Chapter Two

L ord Thorne Knightwood, the baron since his odious father's passing, handed off his hat, gloves, and greatcoat to the Atterley manservant waiting to attend arriving guests in the cloakroom. He kept an eye on his mother as a maid helped her remove her cloak and offered assistance in changing out of the serviceable boots the eccentric lady had insisted on wearing to prevent any soiling of her satin slippers that perfectly matched her gown.

Unfortunately for his mother, the respectful maid kept her head bowed and her chin tucked so tightly to her chest that her mouth was not visible, making it impossible for Lady Roslynn Knightwood to read the girl's lips and understand what she said. Thorne hurried over and directed the young woman while keeping his face turned toward his mother so she might realize what was happening.

Appreciation for his tactfulness gleamed in his dear parent's eyes before she cast a beaming smile upon the young maid. "Thank you ever so much for helping with my slippers. In my excitement to join the festivities, I fear I paid no attention at all to what you were saying."

"Happy to be of help, my lady." The maid offered a polite curtsy, then hurried off to store away Lady Roslynn's things until such time as she called for them.

Thorne arched a dark brow at his mother as he offered his arm.

"Do not say it," she warned him in a stern whisper. "I refuse to be seen out and about with an ear trumpet."

He settled her hand in the crook of his elbow and gave it a reassuring pat. "I understand, Mother. I shall stay close in case further needs arise." His heart ached for her. She so loved parties and social gatherings now that his cruel father had passed, and she was no longer at risk of his open ridicule of her. But her ability to hear had diminished more and more with each passing Season. Some voices, if they were deep and clear enough, gave her no trouble at all. But higher-pitched voices, especially the soft whisperings of the latest on dit , were impossible for her to fully make out. As long as she could see their faces, though, the movement of their lips told her precisely what they said. Thorne thanked the Almighty that his mother's eyesight was still as keen as a falcon's. She could read the tattling of tales even if she sat across the room from the gossiping mouths of the ton .

"All these lovely young ladies and you intend to stay at my side?" She chuckled warmly as she snapped open a fan resplendent in a lavender and rose floral print that matched her gown. "Nonsense, my sweet boy. How shall I ever know the joy of grandchildren if you do not mingle and choose a wife? Why, we are well past the midpoint of this Season. Have none of the new young ladies tempted you?"

"Now, Mother." He gave her hand an affectionate yet warning pat.

"It is high time you ceased wasting yourself on those unavailable for marriage," she continued behind the protection of her lace-trimmed fan, her tone no longer lighthearted. "Do not think I am unaware of your clandestine activities. I may be growing deaf, but I am not some bacon-brained fool without resources or informants."

"Dearest Mother—now is neither the time nor the place." He found his parent's awareness of his assignations not only disturbing but confounding. His clandestine activities , as she so indelicately put it, demanded the utmost discretion, and he prided himself on being quite accomplished in that area. Or so he had thought. Especially since most of the lovelies inviting him into their beds were married—not happily, but married all the same. While some would consider him quite the rake, he looked at it as more of a service to Polite Society. After all, the fact that he was a mere baron, a lower rung on the Marriage Mart ladder, made him the perfect candidate to provide all the attention and passion those lonely wives and widows who had sworn to never marry again so richly deserved. Quite generous of him, he thought, and the ladies almost always agreed.

Except one in particular.

The exquisite yet somewhat alarmingly possessive Lady Constance Myrtlebourne narrowed her eyes at him from across the ballroom.

"That one appears ready to poison you, dear boy," Lady Roslynn said, still shielding her words with her fan.

"She is…persistent." Thorne refused to discuss his jealous former lover. Especially with his mother. He veered away from Lady Myrtlebourne's baleful glare, turning them in the direction of three ladies he knew his beloved parent would be delighted to join.

As he had known she would, his mother released his arm and flew to her trio of friends like a plump little partridge bedecked in lavender satin and lace. They greeted her with open arms and the happiest of excited tittering. Their reactions made Thorne smile. He liked those ladies.

It angered him to no end that several of the ton still turned the other way whenever his mother entered a room—a horrid, lingering effect from the years when his father publicly mocked her for everything from the way she wore her hair to the way she walked and talked.

Thorne's mother was kindness itself, and he adored her for it. Perhaps, because of the cruel treatment she endured from both her husband and the presumptuous wives of his cronies, Lady Roslynn championed those unjustly targeted by Polite Society's haughtiest and loudest few. A sense of pride made Thorne's chest tighten. Heaven help those whom his mother deemed wicked and petty. As she had advised earlier, she had her resources and, if at all possible, would see that the mean-spirited persons, no matter their rank among the peerage, received proper retribution for their backbiting ways.

