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  The damn man flirted with her. Anger welled within Miles, surprising by its very existence. Why the devil should it matter to him whom Miss Caldicot encouraged? Yet infuriatingly, it did. He considered the matter and decided it was because the marquis was an unprincipled rake and he didn’t want to see someone of whom his sister was fond taken in by a man who would think nothing of ruining her. He had shepherded too many sisters through this particular forest of wolves not to recognize the need to take action.

  What he would do, precisely, would depend on Rushmere. Miles would have to give the matter some thought. Miss Caldicot was not a young lady who would take kindly to his meddling in her affairs. But he had no intention of letting that stop him.

  Two middle-aged gentlemen—Mr. Colney with his oboe and Sir Roderick Leyland with the cello—struck up a duet with the ease of long practice. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Miss Caldicot wave to someone and the next moment Charles Dauntry strolled over to join her. That ought to please him more than it did.

  As the music drew to a close Lady Xanthe called for an interval and Dauntry led Miss Caldicot off to find refreshment. Mr. Colney, he noted with amusement, tucked away his oboe and turned to Aunt Jane, greeting her with all the warmth of an old friendship. He wouldn’t have to worry about her entertainment for a little while. Which left only Lucy.

  He spotted her sitting with Miss Hanna Brookstone and Simon Ashby. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that Miss Brookstone sat with Lord Ashby and Lucy merely happened to share the same sofa with her two friends. Ashby had been speaking and Miss Brookstone hung upon his every word. Lucy, oblivious to both appearances and their conversation, kept skewing about, peering at the door then at the mantel clock, her expression both earnest and impatient. Disappointment awaited her, Miles reflected, if she hoped to see Lieutenant Harwich this night. He could think of no gentleman less likely for Lady Xanthe to invite to her party.

  Ashby excused himself and strode over to speak with Sir Roderick Leyland. Hanna Brookstone at once grasped Lucy’s hands, compelling the other girl’s attention and launched into some whispered confidence. She really was a pretty chit, Miles reflected, watching her animated countenance. She possessed a plump softness set off by ringlets the color of ripe corn and a gown of pink gauze that matched the roses in her cheeks. Her manners were all one could wish for in a well-bred young lady but she possessed a silliness he could only be grateful Lucy didn’t share. She would probably make an excellent match.

  Lucy straightened and stared at her friend, frowning. Miss Brookstone giggled and nodded but Lucy only scowled all the more. She made some short answer that drew an indignant exclamation from Miss Brookstone and sent her off in a flounce. Curious, Miles joined his sister.

  Lucy looked up at him, her expression vexed. “Hanna is in raptures over Simon,” she informed him.

  “So are a number of other young ladies,” he reminded her.

  She waved that aside. “Oh, he can be quite engaging when he puts his mind to it, I suppose. But the way she looked up at him, fluttering her eyelashes and flirting in the most outrageous manner! I would never do anything so vulgar.” She cast a darkling glance across the room to where Ashby remained with Sir Roderick. “And he was just as bad.” She sniffed. “I daresay he likes obvious females.”

  Miles could not help but be pleased. It would do Lucy a great deal of good to see her old friend through the eyes of another young lady. It just might make her forget scarlet coats.

  People milled back into the room and groups shifted while everyone found new seats. Lady Xanthe drew Miss Caldicot toward the pianoforte and Miles’ interest roused. He moved to the wall where he stood with his shoulder propped against it and his arms folded and watched as she settled at the instrument, hesitated a moment then began on a ballad of treacherous love.

  Her voice suited her, he decided, delicate yet clear, intense and haunting. He could listen to her for a very long time. Yet the song ended all too soon and she left the instrument. The buzz of conversation which had stilled for her performance broke out again as Charles Dauntry moved to intercept her. She evaded him with an apologetic smile, responding instead to an imperious summons by his Aunt Jane. Miles strolled over to join them.

  As he approached, Miss Caldicot looked up, met his gaze and soft color tinged her cheeks. She looked away.

  “I am glad to see that years of instructing less than talented young ladies has not destroyed your love of music,” he said.

  At that, an impish smile flickered in her eyes. “How do you know it has not?”

  “No one could play and sing as you do if it had,” he said simply.

