And so he was here-and feeling more than a little nervous, though he would have admitted it to no one this side of the afterlife. His unease aside, however, Nash had given quite a lot of thought to what he was about to do. If only he could find Xanthia, perhaps the nervousness would pa.s.s, and his visceral certainty would return.

Suddenly, he noticed an elderly woman leaning on a gold-k.n.o.bbed walking stick near the windows. His heart sank. It was Lady Bledsoe, he was unutterably certain, though he had met her but two or three times in his youth. And if she was here, it probably meant Xanthia was not...

No. Xanthia was here. His every nerve was vibrating with the certainty of it. On impulse, he set a determined course for Lady Bledsoe. The old battle-ax caught sight of him and lifted a bejeweled lorgnette to her eyes.

"Lord Nash is it?" she said, peering haughtily at him. "Or do my eyes deceive?"

"How do you do, ma'am?" Nash bowed stiffly. "I trust I find you well?"

The old lady sniffed, and lowered the gla.s.s. "Well enough, I daresay," she replied. "You know Lady Cartselle, do you not?"

He leaned forward to see her ladyship standing on Lady Bledsoe's opposite side. "Indeed, I attended her delightful masque a few weeks past."

"Did you?" said Lady Bledsoe archly.

"How do you do, Lord Nash?" twittered Lady Cartselle.

"What a shock to see you here," said Lady Bledsoe, when her companion had turned away again. "Tell me, how is that silly mother of yours, my boy?"

"I believe you mean my stepmother, ma'am?"

"Yes, whatever," said Lady Bledsoe. "Still as scatty as ever, is she?"

"Edwina does have her own sort of charm," said Nash. "But I am excessively fond of her."

Lady Bledsoe harrumphed. "I daresay," she answered.

Nash was saved from a further reply by Sharpe's chit, who returned to her aunt's side on the arm of her red-haired partner, breathless.

"Ah, there you are, my pet!" said Lady Bledsoe a little loudly. "Make your curtsy, Louisa, to Lady Cartselle and Lord Nash."

Lady Louisa did so. The red-haired lad accepted his dismissal with grace.

"Now who is your next partner, my pet?" asked Lady Bledsoe, s.n.a.t.c.hing her granddaughter's card. "Oh, excellent! The Marquess of Langtrell! What a lovely man!" Then, aside to Lady Cartselle, she said, "Lady Louisa has been engaged for every dance this season, you know. She has taken very well indeed. One can hardly walk through Sharpe's drawing room without tripping over another vase of flowers, or some puppy awaiting an audience."

"Indeed?" said Lady Cartselle. "What an inconvenience that must be."

Lady Bledsoe smiled. "So I should think, but her papa is thrilled."

Lady Cartselle turned a vague smile upon the chit. "How lovely you look tonight, my dear," she said. "I do hope you saved a dance for Peter?"

The girl's eyes widened. "Oh, I fear I did not," she said almost rotely. "Ought I have done?"

Her grandmother patted her hand. "There, there, dear child," she said. "The early bird gets the worm, does he not?"

The chit wrinkled her nose. "Eww, Grandmamma!"

Lady Cartselle opened her mouth as if to protest the oversight; but just then, true to her grandmother's prediction, the girl's next partner swooped in to claim her.

With a fleeting but satisfied smile, Lady Bledsoe returned her narrow gaze to Nash. "And what of you, my boy?" she murmured. "The rumor mill has it that you have been petticoat-chasing in earnest-and a lady of quality this time. I should have a care, if I were you."

"How kind of you to give advice," said Nash dryly. "I have so little experience with petticoats."

The old woman cackled. "I said in earnest," she reminded. "And yes, you have too much experience to suit me. Tread cautiously, Nash. Sometimes the only thing which truly tempts us is the thing which we cannot have."

"My, you are practically oozing sage advice, ma'am," he murmured, his eyes running over the crowd. "But I think you need not worry yourself on my behalf."

"Oh, I shan't," she rea.s.sured him. "But poor Edwina-now, there's the rub! Lady Henslow has frequently mentioned how often her sister frets herself into a state over you-not to mention that glad-handing stepbrother of yours."

Nash breathed a small sigh of relief. It seemed Lady Bledsoe had caught wind of a rumor but no name to go with it. Thank G.o.d Edwina's relatives had kept their mouths shut about the debacle at Brierwood. No one but immediate family knew Xanthia had been there-he hoped.

Nash plucked a gla.s.s of something dubious from the tray of a pa.s.sing footman and carefully considered his next words. "I think Edwina may soon cease her fretting, ma'am," he murmured over the rim of the gla.s.s. "Indeed, I shall do my best to ensure it."

