Chapter Three

T he sheer number of flowers that continued to be brought into the Trembleys' home throughout the next day was causing a bit of a commotion. Several carriages from all around the city had happened upon the Mayfair mansion all at once, and Mabel had peered out of her window in amazement as hundreds, if not thousands, of red tulips wrapped in brown paper, were brought into the house that morning and continued to be delivered well into early afternoon. The dowager countess had undoubtedly wanted to display her family to their best advantage for the Meadows' welcome ball, and she had put all her efforts into presenting Leona to London with the utmost hospitability.

Mabel couldn't quite understand it either. The earl's disdain for Leona and her was apparent to anyone who cared to see it when they were in the same room, and she was sure he would have expressed as much to his mother, since he was the head of the family. But it seemed that the dowager countess was either ill-informed of her oldest son's opinion or didn't care. If it was the latter, Mabel would be sure to express how much she adored red tulips.

If it was the former, however, she would have to tell the countess herself. It might be somewhat reckless, but perhaps the earl's mother would see how ill-suited her youngest son and Leona were together. Indeed, if someone pointed it out to her, she would realize how incompatible their families were, and this engagement could be stopped before it was too late.

Mabel's maid, Juliette, stood behind her as she placed an ornate, gold hair comb near the back top of Mabel's raven hair. Pleased with herself, she nodded as Mabel watched her through the looking glass.

Juliette had been with her since her marriage to Pascal and had been the only kind soul she had met in France. Juliette had supposedly been mistreated by Pascal's family for quite some time prior to Mabel's arrival, although she was always hesitant to explain what exactly she had experienced while under their employment. All she would say was that Mabel was different from the others, and Mabel assumed from that statement that the rest of Pascal's family hadn't been particularly kind to Juliette—which came as no surprise to her.

When Mabel had planned her escape from France, Juliette was the only person she told, and to her surprise, the maid had begged to accompany her back to America, likely fearing what might happen to her in terms of punishment when it was discovered her mistress had fled. Still, ever since, Juliette had become a loyal companion and the mastermind of Mabel's signature, sultry appearance.

"Bien," she said, more to herself then to Mabel. "Ne vous bougez pas sauvagment."

"I never move about wildly," Mabel answered.

Though Juliette understood English, she refused to speak it. She didn't like the way the language sounded. Mabel didn't mind as she understood French perfectly, but also refused to use it, as her former husband's family had berated her for the supposed lack of refinement her accent held.

"Alors pourquoi êtes-vous toujours en désordre quand vous venez au lit?"

"When have I ever come to bed a mess?" Mabel asked as she stood up. She smoothed out her skirts. "Surely, you're exaggerating."

Juliette rolled her eyes, an insubordinate act, but one that Mabel had come to find amusing.

"Allez. Je ne peux rien faire d'autre."

"You've outdone yourself. Thank you, Juliette," Mabel said as she exited the room.

Deciding to check on Leona to see if she was ready, she walked down the hallway a few paces to her sister's room. Knocking gently, she pushed open the door only to find her sister, dressed in a robe, staring at three separate gowns that were hanging from the painted paneled dressing screen that stood in the corner of the room.

"Leona, what are you doing?" Mabel asked, closing the door behind her. "It's nearly time to go down."

"I can't decide what to wear," she said without glancing at her sister. "I thought the peach gown would be best as it's the most demure, but then the icy blue one does compliment my hair. Yet, the yellow one is my favorite."

Mabel stared at her sister as she noticed her toes tapping rapidly against the floor. She was a bundle of nerves.

"My dear," Mabel said, coming forward. She reached for her sister's hands, distracting Leona's concentration away from the dresses. "If you'd rather not go through with this, there's no reason to force yourself."

Leona pulled her hands away.

"It's not that," she said, shaking her head. "It's just that… I don't want to disappoint Alfred."

Mabel inhaled deeply, stifling a sigh. It was commendable, caring so much about Alfred's feelings, but really. There was no reason to worry so over the man, and Mabel would have said as much if her sister didn't appear so tense.

"The peach one," she said after a moment.

"Really?"

"Yes, and don't give it another thought. Now I'll go down and try to distract the others from the fact that you're taking so long."

"Thank you, Mabel."