He bowed to his mother's friends. "Lady Westerbin. Lady Urnstall. Lady Kettering."

"Lord Knightwood, always a pleasure." Lady Westerbin beamed at him. "We were so hoping to see you and our dearest Roslynn this evening."

"Quite right," Lady Urnstall agreed. "Our Roslynn completes our happy circle."

Lady Kettering shooed him away with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And we already have much on dit to share with her. Off you go now, your lordship. Find a young lovely anxious to marry and give your precious mama some grandchildren to spoil."

"Might I recommend one of the Duke of Broadmere's exquisite sisters?" Lady Westerbin said, sounding unabashedly conspiratorial. "All seven must marry before His Grace can receive the full of his inheritance." She chortled a pleased-with-herself laugh while twitching her fan ever faster. "Or so I hear. You know the family is richer than Croesus. The young ladies' dowries are sure to be quite impressive."

"They are very lovely, my son," his mother said with a tip of her head toward a cluster of fair-haired young ladies who looked like a breathtaking bouquet of delicate flowers ready to be picked apart by the most eligible bachelors of the ton . "I currently see only five, but I feel certain the other two are nearby. Well worth checking into, do you not agree?"

"Mother."

"Oh dear." Lady Roslynn rolled her eyes, then shook her head at her friends. "Even I heard the admonishment in that tone."

Moving as one, the four matrons lifted their widespread fans until nothing but the disapproval in their eyes was visible. "Shall we move to the windows, my dears?" Lady Urnstall suggested with a lofty sniff. "The air has become quite close here."

Thorne frowned as his mother and her friends turned as one and hurried away, finding their behavior even more eccentric than usual. The hairs rose on the back of his neck as a familiar scent of rosewater enhanced with what he had once found an alluring hint of clover washed across him. A sudden sensation of a trap about to snap shut on him made him turn.

"Lord Knightwood."

Silently damning the elderly women for their desertion without at least a hint of warning about what was headed his way, Thorne forced a polite smile and bowed. "Lady Myrtlebourne—pleasure."

"Is that a compliment or an offer?" the auburn-haired beauty asked in a sultry tone while moving closer. She leaned in until the voluptuousness of her curves brushed against him.

Thorne eased away until a respectable distance existed between them, then smiled and tipped his head at a rather large gentleman headed their way. "Neither, since your husband is coming to fetch you. Mind yourself, dear Constance. Things ended well between us. Let us keep it that way, shall we?"

As her much older yet obviously quite virile husband reached them, Thorne offered a perfunctory dip of his chin. He didn't like the man. Not because Myrtlebourne outranked him as an earl, but because the rude fellow was a known bully whose birthright had denied him the opportunity to prowl the docks, pummeling unsuspecting fools with his meaty fists—an occupation he would have been well suited for. Thorne forced the closest thing to a smile that he could manage. "Lord Myrtlebourne."

"Knightwood," the brutish man drawled as he took his wife's hand and settled it firmly on his arm. "Come, Constance. I have indulged you long enough. Make your farewells. It is time we take our leave."

"I understand you are weary, my lord, after returning to London only yesterday…" The coldness of Lady Myrtlebourne's tone left no doubt that she didn't give a whit about her husband's comfort. "But did you fail to notice Arabella is here? She and her husband offered to escort me home later when I mentioned you might wish to leave early. Poor dears. They know so very few here and are desperate for me to stay and introduce them." She fluttered her eyelashes and gave the man a provocative pout that didn't fool Thorne for a moment and made him wonder if Lord Myrtlebourne would swallow his wife's lie or insist upon her being obedient and departing with him.

The hulking earl fixed a heavy-lidded gaze on his wife, looking as if he were contemplating ways to make her suffer rather than seduce her. "You may stay, Constance," he said after a lengthy pause. "Be prepared to thank me properly once you arrive home. Understood?"

Even though a bit of the color drained from her face, Lady Myrtlebourne gracefully inclined her head, then offered him a deep curtsy. "Understood, my lord. Many thanks for your generosity."

Without offering Thorne so much as another glance to acknowledge his existence, the earl turned and strode away, plowing through those in his path as if they were an annoyance that could hardly be borne.

As soon as the man exited the grand ballroom, Lady Myrtlebourne rewarded Thorne with a winning smile. "Now we may enjoy our evening, my lord. Shall we repair to the gardens for some air?"

