wasn’t from Ian was immediately replaced by guilty terror that Valerie had somehow discovered more about Elizabeth’s disappearance this afternoon. “Valerie wants me to meet her in the greenhouse right away,” she told Berta.

Berta’s color drained. “She knows what happened. doesn’t she? Is that why she wants to see you? It’s not my place to say it, but I can’t like that girl. She has mean eyes.”

Elizabeth had never in her life been embroiled in intrigue or deceit, and everything that was happening seemed unbearably complicated and tinged with malice. Without replying to Berta’s comment about her friend she looked at the clock and realized it was only six. “Robert can’t possibly be here for at least an hour. In the meantime I’ll go and find out why Valerie needs to see me.”

Walking over to the windows, Elizabeth parted the draperies, studying the guests who were standing on the terrace or strolling about the gardens. The last thing she wanted was for Ian to see her go to the greenhouse and follow her there. Such a possibility seemed extremely remote, but even so, it seemed wise to take no further chances. She almost sagged with relief when she saw his tall form on the terrace below. Clearly illuminated by a pair of torches, he was occupied with three women who were flirting with him while a footman hovered on the edge of their group, patiently waiting for recognition. She saw Ian glance at the footman, who then handed him something she supposed to be a drink.

Ignoring the sharp tug of her senses as she looked down on his dark head, Elizabeth turned away from the windows. Rather than leaving the house by the back doors, which opened out onto the terrace where she knew Ian was, she left by the side doors and stayed away from the lit torches.

In the doorway to the greenhouse Elizabeth hesitated. “Valerie?” she called in a low voice, looking around.

Moonlight poured in through the glass panels of the roof, and when no one answered, Elizabeth walked inside and looked about her. Pots of flowers bloomed everywhere-in orderly rows upon the tables and on benches. More delicate species adorned the shelves beneath the tables, sheltered from the direct rays of the sun that would pour through the glass ceiling in the daytime. Trying to calm her nerves, Elizabeth strolled down the aisles, studying the blooms.

The greenhouse was larger than the one at Havenhurst, she noted, and part of it was apparently used as a sort of solarium, for there were trees growing in pots, and beside them were ornate stone benches with colorful cushions on them.

Elizabeth wandered down the aisle, oblivious to the dark shadow looming in the doorway, moving silently down the aisle. Her hands clasped behind her back, she bent down to sniff a gardenia.

“Elizabeth?” Ian said in a clipped voice. She whirled around, her heart slamming against her ribs, her hand flying to her throat, her knees turning to jelly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You... you startled me,” she said as he strolled up to her, his expression oddly impassive. “I didn’t expect you to come here,” she added nervously.

“Really?” he mocked. “Whom did you expect after that note the Prince of Wales?”

The note! Crazily, her first thought after realizing it was from him, not Valerie, was that for an articulate man his handwriting verged on the illiterate. Her second thought was that he seemed angry about something. He didn’t keep her long in doubt as to the reason.

“Suppose you tell me how, during the entire afternoon we spent together, you neglected to mention that you are Lady Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth wondered a little frantically how he’d feel if he knew she was the Countess of Havenhurst, not merely the eldest daughter of some minor noble or knight.

“Start talking, love. I’m listening.” Elizabeth backed away a step.

“Since you don’t want to talk,” he bit out, reaching for her arms, “is this all you wanted from me?’

“No!” she said hastily, backing out of his reach. “I’d rather talk.”

He stepped forward, and Elizabeth took another step backward, exclaiming, “I mean, there are so many interesting topics for conversation, are there not?”

“Are there?” he asked, moving forward again.

“Yes,” she exclaimed, taking two steps back this time. Snatching at the first topic she could think of, she pointed to the table of hyacinths beside her and exclaimed, “A-Aren’t these hyacinths lovely?”

“Lovely,” he agreed without looking at them, and he reached for her shoulders, obviously intending to draw her forward.

Elizabeth jumped back so swiftly that his fingers merely grazed the gauze fabric of her gown. “Hyacinths,” she babbled with frantic determination as he began stalking her step for step, past the table of potted pansies, past the table of potted lilies, “are part of genus Hyacinthus, although the cultivated variety, which we have here, is commonly called the Dutch hyacinth, which is part of H. orientalis -”

“Elizabeth,” be interrupted silkily, “I’m not interested in flowers.” He reached for her again, and Elizabeth, in a frantic attempt to evade his grasp, snatched up a pot of hyacinths and dumped it into his outstretched bands.