"Yes, well. It should give me plenty of time to cause a scene," she teased, only to laugh apologetically at Leona's strained gaze. "Oh, my dear, I'm sorry. I was only jesting. I've no intention of causing a scene, I assure you. Come," Mabel said to the maid who was attending Leona. "Help her finish getting ready, would you?"

"Yes ma'am," the young maid said with a quick curtsy before hurrying Leona back behind the screen.

Mabel left the room and made her way to the grand staircase. With hands resting on the gold-painted, wrought iron railing topped with a smooth, polished wood, she descended the stone steps slowly, entering the large foyer, where parquet wooden floors were scrubbed and waxed to a mirrored shine.

Mabel couldn't help but appreciate the house's beauty. It had been outfitted with every luxury, but always in the best of taste. It was beautifully maintained, and also beautifully decorated. Even this simple foyer featured cream-colored walls adorned with paintings of Grecian mythologies. They were conversation pieces, and Mabel admired them, loving the Greek mythos herself.

Walking across the foyer, Mabel paused before a hallway table with a mirror hanging above it. A towering crystal vase stuffed with red tulips blocked most of her reflection from view. Still, she could see that her hair was stylish, and her gown, a yellow satin piece with a sheer black overlay with tiny rosettes scattered across, gave her a very appealing presence.

With her smaller chest, long torso and wide hips, Mabel always thought her body resembled one of the Three Graces by Raphael. It might have been a conceited thing to think if it weren't true. It might also have been considered an indelicate comparison for her to make, but Mabel was not prudish when it came to her form and was aware of its effect on men. She smirked at herself, appreciative of Juliette's clever sense in fashion. With her maid's taste for colors, Mabel always managed to make an entrance that could not be ignored.

Just then, Mabel saw the dowager countess begin her descent down the staircase in the mirror's reflection. Dressed in a deep crimson gown with white satin sash at the waist and trimmed across the bodice, the dowager countess emerged from the stairs looking as regal as a queen. Her reddish-brown hair had been curled and set in a tasteful style that framed her face.

"Oh, my dear Miss Meadows," she said as she reached the landing. Mabel twisted to face her. "How lovely you are."

"Thank you, my lady. Might I say you are stunning in that gown."

The countess's slim cheeks turned pink with pleasure at the compliment as the corner of her eyes crinkled.

"That is kind of you to say. I've actually not worn this color in several years," she said, her hand going to her stomach, almost in a bracing way.

"It suits you."

"Well, I wanted to match my gown to the tulips. I can't allow the smallest flaw in my appearance today. Lord Nesby is coming, and he's a terrible gossip," she said, holding out her arm. "Come. You shall accompany me to the drawing room. I believe our guests will arrive shortly."

"Yes my lady," Mabel said, taking the woman's arm as they walked. "May I ask who Lord Nesby is?"

"He's one of those sorts who likes to critique everything he sees and tells everyone his opinion. This would not matter if everyone had the sense to ignore him, but unfortunately, when he speaks, everyone listens. I'm not quite sure how he's managed it, but his opinion has become a standard for what is fashionable."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Luckily, our families have been neighbors for many years and so he always casts a kind word to us. However, it is always earned, I assure you."

"Neighbors?" Mabel asked with a frown. "I'm surprised he hasn't been introduced to us then."

"Oh, not here, dear. In Henley-on-Thames. The Trembley country home, Boxwood Park, sits on the edge of the river and the Nesby home is across from it," the countess explained, pausing before a glass vase. She shifted it slightly, presumably so that the best of the blooms showed. To Mabel the quality of the flowers appeared interchangeable. "Even still, I'm sure he will try and agitate me about Alfred and Leona's engagement."

"Why is that?"

"Because it's a bit surprising, I suppose. A Trembley marrying an American is, well, a bit odd. I hope you won't take offence, but the fact is that some won't understand the reasoning for it. While several peers have married women from across the pond, they've done so because their coffers were dry and they could no longer afford their lifestyles without an influx of funds from a well-heeled heiress. But the Trembleys have always managed quite well. Since there's no financial need for the match, there will be people who will see Alfred's choice of bride as a slight to his own social class. Of course, it's ridiculous, but then there are ridiculous people in the world. And Nesby is one of those people who lives for drama. Unfortunately for him, I will not be baited. Which is why I've paid particular detail to everything this evening."