"No thank you, my lady." Thorne dismissed himself with a stiff bow, then turned in search of his mother and her gaggle of nattering yet enjoyable friends. While it might be rude to leave Lady Myrtlebourne unattended to find her way back to wherever she had come from, it was necessary. He had ended their assignation when she had become a mite too clingy for his liking, and he fully intended to keep things ended. Besides—with her husband back from the Continent, the Americas, or wherever the devil the man had been, her time would be better spent with him.

"Knightwood!"

Thank heavens, Thorne thought. He turned and clapped a hand on the shoulder of his oldest and dearest friend, not giving a damn that the exuberant greeting might be considered improper decorum for such a social gathering as Lady Atterley's grand ball of the Season. "Ravenglass! You old devil. It has been an age."

"Indeed, it has," Viscount Matthew Ravenglass agreed with a broad smile. "'Tis good to be back in London."

"How was India?"

"Hot." Ravenglass glanced around the ballroom, then emitted a quiet huff of amusement. "Not as searing as yon lady's angry gaze aimed at you, though. Ousted her from your bed, did you?"

"No." Thorne smoothed a hand over his perfectly tied cravat. "We mutually agreed to part months ago, and for that, I am exceedingly glad. Now she can concentrate on her husband, Lord Myrtlebourne."

"Lord Bull?"

Thorne nodded, deciding the insulting moniker for the earl was quite fitting.

"You always did enjoy a bit of danger," Ravenglass observed. "However, I must mention that the look in that lady's eyes is anything but mutual agreement. " He continued scanning the room. His perusal halted again. "I say, where did Lady Atterley find such a bevy of diamonds? And I do not recall seeing any of them before. Foreign ladies, perhaps? I wasn't abroad that long."

"Broadmere daughters." Thorne silently counted the fair-haired lovelies again. "According to Mother and her impeccable resources, there should be seven. Two appear to be missing."

"Broadmere," Ravenglass repeated. "Daughters of the duke who passed a little over six months ago? And didn't their mother pass almost six months to the day before that?"

Thorne eyed his friend, amazed that he kept up with such details. "You would have to ask Mother. She keeps up with such things."

"And the only things you keep up with are the whereabouts of husbands. Correct?"

"It indeed pays to do so."

The viscount continued to study the ladies as if unable to get his fill. "Two seem extremely young to be in search of husbands."

"Ah…" Thorne lifted the glass of champagne he'd just accepted from a servant bearing a tray filled with glasses of the sparkling refreshment. "According to Lady Westerbin, all seven of the sisters must marry before their brother, the new duke, can come into the full of his inheritance." He frowned while trying to remember the rest of what Lady Westerbin had said. "Something about the requirements of the will. She also mentioned generous dowries for each of the ladies."

Ravenglass nodded. "Of that, I have no doubt. Old Broadmere was quite plump in the pocket and known to never squander his resources. A fine, upstanding man, from what I remember." He thoughtfully sipped from the glass he had taken from the tray offered by the same smiling servant. "Perhaps we should seek an introduction."

"Why?" Thorne stared at his friend, unable to believe his ears. "They are indeed lovely but are also determined to find husbands. Since when do you aspire to be leg-shackled?"

"I do not." Ravenglass's tone had lowered to a deep hum, a sure sign the man was plotting. Then he shielded his mouth behind his glass. "But might I suggest we do something other than stand here? Your Lady Myrtlebourne is headed this way and appears to be bringing reinforcements in the form of a female companion to pull me away from our conversation."

"She is not my—" Thorne cut himself off. Now was not the time to talk. Now was the time to move. "Remember how I saved you from the odious Miss Treadwell last Season?" He edged them toward the wall of open doors leading into the renowned Atterley Gardens. "How you said you owed me a great debt?"

"I remember," Ravenglass said with a heavy sigh. He squared off to face the pair of women headed their way and widened his stance. "Run, man. I shall delay them as long as possible."

"I am not a coward," Thorne said, more to himself than his friend, although the hasty retreat shamed him. "I simply do not wish to cause a scene that would embarrass Mother."

"Understood." Ravenglass arched a brow. "They are almost here. Run."

"Damn the woman." Thorne charged out the doors with a long, hurried stride. Lady Myrtlebourne needed to accept their liaison had run its course, and her time would now be better spent on her husband. He descended the terrace steps and entered the gardens, guilt-ridden about leaving poor Ravenglass as the last line of defense against the irascible woman and her friend. The maze of shrubbery would do nicely for his purposes. He worked his way deeper into the twists and turns with as little disturbance as possible to more than one brazen couple in search of privacy among the hedges.

