Chapter 2

"Did you see him?" Kate stared at the far side of the ballroom so hard that Lady Fauntleroy raised her quizzing glass and glared back at her. She shook herself. Had that been the handsome face she'd been in search of for two long years? She must seek out Lady Hamilton and beg an introduction.

"See whom? The room is filled to bursting with guests, Kate." Celinda had been gazing at the dancers forming the next set. "What I need is for one of them to ask me to dance. Would you mind if Lord Haversham stood up with me?"

"Of course not," Kate said, peering distractedly through the knots of people, unable to spy the mysterious gentleman. "Why should I mind?" She stepped around one of the Grecian pillars that graced the ballroom to get a better view. Nothing. Had he truly vanished into thin air? Perhaps they should try the card room. He might have headed there.

"Well, you two always seem to quarrel so spiritedly, I wondered if you were really attracted to one another."

"What?" Kate jerked her head back toward her cousin, boggled by Celinda's outrageous suggestion.

Celinda turned wide, innocent eyes on her. "Oh, you know, like Kate and Petruchio in Shakespeare. Or Beatrice and Benedick, for that matter. They always get together in the end."

"I assure you that will not be the case with me and Lord Haversham." Kate shook her shoulders. The very thought made her cringe. "So please, take him and welcome. Although why you would want to waste your time, I do not know. Lord Haversham is a dismally old-fashioned man who won't even let his sister, out for her first Season, dance a waltz." How cruel to deny her that most wonderful experience. "How is the girl going to find out if a gentleman's an acceptable partner if she can't dance closely with him?"

"Is the waltz your test for a husband then, Kate?" Celinda's mouth twitched.

"I suppose it is." She hadn't thought of it like that before, but truth be told, she often dismissed gentlemen who couldn't waltz well. "Do you think that a bad thing?"

"I think it a trifle odd. There are truly characteristics other than dancing that are requisite for a good husband," Celinda said soberly, her blue eyes now fixed on Kate. "You must take his character into consideration, and his disposition. One can waltz well and still be a rogue."

"That is part of the test as well." Kate laughed. "But all things being equal, if a gentleman has every other sterling quality but can't acquit himself credibly on the dance floor, he is not for me."

"Then you must admit, Lord Haversham should be a mighty contender for your hand."

"What?" Madness must have overcome the girl.

"He has an excellent character, a very kind disposition, and according to my own observation, is an impeccable dancer." Her cousin nodded fiercely.

"Has Nathan put you up to this…this matchmaking?" She certainly wouldn't put that past her brother.

"No, I'm simply stating the obvious."

"Well, it's not obvious to me." Kate wanted to scream. "I cannot see how you can call him kind when he treats his sister so shabbily. And if he does that to his own kin, how well do you think he'll treat his wife?"

"I know he seems to have old-fashioned ideas about the waltz. I agree that it is unfortunate. However, I am sure Lord Haversham is doing his best given his recent tragic circumstances." She leaned toward Kate and lowered her voice. "Mamma had it from Lady Fairfax, his aunt, that her nephew is still grievously mourning the loss of his father." Celinda shook her head, her mouth strained. "I know I would be completely distraught if Papa were to die, and he is ever so much older than the previous Lord Haversham. The current earl and his sisters have not gotten over his death. Perhaps he thinks a waltz too gay a dance for Lady Letitia at this time." Celinda waved to the slight girl in question, who was standing beside her aunt, her pink cheeks complementing her sweet gown.

"I doubt it, Celinda." Still gazing around the ballroom, Kate sighed. The handsome gentleman had completely disappeared. "Lord Haversham is an old fogey, even if he is young. Nathan wanting me to marry him is quite unfathomable."

Celinda's brows rose nearly to her hairline, and she grasped Kate's hand in a vise-like grip. "My dear, do open your budget. Has he arranged the marriage? Or has Lord Haversham offered for you? Why did you not tell me?"