"Well, I believe your efforts have been successful. I've never seen such a well-manicured home."

"My dear, I would tell you to stop flattering me, but I'm afraid my nerves need all the praise I can get for tonight. To be honest, I don't know why I'm so nervous," she said with a slight chuckle. Mabel wondered if perhaps the countess was doubting the compatibility of Leona and Alfred as well. "And it's most aggravating to attempt to make everything perfect and yet, I can't help but want to prove that the Trembley home is the definition of grace. It's a rather ridiculous cycle, I suppose."

"Not if you enjoy it, my lady."

"I do, but it can get tiresome. Come."

With vaulted embossed ceiling tiles and four large pillars separated, the Trembley ballroom was one of exaggerated wealth and refinement. Mabel had done her best to be unimpressed with the home, but every room in the Trembley home truly was a thing of beauty.

Pale yellow painted wall panels, outlined by tangerine wall columns and white crown molding, gave the room a warm, inviting aura. The ceiling above showed a detailed mural of celestial beings.

It was another scene from Greek mythology. A bearded god in dark robes held a lute and had his hand outstretched to a stunning woman set before an enchanting starry sky. Mabel was lost in her thoughts, mesmerized by the visual, when she heard the announcement of the Duke and Duchess of Combe.

Mabel glanced across the room, noting the finely dressed couple. She knew she would likely avoid them for the entire evening, as well as the Baron and Baroness of Bairnsdale. Having met them upon her initial arrival, Mabel quickly learned that the duke and baron were close friends of Derek, and she did not wish to cross paths with any of the earl's confidants if it could be at all avoided. No doubt they would treat her with the same thinly veiled scorn as the earl. Though their wives had been approachable, Mabel was too cautious to make any overtures of friendship toward them. From all her dealings with members of the ton, she believed it would be better not to trust anyone too much and to keep her distance.

Dozens of people gathered in the ballroom as the musicians began to pluck at the strings of their instruments. Several guests were peering at Mabel, obviously interested in seeing if the divorcée was as scandalous as the papers had made her out to be. Taking a deep breath, Mabel held her chin up high and greeted the first gentleman that the countess introduced to her.

"Miss Mabel Meadows, may I introduce, Lord Nesby?" the dowager countess said.

Mabel curtsied deeply to the short, white-haired gentleman with deep set pale eyes and a small, pointed nose. Given the way he was dressed in a finely made black evening suit, with gold threaded buttonholes, Nesby certainly looked like he was an avid participant in the dandy style. His dress was impeccable, his hair cut a la Brutus and with a knowing smirk on his face, he seemed to convey that he knew everyone's most carefully buried secrets.

"Ah, Miss Meadows. The lady of the hour," he said, taking her hand to bow over it with a flourish. "What an honor it is."

"You are too kind, my lord," she replied. "But my sister, Miss Leona Meadows, is the one who's getting married."

Nesby bent back up, one white brow arched.

"Oh, I do know that. It's only that I'm equally as interested in meeting you. It's not every day we're graced with French aristocracy."

Mabel's smile shrank a little, not entirely comfortable with the way his licentious gaze scanned down her front side, lingering over the bodice of her gown.

"I could only claim that title for a short time, my lord. Today I am as I have always been, wholly American. Nothing more." Deciding to try her charm on him, she leaned a fraction of an inch forward. "And really, I prefer the English to the French."

He tilted his head.

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

The man smirked.

"I suppose I cannot fault you for wanting to distance yourself from your former country. France is, after all, filled with French people."

Chuckling politely at his weak jest, Mabel smiled and pulled her hand back, yet not so quickly as to cause offence.

"Come, Nesby. My future daughter-in-law has finally arrived," the countess said, steering him elsewhere.

The ball commenced with couples coming together on the ballroom floor as a waltz began. Mabel graciously accepted a dance from Fredrick, who introduced her to a number of other gentlemen, all of whom asked to be added to her dance card.

