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  Colin clenched his hands in his lap. This was not the place for a display of temper. He must remain calm. “What’s in the paper is a complete abomination. There’s nothing between the lady and myself. Rubbish. All of it.”

  “What about the wager?”

  “Mackenzie, how long have you known me?”

  “Ten years.”

  “Have youever known me to bet on anything?”

  “No.”

  Colin stared, while he let the truth of the situation sink in for his friend. Finally Mackenzie tilted his head, his face confused. “I did have such high hopes for you, Haverwood, although I suppose I should have known otherwise. Why, though, would seven papers publish such a bald-faced lie?”

  Perhaps because there was some grain of the truth there.However, now Colin only wanted to rectify the damage he’d done. It was the very least he could do. “I cannot even begin to imagine the reasons. I spoke to Miss Banks briefly last evening at the theater. I had no idea who she was, and I assure you, nothing improper transpired.”

  “She must be beside herself wondering about the gossip. Have you been to call on her?”

  Colin rubbed his eyes, erasing the image that flashed in his head. Himself, alone with her. “No.”

  “Well, why the hell not?” Mackenzie laid aside the newspaper and stood. “We’ll go now, I’ll take you myself. Have always wanted to meet her.”

  “I’ll do no such thing, and neither will you. Sit down.”

  “Oh, all right. You are going to see her, though, aren’t you? It’s the right thing to do, Haverwood.”

  If he were truly the DragonSlayer, he’d be able to do the right thing. “If I do, it will only make things worse.” He had seen what a man could do. He remembered the fear that never left his mother’s eyes, the way her tears never ceased.

  “Then send her a note. And flowers. I hear she’s very fond of flowers.”

  How many men had sent her flowers, he wondered, hating every one of them. Yet it was a traditional gesture of courtship. He should send Miss Lambert flowers. That was impersonal, safe. Perhaps he could have Giles take care of that. God, he hated the whole business. The old earl was probably enjoying his torment of Colin. St. George was the greatest bit of honor he had in his life. He would not let it go. His jaw tightened and he shook off his doubts. “There’s something I need to discuss with you. Something other than Miss Banks.”

  Mackenzie leaned his head back, crossed one elegant leg over the other, and heaved a loud sigh. “But she is so very lovely.”

  “Will you stop this?” Colin’s voice was sharper and louder than he intended. Heads turned and watched him carefully. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Have you seen D’Albon?”

  “No. Is he here in London?” Stephen slapped his hand on his knee. “By heavens, I know the perfect spot for us to take him to. There’s a shabby gaming hell in the East End that Etiénne would adore.”

  “Stephen, I don’t think he’s here for sport. He left me nothing more than a note with his mark.”

  Mackenzie grew serious. “Have you talked to Scovell?”

  Colin shook his head. “No. There isn’t anything to say yet.” Certainly there was nothing for the colonel to do.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He shrugged. “When Etiénne is ready to appear, he will. You shouldn’t worry.”

  “No.” He did worry, though. A discreet waiter appeared, bearing a cup of tea for Colin. He accepted it gratefully, taking a long swallow of the warm liquid.

  “There’s a rumor that you’re angling for a wife. The book’s already got wagers in it about who the lucky lady will be,” Mackenzie said with a speculative gleam in his eye.

  “It’s no rumor. A man comes of a certain age and he must take charge of his responsibilities. It’s what’s expected of him. I don’t know why men need to make such a spectacle out of an honorable institution.” Colin sank lower in his chair.

  “Honor, responsibility.” Mackenzie laughed. “You don’t look happy about it, though. What about passion? Or are you going to find that in another’s bed?”

  “Fidelity is one of the basic cornerstones in any marriage. Not all men require passion in their life. Too much can be a very dangerous thing.” His mother had just barely survived.

  “But to live without it?”

  “It can be done.”

  “You’re a cold man, Haverwood.”