“There is a mythological background to hyacinths that you may find more interesting than the flower itself,” she continued fiercely, and an indescribable expression of disbelief, amusement, and fascination suddenly seemed to flicker across his face. “You see, the hyacinth is actually named for a handsome Spartan youth – Hyacinthus who was loved by Apollo and by Zephyrus, god of the west wind. One day Zephyrus was teaching Hyacinthus to throw the discus, and he accidentally killed him. It is said that Hyacinthus’s blood caused a flower to spring up, and each petal was inscribed with the Greek exclamation of sorrow.” Her voice trembled a little as he purposefully set the pot of hyacinths on the table. “A-Actually, the flower that sprang up would have been the iris or larkspur, not the modern hyacinth, but that is how it earned its name.”

“Fascinating.” His unfathomable eyes locked onto hers. Elizabeth knew he was referring to her and not the history of the hyacinth, and though she commanded herself to move out of his reach, her legs refused to budge.

“Absolutely fascinating,” he murmured again, and in slow motion she watched his hands reach out and gently grasp her shoulders, rubbing lightly. “Last night you were ready to do battle with a roomful of men because they dared believe I’d cheated, yet now you’re afraid. Is it me you fear, sweetheart? Or something else?”

The endearment spoken in his rich baritone voice had the same stirring effect on her as the touch of his lips. “I’m afraid of the things you make me feel,” she admitted desperately, trying to get control of herself and the situation. “I realize that this is merely a-a little weekend dalliance-”

“Liar,” he teased, and he took her lips in a sweet, swift kiss. Her mind reeled from the brief touch, but the moment he lifted his mouth from hers she rushed into frightened speech. “Thank you,” she blurted inanely. “H-Hyacinths are not the only flower with an interesting history. There are lilies, too, which are also part of the genus-”

A lazy, seductive grin swept across his handsome face, and, to Elizabeth’s helpless horror, her gaze fastened on his mouth. She couldn’t still the shiver of anticipation as he bent his head. Her brain warned her she was mad, but her heart knew this truly was good-bye, and the knowledge made her lean up on her toes and kiss him back with all the helpless, confused longing she felt. The sweetness of her yielding. combined with the way her hand slid up his chest and rested against his heart while her other hand curved around his nape, would have seemed to any man to be either the actions of a woman who was falling in love or else those of an experienced flirt. Elizabeth-naive, inexperienced. and very young-was acting on pure instinct. and was unaware that everything she did was convincing him she was the former.

She was, however, not so lost as to the ramifications of her actions that she forgot about Robert’s impending arrival, Unfortunately, she had never imagined Robert might have been on his way there before her note ever arrived.

“Please listen to me,” she whispered desperately. “My brother is coming to take me home.”

“Then I’ll talk to him. Your father may have some objections, even after he understands that I’ll be able to provide for your future-”

“My future!” Elizabeth interrupted in genuine terror at the way he was taking charge a gambler, just like her father. She thought of the rooms at Havenhurst, stripped almost bare of valuables, the servants counting on her, the ancestors counting on her. At that moment she would have said anything, anything to make him stop pursuing her before she lost control completely and gave in to the mindless, wicked weakness he seemed to inspire in her. She leaned back in his arms, trying to make her shaking voice sound cool and amused: “And what will you provide, sir? Will you promise me a ruby large enough to cover my palm, as Viscount Mondevale has? Sables to cover my shoulders and mink to carpet the floor, as Lord Seabury has?”

“Is that what you want?”

“Of course,” she said with brittle gaiety, but she was choking back a sob. “Isn’t that what all females want and all gentlemen promise?”

His face hardened into an expressionless mask, but his eyes were probing hers like daggers, looking for answers-as if he couldn’t completely believe that jewels and furs mattered to her more than feelings.

“Oh, please let me go,” she cried on a choked sob, shoving hard at his chest.

So intent were they that neither of them noticed the man striding swiftly down the aisle. “You miserable bastard,” Robert thundered, “you heard what she said! Take your filthy hands off my sister!”