"Shall you?" The old lady looked at him suspiciously. "I rather doubt that, my boy. And now that I think on it, what is a man of your ilk doing in Almack's anyway?"

Nash hesitated but an instant. "I have decided to look about for a wife, Lady Bledsoe," he coolly answered. "Is this not the proper venue for such an endeavor?"

"Do not be ridiculous." She rapped his knuckles with her lorgnette, almost causing him to drop his gla.s.s. "You are not the marrying type."

Nash turned to look at her pointedly. "A man can reform, can he not?" he murmured. "Tell me, Lady Bledsoe-who amongst this fair gathering would you recommend?"

"None of them!" she responded. "If you must marry, Nash, for G.o.d's sake, chose someone of experience if you can find her. A widow. Or a woman of common sense. I vow, you would scare a debutante to death."

"Then introduce me to your niece, Miss Neville," Nash suggested. "Is she here?"

Lady Bledsoe's visage stiffened. "Xanthia?" she answered. "Surely you jest?"

Nash shrugged. "Is she not an uncommonly sensible woman?"

Lady Bledsoe looked at him askance. "Well, yes, but..."

Nash smiled. "Surely, ma'am, you worry unnecessarily," he said. "A sensible woman could hardly be lured in by a man of my reputation."

The old woman laughed. "No, not that one, I'll vow," she said. "You are quite right. She won't give you the time of day-though perhaps she ought, given how long she's been on the shelf."

"A small wager on it, then, ma'am?" Nash suggested. "Twenty pounds, perhaps? Just to make your victory ever more sweet?"

Lady Bledsoe considered it. "Very well, you upstart," she said. "Twenty pounds says the girl won't so much as dance with you."

Lord Nash extended his hand. "You are on, ma'am."

Lady Bledsoe put her nose in the air, lifted her lorgnette, and went clomping across the ballroom at a healthy clip despite her stick. In a distant corner, tucked behind some withering palms, Xanthia was parting company with a smiling, middle-aged couple. Upon seeing her aunt's approach with Nash in tow, she stiffened, color flooding her face.

Swiftly, Lady Bledsoe made the introductions.

"I-yes, thank you, Aunt," Xanthia stammered. "But I already have the pleasure of Lord Nash's acquaintance."

"Have you indeed?" said her aunt, looking back and forth between them. "So you already know he is thought a scoundrel, eh?"

"No." Xanthia's head jerked up. "I mean-well, I did not say that. Not precisely."

"Then I don't suppose, Miss Neville, that you would care to dance with me?" Nash interjected.

Her eyes widened. "I think not, sir."

"Well, my boy, there you have it." Lady Bledsoe smiled. "A woman of sense and discernment. You may send the twenty pounds round to Grosvenor Street at your convenience."

"Ah, such is the life of a gamester!" Nash murmured. "You win some, you lose some."

Xanthia looked as if she meant to edge away. "I can't think what the two of you are talking about."

Gently, Nash took hold of her arm. "Miss Neville will make good my wager, Lady Bledsoe," he said. "She owes me twenty pounds on a previous bet."

Xanthia jerked from his grasp, her elegant eyebrows sharply arching. "I think you must be mad."

Nash looked at her in all seriousness. "Do you not remember, Miss Neville, that afternoon I came to court you in Berkeley Square?"

"To-to court me?"

"To court her?" chimed Lady Bledsoe.

Nash ignored Lady Bledsoe and held Xanthia's gaze as steadily as he could. "Well, to ask your brother's permission to do so," he corrected. "I think, you see, that I was already half in love with you. But in any case, you bet me twenty pounds that-now, how did you put it? Ah, yes!-That you would 'lay odds' Almack's wouldn't let a man of my 'ilk' in the front door."

"Yes, I did," she coolly admitted. "Fine, then. I shall pay it. Now kindly take him away, Aunt."

"No, I don't think I shall," said Lady Bledsoe. "This is vastly entertaining."

Nash slipped a hand discreetly into his coat pocket, then took both Xanthia's hands in his. "I shall leave, then, since you wish it," he said quietly, continuing to hold her gaze. "I am sorry, Miss Neville-deeply sorry-for all the confusion which has gone on between us."

Xanthia's eyes were wary. "Yes, my lord," she murmured. "As am I."

Nash dropped her hands. "Then I bid you a good evening." He turned and bowed. "Lady Bledsoe, your servant."

"Good Lord, girl," he heard Lady Bledsoe say after him. "Have you brought that black-hearted devil to heel?"

Five minutes after Nash's departure, Xanthia excused herself and went straight to the ladies' retiring room. It was empty, thank G.o.d. She drew open her reticule, and pulled out the note which Nash had slipped into her palm. Her heart in her throat, she read it.