"Because there is nothing to tell." Lord, both those men would drive her to distraction. "Nathan wouldn't dream of doing such a thing without consulting me, and he knows he needn't waste his breath because I would refuse. Haversham has never had a kind word to say to me, and looks dour whenever we meet, which is too often as it is." Kate wrinkled her nose. The thought of being leg-shackled to the man made her slightly ill. "I won't marry him, and I don't care if I am in my third Season."

"You could always attract the attention of Lord Somersby." Celinda sniggered and cast a look over at that gentleman, so dashing in his extremely well-cut evening clothes. "The two of you would make quite an elegant couple were you to partner in a dance or…something more permanent. I wonder if he would pass your waltz test." The gleam of mirth in her cousin's eyes exasperated Kate that much more.

"I heard about his antics at Lady Marbury's Christmas party, Celinda—from you!"

She burst out laughing, making the gold ringlets beside her face dance and bob. "Perhaps he has reformed in the New Year."

"In a pig's eye. You'd have a better chance of reforming that pig than Somersby." Kate grimaced and shuddered, bringing another peal of laughter from Celinda.

"It will take a special woman to tame that one." Celinda cocked her head, giving Kate a hopeful look. "Are you certain you are not up to the challenge?"

"I'd probably plant him a facer before all was said and done. No, I am happy to leave his lordship alone and hope for better things," Kate said absently, her attention reverting to the search for the dark, handsome stranger.

"Who are you looking for?" Celinda peered in the same direction as Kate.

"That gentleman. The stranger I asked you about just now. Did you really not see him?" Had she imagined the man? "Where did he go?" she muttered.

"I have no idea who you're talking about, cuz." Celinda snapped her fan open, catching the attention of a gentleman across the room and smiling at him.

"Why are you flirting with Bertie Symmons? We've known him since we were eight years old, and he cried when his mama wouldn't allow him to climb a tree." Kate glared at the young man in question, the son of one of their neighbors in Somerset.

"One has to flirt with old friends sometimes if one wants to dance badly enough." Celinda touched the edge of the fan with her finger, snapped it closed, and smiled at Bertie, who hastily excused himself and headed toward them.

"I've never wanted to dance quite that badly." Kate sniffed and wiggled her toes in her new green satin slippers. Standing for so long during the early part of the Season took some getting used to. "I do wish I had an inkling of who I wanted to flirt with."

"As do I." Celinda laughed. "I have no idea so far this Season. I'm just practicing on Bertie so I'll remember how."

"Lady Celinda, Miss Locke."

Kate whirled around and stopped dead, coming face to face with Lady Hamilton and the handsome stranger she'd been looking for. Lord, but he looked even more attractive up close. He smiled charmingly, revealing white, even teeth in a wide mouth with sensual lips. Her heart stuttered.

Celinda's China blue eyes widened, and a brilliant smile curved her lips. She curtsied, and Kate followed suit, quite unable to take her gaze off the gentleman.

"Ladies, good evening once more." Lady Hamilton nodded, smiling first at one then the other of them. "May I introduce Lord Finley? He is recently returned from some five years in America."

Kate struggled to breathe. She snapped her fan open and plied it vigorously, hoping she wouldn't swoon.

"My lord, this is Lady Celinda Grantham, Lord Ivor's daughter. Miss Katherine Locke is her cousin and Lord Ainsley's sister."

Lord Finley bowed gracefully, coiled animal energy in the movement. "Lady Celinda, I am familiar with your family." His large, deep blue eyes, the exact color of an early night sky, gleamed in the candlelight. "Miss Locke." He bowed again then turned back to her cousin. "Might I beg the next dance, Lady Celinda?"

"Of course, my lord." Celinda cast her eyes down and shut her fan.

Kate's heart sank. He had chosen her cousin instead of her. How unfair when she'd seen him first.

"And the next after with you, Miss Locke, if you are not engaged?" His dark eyes seemed to pierce her, almost as though he knew her thoughts.

"I would be honored, Lord Finley." At least she would get to dance with him eventually.