Ian’s arms started to tighten protectively, but Elizabeth tore free of his grasp and ran to Robert, tears streaking down her face. “Robert, listen to me. It’s not what you think.” Robert put his arm around her shoulder, and Elizabeth started to launch into explanations. “This is Mr. Ian Thornton,” she began, “and-”

“And despite the way this looks,” Ian interrupted with amazing calm, “my intentions toward Miss Cameron are perfectly honorable.”

“You arrogant son of a bitch!” Robert exploded, his voice vibrating with fury and contempt. “My sister is Countess Cameron to the likes of you! And I don’t need an introduction. I know all about you. As to your intentions or should I say pretensions. I wouldn’t let her marry scum like you even if she weren’t already betrothed.”

At those words Ian’s gaze jerked to Elizabeth. He saw the truth on her guilt-stricken face, and Elizabeth almost cried out at the cynical contempt blazing in his eyes.

“You’ve compromised my sister, you misbegotten pig and you’ll answer for it!”

Pulling his gaze from Elizabeth, Ian looked at Robert, his hard face wiped clean of all expression now. Acceding to Robert’s demand for a duel, he nodded curtly and said almost politely, “Of course.” Then he moved as if to leave.

“No!” Elizabeth cried wildly, clutching at Robert’s arm, and for the second time in twenty-four hours she found herself trying to stop someone from spilling Ian Thornton’s blood. “I won’t permit this, Robert, do you hear me? It wasn’t all his-”

“This is none of your affair, Elizabeth!” Robert snapped, too enraged to listen to her. Removing her hand from his arm, he said, “Berta is already in my carriage in the drive. Go around the far side of the house and get in with her. This man,” he said with scathing sarcasm, “and I have some things to discuss.”

“You can’t-” Elizabeth tried again, but Ian Thornton’s murderous voice stopped her cold.

“Get out of here!” he said between his teeth, and while Elizabeth was willing to ignore Robert’s order, Ian Thornton’s made her quake. Her chest heaving with fright, she looked at his rigid face, at the muscle leaping in his jaw, and then at Robert. Not certain whether her presence was making things worse or forestalling a calamity, she tried once again to appeal to Robert, “Please promise me you won’t do anything until tomorrow, when you’ve had time to think and we’ve talked.”

Elizabeth watched him make a herculean effort not to further terrify her and to agree with what she asked. “Fine,” he bit out. “I’ll be only a moment behind you,” he promised. “Now go on to my carriage before that crowd out there who’s been watching this whole scene decides to come in here where they can hear as well as see.”

Elizabeth felt physically ill when she stepped out of the greenhouse and saw many of the people from the ballroom gathered outdoors. Penelope was there, and Georgina and the others, and the expressions on their faces ranged from amusement among the older people to icy condemnation among the younger.

A short while later her brother strode to the chaise and climbed inside. His manner was more rigidly controlled than it had been. “The matter is settled,” he said. but regardless of how much she pleaded, he would not say more.

In helpless misery Elizabeth leaned back against the squabs, listening to Berta, who was sniffling in anticipation of the blame she felt she would ultimately receive from Lucinda Throckmorton-Jones. “My note couldn’t have reached you more than two hours ago,” Elizabeth whispered after a few minutes. “How could you have gotten here so quickly?”

“I never got your note,” he replied stiffly. “This afternoon Lucinda felt well enough to come downstairs for a bit. When I told her where you’d gone this weekend, she gave me some startling news about the sorts of goings-on your friend Charise permits at her country parties. I left three hours ago to fetch you and Berta home early. Unfortunately, I was too late.”

“It’s not as bad as you think,” Elizabeth lied lamely. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow!” he snapped, and she slumped with relief, thinking he meant to do nothing. at least until then. “Elizabeth, how could you be such a fool? Even you should have realized the man’s a complete scoundrel! He’s not fit to...” He broke off and drew a long breath, striving to get control of his temper. When he spoke again he seemed more composed. “The damage, whatever it may be, has already been done. I’m to blame for this you’re too young and inexperienced to go anywhere without Lucinda to keep you out of harm’s way. I can only pray that your affianced husband will take an equally understanding view of the matter.”