If I dare hope, please come to me tonight.

I will await you in the garden at Berkeley Square.

Xanthia's knees began to shake. She felt almost blindly for a chair and fell into it. Just then Louisa came in. "There you are, Cousin Xanthia," she murmured. "Are you perfectly all right?"

Xanthia lifted her gaze to meet her young cousin's. "No, actually, I'm...I'm not."

Louisa nodded knowingly. "I have said to Mamma three times this week that you seemed not yourself lately," she replied. "Have you the headache?"

Xanthia set her fingertips to her temple. "Yes, a headache," she agreed. "I believe, Louisa, that I shall hire a cab and go back to Berkeley Square. Will you mind awfully?"

"Indeed I shall." Louisa knelt, and clasped her hands. "I will send round for our carriage. They may return for Grandmamma and me afterward."

Xanthia smiled weakly. "Thank you, my dear. I would be most grateful."

In Berkeley Square, the house was dark. Kieran, she knew, was out for the evening. The carriage set her down at the front door. She ordered the footman not to ring the bell and waved them away, much to his consternation.

"No, please," she said insistently. "I have the headache, and I wish to take the air. I shall just circle round the square before going in."

Finally, the footman tugged his forelock and climbed back up to his post. Xanthia watched them rattle round the square and back down toward St. James, then she rummaged in her reticule for her ring of keys, of which there were but three-one to the house, one to Neville's, and the last, which she never used, into the square's garden.

Her hands shook as she crossed the street and fitted it into the lock. What had he meant by such a note? Did she dare hope? What did it matter? She had done nothing lately but hope. And of course he would not be here yet. He would have expected her much later. She prayed to G.o.d that he would come. Indeed, she would simply wait until he did.

Or perhaps not. The gate would not open. "Oh, drat!" she said, pounding on the wrought iron with her open hand.

"Here, allow me," said a deep voice from the gloom.

She dropped her keys, and looked up to see Nash on the other side.

With a resolute jerk, he pulled open the gate, and stepped back.

"Stefan," she asked inanely. "How did you get in?"

In the gaslight, she could see his faint smile. "I am almost embarra.s.sed to say," he answered. "I forgot that one needs a key to get into these places, so in an act of sheer desperation, I climbed over the wrought iron."

"Good G.o.d." She rushed in to lay a hand upon his arm. "Are you all right?"

"I survived, yes, but my breeches did not," he replied. "I fear I must now walk with my hat rather strategically placed over my hindquarters lest I give offense."

Xanthia dropped her arms. "I have already seen your hindquarters."

His eyes held hers in the gloom. "Yes, I recall it," he said. "Vividly."

For a long moment, there was nothing but the whisper of leaves on the wind and the distant rattle of traffic in the streets below. Xanthia drank him in-the exotic eyes, the hard, harsh bones of his face, and the hair which fell forward to shadow his brow. He was so beautiful, even more so than she had remembered.

"I owe you a deep apology, Stefan," she whispered. "Whatever...whatever your note meant-and I pray you will tell me soon-but whatever else I might say tonight, I will never have words to sufficiently apologize for what has happened."

Nash picked up her keys from the gra.s.s, and closed the gate. "Let us go toward the center of the garden," he suggested. "There are some benches there."

She allowed him to lead her deeper into the greenery and sat down. He joined her on the bench and took one of her hands into his. "Why, Xanthia?" he asked. "Will you just tell me...why? And then...well, we may never speak of it again, if that is your wish."

She squeezed his hand, and looked away. "I think, Stefan, that it was just a foolish notion," she quietly confessed. "I was...so intrigued by you. To me-at first-de Vendenheim's request was just...just an excuse to try to spend time with you, I suppose. An excuse to pursue my little fantasy, and to tell myself it was-oh, G.o.d!-all for a good cause! That I was protecting Neville's interests. Is that not inane?"

He bowed his head and said nothing.

"I am so sorry," she said again. "I-I wanted you. From the very first, I wanted you. I...I should have simply said so. I never believed you guilty, Stefan. Well, not after the first time we...well, never mind that. I am sorry. Just so very sorry. And yet I would not give up the memories of what we shared, Stefan-no, not for anything on this earth. Can you possibly understand that?"

"I am glad, Xanthia, that you have good memories," he finally answered. "It was my sister-in-law who did it, you know. And there were others, of course. But given the evidence, I suppose I cannot blame de Vendenheim for laying the suspicion at my door."

"Mr. Kemble called some days past to tell us in confidence what had happened," said Xanthia. "I am sorry that scandal has touched your family. I hope you have managed to hush it up?"