  “No, merely able to control myself,” he replied. His fingers found the blade he carried within his coat. Cady’s knife. He had killed men for his country, many men, but he would kill himself before he would ever touch a woman as his father had. His father had destroyed his mother, but Colin was stronger than that. Lust, passion, desire, those things didn’t belong in his life. They never would.

  Sarah looked at the neat columns of hearts, clubs, spades, and diamonds in front of her and cursed. Patience was a game she could play in her sleep, yet today all the cards looked the same and winning had not brought her the comfortable nepenthe that she so desperately needed. There had been no word from Haverwood. Not a note, not an apology. Only a dedicated servant who wanted to right a wrong. She’d been unwanted, undesired, and now she simply hurt.

  She rose from her chair and stalked about the room, stopping every few moments to study the cards and flip over a new one. Black club, red diamond. Queen of spades, jack of hearts. If he married a scheming, conniving, hardhearted aristocrat, he deserved every minute of his misery. She cursed again and tapped her fingers on the table, wishing she’d never met him.

  Wishing that he’d kissed her.

  Damn.

  As she matched the last two cards to their opposites, a knock sounded at the door and Iris poked her head in the room. “Mum, look at what just arrived!”

  The maid swept to the floor, clutching an invitation in her hand.

  “Get up, Iris!”

  “Of course, mum. Just look!”

  Sarah read the words printed on the fine paper three times, just in case she was mistaken. There was no mistake. She was holding an invitation to a ball. A ball given by the Duke of Westover.A ball . She reached behind her, searching for the firm anchor of a chair. Finally, she grasped the cold wood, and sank gratefully, before her knees gave way. Mr. Giles was quite the man of miracles. She looked at the name on the outside of the invitation and sighed with relief. Yes, there it was.Miss Sarah Banks . No mistake at all. Dear heavens.

  “A ball, mum! It’s Saturday next. What will you be wearing? You’ve got some time to get a new dress if you choose. A fancy one and you’ll be all the crack.”

  Iris was right—Sarah would need something to wear. She’d never been to a ball before. Oh, she’d attended the country dances that the comtesse and the comte had dragged her to, but nothing like this.

  A dress. A beautiful dress. Of pink? No. White? She winced, thinking she’d look like a ghost with her head on fire. Green? Too reptilian. Silver? Ah, yes. She grinned at Iris. “Silver.”

  Iris bounced approvingly. “Oh, mum! It will be perfect. Something that shines and sparkles, and matches your eyes. The earl will be down on one knee before the night is done.”

  Haverwood would be there, she was sure. Finally, she would have a chance to show everyone exactly how much hedidn’t mean to her. Tall and handsome in his formal attire. And when he looked at her, would he fall down on one knee? No, no, no. Thinking those dangerous thoughts had brought her one long night of tears. She would give up no more of her nights for him. He wasn’t worth it at all.

  Would Miss Lambert be there, she wondered? Surely she would. Sarah hoped she was ugly and vicious, with bad teeth. Haverwood deserved nothing better. Her hands knotted in her skirts, unhappy with her jealous thoughts.

  Jealousy, of all things. She was pouting like a spoiled child. Her father hadn’t raised her to be a simpering ninny; she was strong and resolute. She hardened her spine and looked at Iris, determined to go forward. She would shed no more tears for the man. “Send a message to
the comtesse; she can be my chaperone. Oh, there’s much to do.”

  She would go to the ball. And dance, and laugh, and smile so prettily, and watch as the earl fell right into Miss Lambert’s trap. He wasn’t pursued because he was good, or noble, or because he would protect the woman he loved. No. Instead, it would be afinancial arrangement. How fitting. If the earl wanted to marry Miss Lambert, so be it. She’d sing the woman’s praises herself, if necessary.

  The earl could have Miss Lambert. Have his wife. Have his life. The Fates had chosen a different path for the man. One without Sarah. She could accept that.

  After all, she had no choice.

  Chapter Four

  The Duke of Westover’s ball was all that Colin dreaded wrapped up in one very pretty parcel. He pulled at his collar, the tight confines of the elaborate cravat killing him. He didn’t belong here. The ballroom was full of light and people, a crush of bodies that only made him nervous. A bead of sweat trickled beneath his jacket.