It dawned on Elizabeth that this was the second time tonight that Robert had openly spoken of her engagement as if it was finalized. “Since it hasn’t been settled or made public, I can’t see why my actions should reflect on Viscount Mondevale,” she said with more hope than conviction. “If there is a little scandal, he may want to delay announcing it for a while, Robert, but I can’t think he’ll be so very embarrassed.”

“We signed the contracts today,” Robert gritted. “Mondevale and I had no difficulty agreeing on your settlement-he was extremely generous, by the way. The proud bridegroom was eager to send an announcement to the papers, and I saw no reason why he should not. It will be in the Gazette tomorrow.”

That piece of alarming news made Berta let out a muted sob before she lapsed again to sniffling and blowing her nose. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes closed and held back her own tears while her mind tormented her with more pressing problems than her handsome young fiance.

In bed Elizabeth lay awake for hours, tortured with memories of the weekend and with terror that she might not be able to dissuade Robert from dueling with Ian Thornton, which she was almost certain he still meant to do. Staring up at the ceiling, she feared alternately for Robert and then for Ian. Lord Howard had made it sound as if Ian was a deadly duelist, yet Ian had refused to defend his honor when Lord Everly called him a cheat-an act many might view as cowardice. Perhaps gossip about Ian’s skill was totally wrong. Robert was a fair shot, and Elizabeth’s body grew clammy thinking of Ian, proud and alone, being felled by a ball from Robert’s pistol. No. She told herself she was thinking hysterically. The possibility of either of them actually shooting the other was outlandish.

Dueling was illegal, and in this instance the code of honor would dictate that Ian appear-which he’d already agreed to do in the greenhouse-and that Robert would delope fire in the air. In so doing, Ian would be tentatively admitting his guilt by putting his life in Robert’s hands, which would give Robert the satisfaction a duel provided without the bloodshed, and Robert could then delope. That was the way gentlemen usually dealt with such matters these days.

Usually. Elizabeth’s terrified mind reminded her, but Robert’s temper was explosive, and he was so infuriated tonight that instead of raging he’d been coldly, murderously silent-and that alarmed Elizabeth more than his outburst would have done.

Shortly before dawn she fell into an uneasy slumber, only to wake what seemed like minutes later to the sound of someone moving down the hall. A servant, she thought, glancing at the window where pale rays of gray were tinting the inky night sky. She was about to drift off to sleep again when she heard the front door downstairs open and then close.

Dawn-duels. Robert had promised to talk to her today before doing anything, she thought hysterically, and for once Elizabeth had no trouble waking up. Fear sent her bolting from beneath the covers. Still pulling on a dressing robe, she ran flying down the stairs and jerked open the front door in time to see Robert’s carriage rounding the comer.

“Oh my God!” she said to the empty hall, and because she was too overwrought to wait and wonder alone, she went upstairs to awaken the one person whose good judgment could be depended upon no matter how chaotic the world became. Lucinda had been waiting up for them last night, and she knew most of what had happened this weekend, with the exception, of course, of the interlude in the gamekeeper’s cottage.

“Lucinda,” she whispered, and the gray-haired woman’s eyes opened, their pale hazel orbs alert and unclouded. “Robert has just left the house. I’m certain he means to duel with Mr. Thornton.”

Miss Lucinda Throckmorton-Jones, whose career as a duenna had heretofore included the unblemished chaperonage of the daughters of three dukes, eleven earls, and six viscounts, pushed herself upright against the pillows and gazed narrowly at the young lady who had just spoiled her brilliant record. “Inasmuch as Robert is not an early riser,” she said. “that would seem to be an obvious conclusion.”

“Whatever shall I do?” “For a start. I suggest you cease wringing your hands in that unbecoming fashion and then go to the kitchen and make some tea.”

“I don’t want any tea.” “I shall require some tea if we are to wait downstairs for your brother’s return. which I foresee is what you wish to do.”

“Oh, Lucy,” Elizabeth said, looking at the gruff spinster with love and gratitude, “whatever would I do without you?”

“You would get yourself into a deal of trouble, which you have already done.” Seeing the torment in Elizabeth’s face, she relented slightly as she climbed out of bed. “Custom dictates that Thornton present himself and that your brother have the satisfaction of seeing him do it, and then Robert must delope. There’s nothing else that can happen.”

It was the first time in Elizabeth’s acquaintance with Lucinda that the stalwart duenna was wrong.