"Then that is settled." Lady Hamilton gave a trilling laugh and, putting a hand on her arm, drew Kate a little away.

"Shall we go make up the set, my lady?" Finley offered his arm, and Celinda grasped it as though it were a lifeline.

"Thank you, my lord. I'd be delighted."

"Lady Celinda?" Bertie Symmons finally arrived, frowning to find Celinda firmly anchored to Lord Finley's arm. "I thought…I mean…"

"Oh, Bertie. Mr. Symmons, that is." Celinda smiled smoothly as though nothing were amiss. "Lord Finley, may I present Mr. Symmons, an old acquaintance." She continued to smile and nod in Kate's direction. "Mr. Symmons, as I have just accepted a dance with Lord Finley, you must ask to stand up with Miss Locke."

She would murder her cousin before the evening was through. Not only was Bertie uninteresting, but he was also a horrible dance partner. Celinda would be made to pay. Still, she must put on a delighted face for Lord Finley to see. Kate smiled and looked expectantly at Bertie.

"Would you like to dance, Kate?" He sounded as unsure as possible, and if Celinda had been the only one present, she would've glared and banished him to the ends of the earth.

"Yes, of course, Mr. Symmons. I should be delighted." She took his arm and followed Celinda and her delectable partner onto the dance floor. "If you step on my feet, Bertie," she whispered as they took their places in line, "I shall kick you in the shins." Let the martyrdom begin.

* * * *

"Shall we take this corner here?" Ainsley indicated a small square table for two drawn up cozily near the fire.

"As you wish." Marcus followed his friend, snaring a glass of wine from a footman stationed just outside the card room. "Bezique?" He sat with his back to the fire, the better to see Ainsley's face during play.

"Piquet, please? I've gone off Bezique recently." Ainsley settled in the seat opposite. "That was all old Boyle wanted to play last weekend. As I'm wooing the gentleman's support for a vote coming up in a couple of weeks, I played it for four days running."

Marcus shrugged. "One's as good as the other, as long as you lose." He was a much better Bezique player than Piquet, but he felt luck was with him tonight, so it should not matter in the least. He twirled the stem of his glass, the rich burgundy wine glowing like a jewel in the firelight.

"Grown cocky, have you?" Ainsley pulled the walnut card box, inlaid with a mother-of-pearl design, toward him. He opened it and fished out the two plainest decks. "I assume you have no affinity for flowers, Haversham?"

Marcus waved a hand and chuckled, feigning a nonchalance he certainly didn't feel. "Not at all. The ladies do enjoy a pretty deck, but I'll take plain." He grinned. "Unless the forget-me-nots will throw you off your game. Then by all means, use those."

Ainsley snorted. "I assure you, the decor makes no difference to me."

Marcus sipped his wine, trying to relax, as the waning figures of his bank account danced before his eyes. He had no business playing with Nathan—or anyone, for that matter. Still, the promise of some quick money sang a siren song that drowned out the voice of reason. He'd lost a middling large sum to his friend last weekend, so he was due for a winning evening. Ainsley could afford to drop a couple thousand pounds and not even miss it. And who better to give it to than his best friend?

Ainsley discarded the lower cards and shuffled with expert hands. The man was certainly no slouch when it came to cards—still, Marcus had a feeling he would prevail tonight.

"My sister is rather annoyed at you." Nathan finished shuffling and cut the cards, revealing a king of spades.

"Your sister is forever annoyed at me." Marcus waved away his cut, and his friend began to deal. "I've never understood why." Kate Locke's aversion to him had been instantaneous upon their first meeting seven years before when Ainsley had invited him to Somerset for a holiday. His younger sisters had been great fun. Only Katherine had taken him in dislike and given him the rough side of her tongue from that day to this. Marcus shook his head as he discarded five very bad cards and drew five even worse.

"She told me it was because she thought you looked like a frog and would give her warts if you could." Ainsley chuckled. " Carte blanche ."