  He scanned the stifling room, wishing to get the whole evening over and done with. Colin had asked the duke for an introduction to Miss Lambert, but to the best of his knowledge, she hadn’t arrived yet.

  The grand marble staircase flowed down into the hall, the red-coated footmen standing like army captains at attention. Music came from the balcony above, waltzes and minuets mingling with blaring conversations and clinking glasses. At another time, perhaps he could appreciate the tolerable melodies. For now, his pulse was racing far ahead of the string quartet.

  A delicate flute of champagne appeared in his hand, and he swallowed the golden liquid without hesitation, turning to search the dance floor casually.

  At first he only heard the indistinct whispering of voices, an incessant murmuring that he tried to ignore, but then he heard the sound of her name.Sarah . The whispering became clearer and he heard his name as well. He fought against the panic that rose in his throat, telling himself that he had no reason to fear. No one knew who his father was. He turned and looked up at the staircase, and forgot all his fears, forgot the people gathered around him, simply forgot to breathe.

  Her hair was piled on her head with twists and curls that made her look like a goddess of fire. The candlelight’s glow reflected on her ivory-pale skin, as smooth and lustrous as the finest pearls. Her silver-threaded gown flowed behind her as she made her way slowly down the stairs. There was an arrogance about her, a regal bearing that at any other time might have made him smile. She lifted her head, letting her eyes peruse the faces slowly, as if she were bored by the whole tableau before her.

  For three heartbeats their eyes held, and he was trapped by her gray gaze, unable to move. Then, so easily that it pierced his heart, she looked away, finding someone else to favor with her attention.

  The orchestra began to play and he blinked, noticing that those around him were staring at him as he stood there, slack-jawed and moon-eyed, no doubt confirming every lurid suspicion that whirled around the room. With calm deliberation, feigning a man who didn’t care at all, he took another glass of champagne, and turned his head, studying the marble pillars that supported the room. Fine workmanship, exquisite detailing, as solid and hard as his sex. He stepped further behind the pillar, lest anyone notice.Delightful.

  In time, the whispering quieted, the prying eyes found other prey to watch, and Sarah disappeared into the crowd. Colin sipped his champagne slowly, and nodded politely at those who passed by. Sometimes he thought he spotted her, dancing with some rarefied dandy, but then she would disappear again.

  Thankfully, the duke approached a short while later, a dignified statesman for whom Colin had the utmost respect. Colin managed a polite smile. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  “You’re still anxious for that introduction this evening?”

  “Yes. Is Miss Lambert here?”

  “On the other side of the room. It’s all been arranged. Come with me.” The man flashed Colin a knowing wink. “I’ve read the stories in the papers about you and Miss Banks. You’re holding up better than I would if I were in your boots.”

  “It’s all an act, sir.”

  “I thought as much. Come along, then. Miss Lambert is waiting.”

  Sarah found a comfortable corner to observe the dance floor. Not quite isolated enough to be considered hiding, yet secluded enough that she did not draw attention to her sad, solitary state. She scanned the dancers for the comte and comtesse, but they were not to be found. She had seen the earl, made her triumphant entrance, and bravely conquered her urge to flee. But now, several hours later, her courage was slowly fading. She had never thought this night would be easy, but it was much worse than she had feared. Her stomach was tied in a multitude of knots, and if she had to drink one more glass of lemonade, she feared she would retch.

  As of yet, she had not met Catherine Lambert, the wily Circe who coveted the earl’s money. And by the way her evening was going, it didn’t seem likely to Sarah that she ever would. No one, except for François and Juliette, had spoken to her all night. Indeed, as the night wore on, it was becoming more difficult to remember that at one point she had actuallywanted to attend this ball. Her triumph, indeed. Sarah sighed. The way the ball guests had avoided her, it was as if she had the plague.