The clock was just chiming the hour of eight A.M. when Robert returned with Lord Howard. He stalked past the

drawing room, saw Elizabeth huddled on the sofa across from Lucinda, who was doing needlework, paused, and stepped back. “What are you doing up so early?” he asked her tersely.

“Waiting for you,” Elizabeth told him, hurtling out of her chair. Lord Howard’s presence confused her for a moment, and then it hit her-Robert would have needed a second to attend the duel. “You dueled with him, didn’t you, Robert?”

“Yes!”

Elizabeth’s voice was a strangled whisper. “Is he hurt?” Robert stalked over to the side table and poured whiskey in a glass.

“Robert,” she cried, grabbing him by the arms. “What happened?”

“I shot him in the arm,” Robert snapped savagely. “I was aiming for his black heart, and I missed! That’s what happened.” Shaking off Elizabeth’s hands, he downed the contents of his glass, then turned to refill it.

Sensing that there was more, Elizabeth searched his face. “Is that all?”

“No, that’s not all!” Robert exploded. “After I wounded him, that bastard lifted his pistol and stood there, making me sweat. Then he blew the tassel off the top of my goddamned boot!”

“He-he what?” Elizabeth said, recognizing Robert’s roiling fury and unable to understand it. “Surely you aren’t angry because he missed!”

“Damn it, don’t you understand anything? He didn’t miss! It was an insult. He stood there with blood pouring down his arm, his pistol aimed at my heart, then he changed his aim at the last possible second and shot the tassel off my boot instead. He meant to show me he could have killed me if he’d chosen, and everyone who was there saw it! It was the final insult, damn his rotten soul!”

“You not only refused to delope,” Lord Howard bit out, sounding as angry as Robert, “you fired before the call was given. You disgraced yourself and me. Moreover, if word of this duel becomes public, you’ll have the lot of us arrested for participating. Thornton gave you satisfaction by appearing this morning and refusing to raise his pistol. He admitted guilt. What more did you expect?” As if unable to bear the sight of Robert any longer, Lord Howard turned on his heel. Elizabeth followed him helplessly into the hall, desperately trying to think of something eloquent to say in Robert’s defense. “You must be cold and weary,” she began, stalling for time. “Won’t you at least stay for some tea?”

Lord Howard shook his head and kept walking. “I only returned to get my carriage.”

“Then I’ll see you out,” Elizabeth persisted. She walked him to the door, and for a moment she thought he actually meant to leave without even saying good day. Standing in the open doorway, he hesitated and then turned back to her. “Good-bye, Lady Elizabeth,” he said in an odd, regretful voice, and then he left.

Elizabeth scarcely noticed his tone or even his departure. She realized for the first time that this morning-perhaps at this very minute-a surgeon somewhere was digging a ball out of Ian’s arm. Sagging against the door, she swallowed convulsively, fighting the urge to vomit at the thought of the pain she’d caused him. Last night she’d been too terrified by the prospect of a duel to consider how Ian must have felt when Robert told him she was engaged. Now it was finally beginning to hit her, and her stomach clenched. Ian had spoken of marrying her, had kissed and held her with tender, possessive passion and told her he was falling in love with her. In return for that, Robert had barged in on him and contemptuously told him she was beyond his touch socially and already engaged besides. And this morning he had shot him for daring to reach too high.

Leaning her head back against the door, Elizabeth stilted a moan of contrition. Ian might not have a title nor any claim to being a gentleman in the ton’s interpretation of the events, but Elizabeth sensed instinctively that he was a proud man. That pride had been stamped on his bronzed features, in the way he carried himself, in his every movement-and she and Robert had trampled it to pieces. They had made a fool of him in the greenhouse last night and forced him into a duel today.

At that moment, if Elizabeth had known where to find him, she really thought she would have braved his anger and gone to him to explain about Havenhurst and all her responsibilities, to try to make him understand that it was those things, not any lack in him, that had made it impossible for her to consider marrying him.

Shoving herself away from the door, Elizabeth walked slowly down the hall and into the drawing room where Robert was sitting with his head in his hands. “This isn’t finished,” Robert gritted, lifting his head to look at her. “I’ll kill him one day for this!”