Mabel had to admit that it was rather flattering to be so sought after. It was undoubtedly a boost to her ego, and she would be remiss if she didn't acknowledge that she enjoyed how annoyed the earl appeared when their eyes caught one another's. He had no right to appear so peevish when she knew that her behavior had been entirely appropriate, but then his dark, honey flecked, brown eyes almost always glowered at her, no matter what she was doing. With the ballroom awash in golden light, cascading down from the chandeliers, the earl's carefully styled coiffure seemed both effortless and exact and an unanticipated thrill ran through her at seeing his brown hair shimmer with red beneath the glow of the lights.

Mabel shook her head and tried to refocus her attention elsewhere. She did not care what shade the earl's hair was when the light touched it. Upon being introduced to her dance partner, she pushed Derek out of her mind. This was a night to be enjoyed after all, and enjoy it she would.

For the next hour or so, Mabel danced with a number of gentlemen, each the son of a different so and so, who was very important—or at least that seemed to be what they implied. Not once, but three times she was given a lesson on the hierarchy of the ton. She was already well versed in it however, and she hadn't asked for any further explanation. But it seemed nearly every man she spoke to wanted her to know what an absolute treat it was for her to be dancing with someone as important and eligible as him.

It was draining.

After the eighth consecutive dance, Mabel needed a rest. Moving toward the refreshment table, she held her chin high, noting the curious stares she was receiving from older and younger ladies alike.

Eight dances in a row were simply not done, given the delicate nature of women, and they all seemed somewhat appalled by her indelicate stamina. Mabel knew she had shocked them, but then, who did she have to impress? Her sister was already betrothed, and the ton already had their opinions. She certainly wasn't going to curb herself in the pursuit of her pleasures for no better reason than to satisfy a few strangers.

Reaching the refreshments table, Mabel was handed a long-stemmed crystal glass filled with sweet, chilled lemonade. She drank it swiftly, just as a pair of ladies, who didn't seem particularly pleased to be so close to her, turned away to continue their conversation. Mabel placed her glass on the table, and nearly left when she heard one of the ladies mention the earl.

"—and Trembley hasn't hosted a game in ages."

"Well, I think he's reformed his gambling habit since inheriting the title, hasn't he?"

"Vices cannot be so easily forgotten. Earl or not, I would set my sight on a more financially stable gentleman."

"But Trembley is vastly wealthy."

"Or so he would have one believe." The other lady paused to sip her drink.

"What do you mean?"

"Why else would he force his youngest brother to marry an American heiress, unless there was some sort of financial trouble within the family? He likely lost their fortune in a gambling hell."

"Hush, Annabelle. You can't possibly know that for certain."

"I would bet my finest dress on it. The earl isn't worth troubling yourself over. But do you know who would be a fine match for you? Mr. Cleary."

"Cleary?" the other said aghast. "He's almost sixty."

"My, how picky you are."

"You're just trying to deter me from Lord Trembley because you fancy him for yourself."

"Why, Bridget Schuster, how dare you?"

Mabel rolled her eyes and walked away from the table toward the edge of the dance floor. It seemed the countess had been correct in her assumption of the ton's gossip about Alfred and Leona's marriage. And was the earl really all that sought after that friends would openly squabble over him? Surely not. There were at least two dozen men in attendance tonight who were classically more attractive than Derek, though if she had to name one off the top of her head, she couldn't exactly think of one to pick.

That gave her a moment's pause. Undoubtedly, one of the gentlemen she had danced with was more striking than Trembley. Yet, for her life, none of their smiles seemed to interest her as much as his scowl did.

Peering around the room, she spotted the earl on the dance floor, moving effortlessly as he chatted with a demure young lady dressed in white. Mabel studied his face briefly as it flashed her way whenever he turned.

His brows were straight and robust over his dark eyes, not arched in the least. He was almost too large for his partner. Indeed, Mabel might argue that he was too big to be an aristocrat. The broadness of his shoulders may be a family trait, but overall, Derek was a man of physical strength such as one might expect from a man who had to labor for his living. She wondered what activities kept his arms so large, but she couldn't fathom it.

Mabel bit her lip, annoyed with herself. So, he was attractive. What did it matter? There were at least half a dozen other problems with him that would detract from his handsomeness and it was this list that she found herself repeating as she strolled out of the ballroom.