  The comte and comtesse had done their best, but Sarah had insisted they dance rather than stand guard like a pair of sentries. And now she was once again feeling sorry for herself. And that, Sarah reminded herself, was simply not acceptable. She had given the gossips enough to keep them gathering wool for months—no need to let them know that they had managed to get under her skin. She picked up an empty glass and tried to look as though she were enjoyed herself.

  A young girl wearing a white crepe frock appeared, looking quite fascinated with the dancing and noise, and Sarah watched out of the corner of her eye, as the girl sidled closer. Ah, a brave gawker who dared to study the undesirables through close contact. She admired the girl’s pluck, the same way a fox would admire the olfactory skills of the hounds that sought his blood.

  “Hello.”

  Sarah could hardly believe her ears. The girl was actually speaking toher , a rarity indeed. Sarah turned and responded politely. “Quite a crush this evening, don’t you think?”

  The girl looked at her, her brown eyes wide and completely without guile. “It’s splendid!”

  Dear heavens, thought Sarah, the girl was as innocent as she looked, and somewhat likeable. Although, she should have dressed in a more dashing manner. The girl’s lacy frills were more suited to a child in a schoolroom and the style clashed horribly with her sharp features. A pity, because with the proper hand, the girl could be quite stunning.

  “Is this your first ball?” Sarah kept her voice deliberately unaffected, as if she had been to countless events, when in fact, it was Sarah’s first ball also. She completely understood the girl’s wide-eyed stare and, truth be told, if others hadn’t been watching, she might have gawked as well.

  “I suppose it shows, doesn’t it? But it’s so grand. You’re Miss Banks, aren’t you?”

  Ah, yes. The girl did have teeth and was prepared to use them. Sarah braced herself for the cutting remark, or the unfriendly stare, but none came. Instead, Sarah realized that the girl was looking at her with something akin to awe.Dear heavens, this was quite the new experience. Sarah found herself smiling. “Ah, my secret’s out. Do you think I should slink away into the darkness before they string me up from the balcony?”

  The girl giggled, golden curls bobbing. “Oh, no. It makes for great fun. You must stay and tell me all about the earl. He looks quite brooding, don’t you think?”

  Once again, Sarah’s defenses rose, and she felt the need to tread very carefully with the stranger. “I fear you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  The girl beamed. “Catherine Lambert.”

  This schoolroom ingénue was the scheming huntress?Something seemed amiss. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but you mus
tn’t believe everything that’s been written about me in the papers.”

  “But what they printed about you and the earl . . . I assumed . . .” the girl trailed off, realizing that perhaps she might have taken a misstep.

  Yes, Sarah understood how easy it was to be deceived. She twirled the crystal stem of her glass carefully between her fingers. “Pshaw. A great bit of fustian, that was all.”

  “But you do know the man, don’t you? Or was that a clanker as well?”

  Miss Lambert did seem determined to find out about the earl. Perhaps Mr. Giles had been correct. Sarah chose to ignore the girl’s question, and pose one of her own. “Do you know the earl?”

  Catherine brought up her fan and whispered behind it. “Mother thinks I should marry him. He asked for an introduction to me, and I had to bring her the smelling salts.”

  Ah, the mother. That explained much. Sarah studied the girl’s frock once more, noting the lack of jewels, a style that bespoke of a lack of funds as well. She searched her heart for the righteous vindication she had felt earlier, but it seemed to be missing.

  “He’d be quite a catch for any young girl,” Sarah replied, wishing she didn’t sound quite so wistful, although it did lend an authentic touch to her performance.

  “Would you marry him, then? A man you didn’t know?”

  Sarah pondered the question briefly. The night they had met, she would have married him in an instant. She’d been so sure. And yet she’d been wrong. “If you study all those fairy tales, the princess never knows anything at all about the prince. He could be a frog for all she knows. You must trust your heart, Catherine.” She could lie so easily when the situation demanded it.

  “It sounds all very romantic when you speak so. Did you like him? The earl?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s quite personable. Made me laugh several times.”

  “Really? He has a sense of humor?”