After a while, the maze opened into a well-manicured, circular area that struck him as a place intended for solitude and reflection. Far enough from the house's brightly burning lamps and shielded from most of the garden's torchlight by taller hedgerows and a wall of columns reminiscent of ancient Greek ruins, the brilliant spattering of stars across the blue black velvet of the night sky put on a breathtaking show. Without even realizing he did so, Thorne reached up, stretching toward the ethereal diamonds as though intent on plucking them from the sky. They seemed that close and made him feel as insignificant as a mote of dust.

"I stood on display with our sisters for as long as I intend to. Go back inside, Seri. Your time is better spent seeing to the other members of the marriageable Broadmere flock." The musical voice pulling Thorne's attention away from the heavens effervesced with a lyrical note of utter contentment. "Besides, dear sister, I have my stars. What more do I need?"

"Essie—please do not be quarrelsome."

Thorne squinted, searching the shadowy clearing for what appeared to be the two missing Broadmere sisters—at least, he supposed they were, according to what he had just overheard. He finally made out the ladies in question standing not too far across the way. When he took a step to retreat and give them their privacy, loose pebbles of the path crunched beneath his shoes.

"Did you hear that?" said the one Essie had called Seri.

"Show yourself, you eavesdropping coward," Essie demanded, "and do not think we are unable to protect ourselves." The fearless lady gripped her fan as if ready to use it as a club.

"Forgive my intrusion, ladies." Thorne stepped out from the shadows of the hedgerow with his hands held high. "I had no idea anyone was here other than myself—a seeker of solitude and quiet respite from the festivities." He considered the fact he had come across such an entertaining pair of beauties a boon from above, a nudge from Divine Providence.

"Your name, sir?" Essie did not sound at all convinced that he had not followed them and then lain in wait for an opportune moment to pounce.

"Lord Thorne Knightwood," he replied to her with a slight bow. "If you would care to accompany me inside, I would happily introduce you to my mother, Lady Roslynn Knightwood, whom I escorted to this lovely event. She will vouch for my character as will her three dearest friends, Ladies Westerbin, Urnstall, and Kettering. Perhaps you know of them?"

Neither lady answered, so he drew closer still and offered them his friendliest smile. "And forgive me, but I could not help but overhear that you are Lady Essie and Lady Seri?"

"We are most certainly not," declared the one he had clearly heard addressed as Essie. "At least, my lord, to you we are not."

"Forgive my sister, my lord," said the one he knew to be Seri as she gave him a graceful curtsy. "What she means to say is that she is Lady Blessing. Essie is a family pet name." She caught Lady Blessing by the arm and must have lightly pinched her, because the irritated young woman jumped, then fixed Seri with a furious scowl.

Thorne bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Instead, he gave a courteous bow. "Forgive me, Lady Blessing. It is a pleasure to meet you."

She gave a grudging curtsy, then yanked her sister forward. "This is my eldest sister, Lady Serendipity. Seri is our pet name for her." She lifted her chin to a defiant angle and added, "Among other names that I shall refrain from mentioning here."

With his breath held until he felt certain he would not laugh out loud, Thorne bowed again. "I am honored to meet you, Lady Serendipity."

"Thank you, my lord." Lady Serendipity cast a nervous look back toward the house. "We were just about to head back inside. Weren't we, Blessing?"

"No, we were not," Lady Blessing said with a directness that made her sister gasp and Thorne smile. "But I suppose we will now, so you might enjoy your quiet respite in the solitude you seek, my lord."

"On the contrary, dear ladies." He moved to stand between them and offered each of them an arm. "I would be honored and delighted to escort the two of you back inside to ensure your safe return to the gala." He adopted a low, mysterious tone. "After all, one never knows what might be lurking in the darkness."

"Indeed," Lady Blessing said. That he had failed to impress her resounded unmistakably in that one word, making him yet again struggle not to laugh. This particular Broadmere sister was a delight as well as a beauty.

"That is most kind of you, my lord," Lady Serendipity stressed while leaning forward to shoot a narrow-eyed glare across him to her sister.

While Lady Serendipity appeared to be the more tractable of the pair, Thorne found he preferred the excitement of waiting to hear what unfettered opinion Lady Blessing might choose to share next. Deciding to goad her into divulging even more, he glanced skyward one last time before they took the path back into the maze. " Your stars are brilliant tonight, Lady Blessing."

"Thank you," she said without missing a beat. "Since you were eavesdropping—which is very rude, by the way—did you agree with what I said about the constellation that was most visible this evening?"

"Alas," he said, softly chuckling, "I fear I missed that portion of your discourse. Would you care to repeat it?"

"I would not."

"Blessing," Lady Serendipity said through what sounded like tightly clenched teeth. "I beg your forgiveness, my lord. When my sister is feeling unwell, she becomes a bit fractious."