Groups of people lined the long hallway that led to a courtyard at the back of the manse. A large stone terrace overlooked a very well-kept garden filled with topiary. Torches had been lit to line the crushed stone path, most likely to prevent lovers from liaising. Mabel walked down the curved marble steps that wrapped around an impressive swan atop a large ball.

It was unfair that the gardens were as equally lovely as the house. Perfectly sculpted yew shrubs had been cut into various shapes. Cones, spheres, spirals, and more cast long shadows across the garden. Mabel inhaled slowly, noticing the scent of roses in the air, likely from the pale pink blooms that climbed the back wall of the Trembley home. A sliver of a waning moon hung high in the sky and Mabel found herself watching it as she reached the bottom of the steps.

Her hand softly touched a yew bush as a familiar, feminine voice spoke above her on the balcony.

"It's a fine party, don't you think?"

Glancing up, Mabel saw Lady Combe on the arm of her husband. The tall, dark duke seemed intimidating in contrast to the fair, ethereal aura of his wife.

Mabel pressed herself against the rock wall as she listened.

"Very fine," he replied, his tone deep.

"You're doing remarkably well," she said softly.

"These things are always easier when you are near." Mabel frowned, unsure what they were speaking about. "Although, I'm afraid I'll have to leave you for a bit."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Derek's requested my and Gavin's presence."

"For a round of cards?" the duchess asked, her tone teasing.

Mabel's brow ticked up. Was the earl hosting one of his infamous card games?

"No, my love, but I'll be sure to inform you of whatever he is up to soon enough."

"You needn't, you know."

"Ah, but I like telling you secrets."

Mabel couldn't help but smile at the sweetness between the couple. For a pair of peers, they were far more tender with each other than she would have expected.

As the couple walked away, Mabel moved from behind a large, rectangular yew hedge. Deciding that she had had enough of a break from dancing, she gathered the yellow skirts of her dress and climbed the marble staircase to return to the ballroom.

Just as she reached the top of the balcony, she saw the baroness and her husband heading toward the duke and duchess. Curiosity simmered within Mabel's chest as the two men exchanged words, their wives grinning at one another as if some great secret was being shared.

Was the earl hosting a card game? If he was, Mabel would very much like to be a part of it, though it was likely they would refuse to allow her to participate. Still, as the duke and baron left their wives behind on the dance floor, Mabel skirted along the ballroom walls, doing her best not to be seen as she followed after them.

She did not go unnoticed, unfortunately. Thanks to her brightly colored dress, she was easy to spot, and several ladies watched her with a great deal of suspicion. Particularly the wives of men whose fidelity could be questioned. No doubt, they feared she was off to an assignation with one of their husbands. Of course, they didn't know that Mabel had little desire to dally with married men. If anything, she would be keeping herself far away from the sort of man who would pursue an affair behind his wife's back.

That's not to say she intended to be alone forever. While she had no plans of ever marrying again, Mabel knew that eventually, she would likely find some enterprising gentleman who would agree to a discreet arrangement back home in Philadelphia.

Whirling down the corridor, Mabel saw no one—the duke and baron had vanished from view. Undeterred, she hurried down the hallway, glancing over her shoulder to ensure no one pursued her. Taking a left, she saw a series of doorways, each with the doors open, except the first. The first door on her left was firmly closed.

Pressing her ear to the door, she heard nothing. Confused, Mabel was about to turn around when she heard male voices coming around the corner. Panicked, she gripped the brass handle, pushed the door open, and closed it quietly behind her.

She found herself in a massive library, with two stories worth of books lining the walnut bookshelves. Two large leather sofas sat before a marble fireplace, where a roaring fire had been lit despite it being a summer night. A gigantic wooden desk sat in the corner of the room, near a circular, carved staircase that led up to the second floor.

Mabel was impressed and nearly gave in to the urge to spin about the room in wonder—but then she froze in place when the door handle turned. Remembering herself, she dashed across the room to the heavy, canary-colored velvet curtains. She stepped behind them to hide herself, and the fabric settled around her just as she heard the door close.

"Sherry?" a familiar masculine voice asked as two others murmured their acceptance.

Mabel peered out from behind the curtain and saw not one but three men moving about the library as if they had been here hundreds of times before.