“No you will not!”, Elizabeth said, her words shaking with alarm. “Bobby, listen to me-you don’t understand about Ian Thornton. He didn’t do anything wrong, not really. You see,” she said in a suffocated voice, “he thought he was well, falling in love with me. He wanted to marry me-”

Robert’s sharp bark of derisive laughter rang through the room. “Is that what he told you?” he sneered, his face purpling with fury at her lack of familial loyalty. “Well, then let me set you straight, you little idiot! To put it bluntly and in his own words, all he wanted from you was a tumble between the sheets!”

Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face, then she slowly shook her head in denial. “No, you’re wrong. When you first found us he said his intentions were honorable, remember?”

“He changed his mind damned quick when I told him you are penniless,” Robert flung back, looking at her with a mixture of pity and scorn.

Too weak to continue standing, Elizabeth sank down on the sofa beside her brother, crushed by the full weight of responsibility for her stupidity, her gullibility, and all that those two traits had brought down on them. “I’m sorry,” she whispered helplessly. “I’m so sorry. You risked your life for me this morning, and I haven’t even thanked you for caring enough to do that.” Because she couldn’t think of anything else to say or do, she put her arm around his slumped shoulders. “Things will work out for us-they always have,” she promised unconvincingly.

“Not this time,” he said, his eyes harsh with despair. “I think we’re ruined, Elizabeth.”

“I can’t believe it’s as bad as that. There’s a chance none this will come out,” she continued, not believing her own words. “And Lord Mondevale cares for me, I think. Surely he’ll listen to reason.”

“In the meantime,” Lucinda said at last, with typical cool practicality, “Elizabeth must go out as usual-as if nothing untoward has happened. If she hides in the house, gossip will feed on itself. You, sir, will have to escort her.”

“It won’t matter, I tell you!” Robert said. “We’re ruined.” He was right. That night, while Elizabeth bravely attended a ball with her fiance, who seemed to be blessedly unaware of her weekend debacle, lurid versions of her activities were already spreading like wildfire throughout the ton. The story of the episode in the greenhouse was circulated, along with the added slander that she had purportedly sent him a note inviting him to join her there. More damning by far was the titillating gossip that she’d spent an afternoon with Ian Thornton alone in a secluded cottage.

“That bastard is the one who’s spreading those stories,” Robert had raged the next day when the tales reached his ears. “He’s trying to whiten his own hands by saying you sent him a note inviting him to the greenhouse, and that you were pursuing him. You’re not the first female to lose your head over him, you know. You’re just the youngest and the most naive. This year alone there’ve been Charise Dumont and several others whose names have been linked with his. None of them, however, was unsophisticated enough to behave with such wanton indiscretion.” Elizabeth was too humiliated to argue or protest. Now that she was no longer under the influence of Ian Thornton’s sensual magnetism she realized that his actions were, in retrospect, exactly what one would expect of an unscrupulous rake who was bent on seduction. After only a few hours’ acquaintance he’d claimed to be half in love with her and to want to marry her-just the sort of impossible lie a libertine would tell to his victim. She’d read enough novels to know that fortune hunters and dissolute libertines intent on seduction often claimed to be in love with their victims when all they wanted was another conquest. Like an utter fool, Elizabeth had thought of him as a victim of unfair social prejudice.

Now she realized too late that the social prejudices that would have excluded him from respectable ton activities had existed to protect her from men like him,

Elizabeth didn’t have a great deal of time to devote to her private misery, however. Friends of Viscount Mondevale, upon learning of his betrothal in the papers, finally felt it incumbent upon them to disclose to the happy bridegroom the gossip about the female to whom he’d offered his hand.

The next morning he called at the town house on Ripple Street and withdrew his offer. Since Robert had not been at home, Elizabeth had met with him in the drawing room. One look at his rigid stance and unsmiling mouth and Elizabeth had felt as if the floor was falling away from beneath her.

“I trust there won’t need to be an unpleasant scene over this,” he’d said stiffly, without preamble.

Unable to speak past the tears of shame and sorrow choking her, Elizabeth had shaken her head. He turned and started for the door, but as he strode past her he swung around and grasped her by the shoulders. “Why, Elizabeth?” he demanded, his handsome face twisted with angry regret. “Tell me why. At least give me that.”

“Why?” she repeated, stupidly longing to throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness.