"I am not feeling unwell," Lady Blessing clarified before Thorne could comment. As they stepped into the golden glow of the torches surrounding the broad terrace, she turned to him, the brilliance of her aquamarine eyes flashing. "I would rather be home in my observatory on such a delightful evening for stargazing, and yet my night is wasted here, where I am lined up and put on display for—"

"Blessing! That is quite enough." Lady Serendipity caught hold of her sister's hand and tugged her up the steps while glancing back at Thorne with a forced smile that surely had to make the poor woman's cheeks ache. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Lord Knightwood. Thank you for seeing us safely back to the ball."

Lady Blessing yanked herself free just before they passed through the doors to re-enter the ballroom. Fisting her hands at her sides, she squared her shoulders and marched back inside without her elder sister's assistance.

Thorne stood at the bottom of the steps staring after her. A smile crept across his lips, matching the growing burn the enticing lady had ignited deep within him. What fire and wit that Broadmere daughter possessed. While her sisters might be considered diamonds of the first water, Lady Blessing was utterly incomparable.

"I must have a dance with that lady," he informed the torch sputtering beside him. He vaulted up the steps and hurried inside, thankful that his height enabled him to see the span of the room and spot his angry angel, his beautiful astrophile, darting through the crowd to rejoin the rest of her sisters.

"Lord Knightwood!"

He ignored Lady Myrtlebourne's insistent call, maintaining his course with determined steps to the reunited sisters of Broadmere. The first strains of a waltz filled the air, urging him to move faster. A waltz—the perfect first dance with the witty lady who would no doubt do her best to refuse him. But her sister, the staunch observer of decorum, the lovely Lady Serendipity, would surely support his cause and entice Lady Blessing to accept his request for a dance.

As he drew near, Lady Blessing turned, met his gaze, then narrowed her eyes as if to dare him to be foolish enough to take a step closer. He almost laughed. The lady didn't realize just how much he loved a dare. He halted in front of her, bowed, then held out his hand. "Might I have the pleasure of this dance, Lady Blessing?"

She opened her mouth to refuse. He saw it in her eyes. But then she stumbled forward and kept herself from falling by catching hold of his hand. "Seri!" she hissed as he swept her into his arms and out onto the floor before she could escape.

"Not Seri , my lady. Lord Knightwood, remember?" He couldn't resist teasing her, knowing her sister had bumped her into play without a qualm about doing so.

"I am well aware of your name, my lord." With every turn, she shot an infuriated glare back at her sister, who stood on the edge of the dance floor, smiling and nodding at her.

"For one so determined to avoid this waltz, you are perfection itself, my lady. I do not believe I have ever had the pleasure of such a talented partner."

She snorted and rolled her eyes at his intentionally overdone flummery. "I did not wish to waltz." She settled a tight-jawed scowl on him, thrilling him immensely. "I never said I couldn't ."

"Indeed, you did not." He breathed her in, intoxicated by the delightful combination of sweet lilacs and angry, yet desirable, young woman. "Earlier you mentioned an observatory?" he asked, noting how the tension left her at the mention of it.

"I did."

He almost laughed again but prudently chose not to. It would surely anger her even more. The minx intended to make him work for a conversation that might sway her opinion of him. Admirable, indeed. " At home in your observatory, " he said, repeating the memory almost word for word. "Not many are fortunate enough to have access to their own private observatory."

"Papa had it built for me." Her voice had gone soft, filled with emotion, reminding him of her father's recent passing.

"Forgive me, Lady Blessing. I did not mean to stir your sorrow on this lovely evening."

"Think nothing of it, my lord. You had no way of knowing." But the sheen of unshed tears in her lovely blue eyes was unmistakable. She lifted her chin and resettled her hand in his as they twirled across the floor. "You would have been better served had you asked Serendipity to dance," she said after releasing a put-upon sigh. "I am not the one you want, Lord Knightwood."

"On the contrary, Lady Blessing. You are the very one I want."

Her gaze cut to him as if he had just slandered her. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I meant no insult, my lady."

She narrowed her eyes into a leery squint, then moved to step away from him, but he tightened his hold and kept her close.

"The music has stopped, my lord." She arched a fair brow to a daunting angle that would frighten a lesser man.

With more regret than he had felt in a very long time when leaving a woman's company, he released her, took a step back, and bowed.

With a curtsy so miserly he almost missed it, she turned to leave but paused and turned back. A corner of her mouth, so delectable and tempting, curled up the slightest bit in an unmistakable smile. "Next time," she said, soft and low. "Seek Serendipity for a dance. You would be better served if you did so."

"Nay, my lady," he was quick to answer. "You are the Broadmere sister I want."