"Theirs will be a union in opposites," Derek said, taking a swig of the drink that the baron handed him. "It will be a disaster."

"‘Disaster' might be a bit of an exaggeration."

"Is it? Do not deny hearing at least a dozen times tonight alone about pedigree and propriety, both of which are lacking in our current guests," Trembley said, causing Mabel to frown. "Well, perhaps propriety is not so much lacking in the younger sister, but the comtesse is certainly an entirely different breed of woman."

Mabel tilted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of the earl. Instead, she saw a pair of kind, bright eyes glancing up in response to the ruffling of the curtain. The baron saw her—their eyes locked.

Heart pounding, she clenched her teeth as the earl and duke continued to speak to one another, unaware of what their friend had spotted. To her wild surprise, the baron tipped his head, as if to say that he understood, and turned his back on her, not making a single move to alert his friends to her eavesdropping.

"Perhaps we should continue this discussion elsewhere?" he interrupted the other two as Mabel made a mental note to be forever grateful to the baron.

"Why?" the duke asked, seemingly confused as he sat.

"She's impossible," Derek continued, ignoring the baron. "The comtesse has no propriety. No care for her reputation or her sister's, nor how her scandalous behavior affects those who house her."

"That's rather harsh, isn't it?" Gavin asked. "I haven't witnessed anything so outrageous."

"Haven't you? She danced eight times in a row. Twice with repeating gentlemen."

"You were counting?" Gavin asked.

"It was repeated to me several times by a dozen or so guests," Derek countered, his tone defensive.

"Yes, well, it is inappropriate," the duke said, his voice dry with sarcasm. "To think, a lady, dancing at a ball."

Mabel bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smirking. She liked the duke.

"Go on then. Have a laugh at my situation."

"You're being reactionary, Derek," the baron continued. "She's done nothing untoward. If anything, those gossip pages have been most unfair to her—not because she has done anything to merit it but because they wish to sell more papers."

Mabel bobbed her head, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"I wish I was being reactionary," the earl said. "I wish my brother would have discussed this whole matter with me before proposing abroad. What the devil was he thinking?"

"That he was in love?"

"The hell with love and the men who preach it," Derek said firmly. "I'm forever surrounded by people falling in love and disregarding their best interests. It's become tiresome, to say the least."

Mabel gave a firm nod again despite herself. She didn't like to agree with the earl, but he made a fair and reasonable point. His friends, however, seemed less impressed with his comment.

"As entertaining as this has been, I'll ask you to excuse me," the duke said, sounding tired. "I really must be finding Clara."

"I should return to my wife too," the baron said, following the duke toward the door. He sighed before adding, "Sorry for not being very helpful. But I'm sure Alfred will fare well enough in this marriage."

"Hmm…" the earl began before shaking his head once more.

The clicking of the door shutting once the duke and baron left relaxed Mabel's shoulders slightly. Peering from around the curtain again, she saw the earl staring into the fire with his arms folded across his chest. He looked more than contemplative. There was a weight that seemed to hover around him.

Mabel frowned, curious as to why he was so tense. In spite of herself, she began to step away from the shelter of the curtain. If she had any sense, she'd wait until this man had finished with his moment of peace and returned to the party to act as host. Then she'd be able to slip out with no one the wiser that she'd ever been there at all. But logic could not hold her back. Her feet were moving before she could help herself.

"Good evening," Mabel said loudly, stepping out from behind the curtain.

To her surprise, the earl did not jump or even appear startled. He crooked his head and crudely inspected her up and down before his gaze met hers, causing an unwelcome lump to form at the back of her throat.

"How is it," he began, rotating fully to face her, "that I've become desensitized to your sneaking about already?"

"I wasn't sneaking about."

"And yet you were purposely hidden, eavesdropping on a private conversation."

"I was enjoying a moment's reprieve from the ball when your unannounced company barged in," she countered, her fingers trailing against the back of a chair before her. "A woman alone, in a room with three men? Is it any wonder I chose to secure my safety by staying out of view? As for the charge of eavesdropping, I feel that's more your fault than mine. Really, I would think a man of your position would make sure the room was clear before speaking so freely."

"I never had an issue with privacy before," he said shortly. "What do you want, comtesse?"