"The devil you say!" Marcus stared at the cards Ainsley flashed him. Not a court card in the hand. Damn. He'd shake it off though. "Did you not inform her that toads give warts, not frogs?"

"I did." His friend laughed and made his discard. "To which she retorted, ‘Well, he'd still try his best to do it, whether he could or not.'"

"God, she's always been impossible. She couldn't have been more than fourteen at the time." He moved his cards about, trying to make something out of absolutely nothing. The memory of Kate Locke seven years ago, fresh-faced, pert, and more intelligent than any woman he'd met still set his teeth on edge. She'd been wearing a blue frock that day, which seemed to intensify the rich auburn of her hair. Clear blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a sprinkling of bran over her petite nose had made her seem the epitome of the English maiden. Then she'd opened her mouth, and any charm she might have possessed had vanished with the first of countless barbs aimed directly at him.

"Try living with her." Ainsley pored over his cards then caught Marcus's eye.

"Not for the Crown Jewels and enough blunt for a Grand Tour. Lead with King of Clubs. One point."

"She's got some quarrel with you about your sister at the moment. Carte blanche ," Ainsley began his declarations, which went on for quite some time. By the time he finished, he had ninety-four points.

Marcus stared at the cards in his hand, his stomach turning the excellent burgundy to vinegar. "How the devil did you do that?"

"I swear, luck of the draw." Ainsley looked abashed, even though his face had flushed with the excitement of the play. Apparently, it was his friend's lucky night, not his. "Quite the thrill, eh?"

"Without even playing a card." Marcus shook his head and drained his glass. Truly not his night.

"Which I will do now." His friend laid down a Jack of Clubs.

"Two. What does your sister find exceptional about my sister? I don't believe they've ever met. The girl just came out two weeks ago. Queen of Clubs. Three." Marcus didn't want to talk about Miss Locke or even think about her. Perhaps she was the source of this bad luck.

"She thinks you're being unreasonable because you won't let Lady Letitia waltz. Seven of Clubs." Ainsley dropped the card onto the court card.

"Four." Marcus pounced on the trick. "I hardly think it any of Miss Locke's concern. Ten of Clubs. Five." The woman should not give her opinion on what she did not understand.

"Well, I think it has less to do with your sister and more to do with criticizing you." Ainsley laid down the Seven of Diamonds. "Although, I do think you should allow the girl to waltz if she wants to. It's truly not the scandal it was even five years ago."

"Five." Marcus gathered the trick, thinking about Miss Locke's words as they'd danced. She'd obviously shared her opinions with her brother. "I have my own reasons for forbidding her the dance."

"You do?" His friend cut his eyes toward him, an eyebrow raised.

"Do not worry about it," Marcus said, with a grunt of laughter. "I'm hardly attempting to suppress her." He shook his head and played the Nine of Diamonds. "I actually feared I would never get her out of the house tonight. She was always timid, and Father's death only made her more so. I've still to discover what threat Aunt Alexandra employed to make her leave her room this evening. Six." He'd taken almost half the tricks. Perhaps he'd at least make thirty points in the hand. "Believe me, if she dances with anyone, I'll be thrilled."

"So you're not trying to play the tyrant?" Ainsley pulled at his lower lip, staring into the fire.

"Why would I want to be a tyrant to my sister? Have you ever done so to yours?"

Ainsley barked a laugh so loud the ladies at the neighboring table all jumped. "Only if I wanted to find my throat cut with my own razor one morning. Kate's more a tyrant than I'll ever be."

"I couldn't disagree with that from what I've seen of her. Although I'm touched by her concern for Letitia." The figure of Miss Locke during their earlier dance appeared in his memory, blue eyes snapping, mouth pursed in disdain. Or in expectation of a kiss? A shiver shot down his spine. Where the devil had that idea come from? His mouth was suddenly so dry it was hard to say, "Your play."

"Jack of Diamonds. Ninety-five."

Marcus stared at the remaining low cards in his hands and sighed. It was certainly going to be a long night.