“I can understand that you might have accidentally encountered him at some cottage in the woods in the rain, which is what my cousin, Lord Howard, tells me he believes happened. But why would you have sent him a note to meet you alone in the greenhouse?”

“I didn’t,” she cried, and only her stubborn pride kept her from collapsing in a sobbing heap at his feet.

“You’re lying.” he said flatly, his hands falling away. “Valerie saw the note after he tossed it away and went looking for you.”

“She’s mistaken,” Elizabeth choked, but he was already walking out of the room.

Elizabeth had thought she could not feel more humiliated than she did at that moment, but she soon discovered she was mistaken. Viscount Mondevale’s desertion was taken as proof that she was guilty, and from that day onward no more invitations or callers arrived at the town house on Ripple Street. At Lucinda’s insistence Elizabeth finally got up the courage to attend the one function she’d been invited to before the scandal became public-a ball at Lord and Lady Hinton’s home. She stayed for fifteen minutes, and then she left-because no one except the host and hostess, who had no choice, would speak to her or acknowledge her in any way.

In the eyes of the ton she was a shameless wanton, soiled and used, unfit company for unsullied young ladies and gullible young heirs, unfit to mingle in Polite Society. She had broken the rules governing moral conduct. and not even with someone of her own class, but with a man whose reputation was black, his social standing nonexistent. She hadn’t merely broken the rules, she’d flung them in their faces.

One week after the duel Robert disappeared without word or warning. Elizabeth was terrified for his safety, unwilling to believe he would desert her because of what she’d done, and unable to think of any other, less tormenting explanation. The actual explanation, however, was not long in coming. While Elizabeth sat alone in the drawing room, waiting and praying for his return, news of his disappearance was spreading allover the city. Creditors began arriving on her doorstep, demanding payment for huge debts that had accrued not only for her debut, but over many years for Robert’s gambling and even that of her father.

Three weeks after Charise Dumont’s party, on a brilliantly sunny afternoon, Elizabeth and Lucinda closed the door on the rented town house for the last time and climbed into their carriage. As her carriage drove past the park the same people who had flattered her and sought her out saw her and coldly turned their backs. Through the blur of her hot, humiliated tears Elizabeth saw a handsome young man with a pretty girl in his carriage. Viscount Mondevale was taking Valerie for a drive, and the look she gave Elizabeth was meant to be pitying. But Elizabeth, in her private torment, thought it was tinged with triumph. Her fear that Robert had met with foul play had already given way to the far more believable possibility that he had fled to avoid debtors’ gaol.

Elizabeth returned to Havenhurst and sold off every valuable she owned to payoff Robert’s gaming debts, her father’s gaming debts, and those from her debut. And then she picked up the threads of her life. With courage and determination she devoted herself to preserving Havenhurst and to the well-being of the eighteen servants who elected to stay with her for only a home, food, and new livery once each year.

Slowly her smiles returned and the guilt and confusion receded. She learned to avoid looking back on her grievous mistakes during her season, because it hurt too much to remember them and the awful retribution that had followed. At seventeen years old she was her own mistress, and she had come home, where she had always belonged. She resumed her chess games with Sentner and her target practice with Aaron; she lavished her love on this peculiar family of hers and on Havenhurst-and they returned it. She was contented and busy, and she adamantly refused to think of Ian Thornton or of the events that had led up to her self-imposed exile. Now her uncle’s actions were forcing her not only to think of him but to see him. Without her uncle’s modest financial support for two more years there was no way Elizabeth could avoid giving up Havenhurst. Until she could accumulate the money to have Havenhurst properly irrigated, as it should have been long ago, it could never be productive enough to attract cottagers and support itself.

With a reluctant sigh Elizabeth opened her eyes and gazed blankly at the empty room, then she slowly stood up. She’d confronted more difficult problems than this. She told herself bracingly. Wherever there was a problem, there were solutions; one simply had to look carefully for the best one. And Alex was here now. Between the two of them they could surely think of a way to circumvent Uncle Julius.

She would take it as a challenge, she decided firmly as she headed off in search of Alex. At nineteen she still enjoyed challenges, and life at Havenhurst had become a little bit routine. A few short trips-two of the three, at least might be exciting.

By the time she finally located Alex in the garden, Elizabeth had almost convinced herself of all those things.