Mabel did her best now to glower, annoyed that he seemed determined to use her title. A title she no longer had and that she had repeatedly asked him to leave aside.

"It's not what I want, but possibly," she said slowly as her courage came to the forefront, "what we want."

The earl did not flinch, but he looked highly skeptical.

"What are you talking about?"

"Despite our differences, we do share a common preference."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"And what would that be?"

"We prefer that I return to Philadelphia as soon as possible," she said pointedly. "And that my sister return with me."

"Well, I regret to inform you that my brother has no plans to sail back across the Atlantic any time soon."

"I didn't say I wished for your brother to be in Philadelphia."

The meaning of her words settled between them as the earl's dark eyes glinted with confusion, then understanding, and then interest. He nodded slowly.

"I see."

"Do you?" she asked, her head tilting. "Because if you do, I think we might be able to help each other."

"Are you suggesting…"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Trembley," she said, forgoing the ‘my lord' nonsense. She would be his equal in this. "I'm simply saying that it might be fortuitous for both our siblings and extended families if our incompatibilities were somehow demonstrated for all to see."

His head turned to the side, and Mabel had to beat down the sudden awareness of his neck. Why she should be so interested in it, she did not know, but it was curiously thick.

"What you're not suggesting is interesting," he said carefully. "How would we go about it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Making a scene or two should extinguish whatever silly feelings are between my sister and your brother."

"A scene or two?" he repeated with abhorrence. "Are you mad?"

"You know, you're not the first to ask," she said smartly. "But why drag this out? My sister and I could be on a ship home in a week if you let me attend to this."

"That is precisely my point. You will be departing—so the consequences of your actions will not fall on you. But I will still be here, which means I will be forced to clean up after the trail of destruction you are proposing to leave behind you. No," he said, finishing his drink. "I'll handle it myself."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"But it was my idea."

"And I thank you for it."

Mabel glared at him. The arrogance of this man was unmatched, but he was a fool if he thought she would give in so easily. Smirking, she decided to shock him.

Taking several steps toward him, Mabel lifted her hand and slowly peeled the crystal vessel from his fingers. He watched her, willingly letting go of his glass as she took it and, pressing it to her lips, swallowed the contents without a grimace. Then she returned it to him, licking her lips as she did so. His gaze flickered to her mouth, and for the first time since meeting the earl, Mabel sensed the stirrings of something she had long since resolved to ignore.

Desire.

Steeling herself to keep from showing any reaction, she tilted her head.

"Very well. If you're so arrogant as to believe that you can do this without help, I wish you luck."

"Arrogance has nothing to do with it."

"But when you fail—and you will"—she continued, ignoring him as she walked by him, taking the deck of cards off the table—"I'll gladly help you, once you give a heartfelt apology."

To her surprise, the earl actually grinned. She split the deck with her hands and began to shimmy the cards back and forth between them, just like she did when she became fidgety. How odd that this simple conversation would spur that behavior.

"You're wildly out of your depths, comtesse." His tone was low, just above a whisper. "And if anyone's going to apologize, it's going to be you, for that smart mouth of yours."

A vibration went through Mabel, like someone had just plucked the strings of a violin. Something was tempting about the earl—that much was true. But Mabel had to remind herself that she had no use for titles. And she certainly had no use for him.

"I highly doubt that," she said, dropping the cards to the table.

She brushed past him, but the earl's large hand wrapped around her wrist, stilling her. Mabel felt time slip away as the warmth from his grasp seeped into her skin. She studied his dark gaze.

Neither spoke, though it seemed a world of information passed between them. Mabel's pulse beat furiously against his palm, and the minor movement of his bottom lip made her uncomfortably warm. For a moment, she was sure he would lean in and claim a kiss, but just as she readied herself for such an experience, he drew back and let go of her wrist.

Momentarily unstable, Mabel let out a shaky breath she hadn't even realized she was holding and shook her head before moving past him.

"Excuse me," she whispered as she rushed from the room.

As fast as she could, she left the library without a backwards glance. The last thing she wanted to see was curiosity on the earl's face. Soon enough, the earl would come to her, begging for help in his efforts to separate their siblings, and when he eventually did, she would oblige but only after she had made him pay for his dismissive behavior tonight.