  Her color deepened. “You flatter me, sir.”

  He shook his head. “If you are brave, perhaps we might try a duet at some time.”

  She met his gaze and her smile faded. Somewhere behind them a violinist and flautist tuned briefly then launched into a lively piece by Mozart. Miles found that for once he had found something—or rather someone—of more interest than the music. He stared into her eyes which reflected the sparkle of the candles, the sparkle of her lively spirit. An impulse, almost overpowering, seized him to run his fingers through her silken curls.

  “Why not try a piece together some night soon?” Aunt Jane suggested.

  Miles stiffened. He had forgotten her presence. For that matter he’d forgotten everyone else in the room as well. A damn fool he must look, gazing like a moonling at a lovely face. “An excellent suggestion,” he said, inserting a casual note into his voice. “If you and Lady Xanthe could join us for dinner we could try our hands at a piece or two.”

  Phoebe returned a tentative answer and moved away to consult her godmother about a possible date. Miles turned back to the musicians until a young lady took up her place at the harp, an instrument he cordially detested. He could easily slip out in search of refreshments for a few minutes. He reached the door only to fall back a pace as a slight gentleman in scarlet regimentals hurried up the steps from the ground floor. Lieutenant Gregory Harwich made an elegant leg to him, flashed him the brilliant smile that so affected foolishly romantic young ladies like Lucilla and swept past him into the drawing room.

  Lucilla sprang to her feet, causing her neighbors to turn to stare at her, then stood, hands clasped, her heart blatant in her expression as her officer made his way to her side. He seized both her hands, carried them to his lips then sank to the sofa at her side, drawing her down with him. Not a single word passed between them but there was no need. Their besotted gazes spoke far too eloquently.

  Miss Caldicot interfering again, Miles fumed. He could think of no other explanation for that damn fellow to be here. He started forward to drag Lucy away by any means necessary only to catch sight of Miss Caldicot hurrying toward him. He didn’t stop.

  Her hand caught his arm. “Please, Sir Miles.”

  He spun to face her, glaring. “What the devil do you mean, inviting that man here?” he demanded in a voice that took every ounce of his willpower to keep low.

  She pulled on his arm, coaxing him from the room. “You must not create a scene,” she whispered. “And smile at me, for heaven’s sake, or you will cause the very scandal you hope to avoid.” With an obvious effort she forced the corners of her mouth upward.

  He did the same though doubted he fooled anyone. With at least the appearance of complacence he allowed her to draw him from the apartment and down the hall to the dining room. “I should have thought this was one house where my sister would be safe from his machinations. Do you enjoy watching Lucy make a spectacle of herself over a blatant fortune hunter?”

  “It is no such thing and so you would realize if you didn’t let your temper override your judgment. How can she possibly come to know him if she is never permitted to see him?”

  “My point exactly,” he snapped.

  “Would you rather your sister be permitted to build dreams about him, turn him into a hero in her heart? It is better by far for her to come to know the real
man.”

  He glowered at her. “That’s not something she is likely to do. The fellow is an expert at engaging the affections of young ladies, at disguising his own mercenary motives. The result will be that the foolish girl will fancy herself in love with him and then there’ll be the devil to pay and no pitch hot.”

  “How can you know he is truly so terrible if you do not come to know him yourself?” Phoebe demanded. “You know nothing of him.”

  “I know he is not a member of Whites nor of Brooks. I know that he has never been inside Almack’s and that he has dangled after at least three heiresses during the last year, two of them daughters of cits. Is that not sufficient? Yet here you are, interfering with my efforts to see my sister safely married to a gentleman of sense and respectability.”

  “Lucilla doesn’t want sense and respectability,” Phoebe informed him. “She wants romance. And if you thought about it for a moment you’d see you’re providing her with that romance by making her think herself a tragic heroine. Believe me, opposition is fatal.”

  His jaw clenched. “You may be an expert in the schoolroom, Miss Caldicot but allow me to be a better judge of the world. I will be grateful to you if you will refrain from meddling in my sister’s affairs.”

  She flushed and anger flashed in her eyes. “Someone has to interfere with your outrageous managing. Lucilla regards Lord Ashby as a friend and cannot imagine marrying him—at the moment.”

  “So you believe I should permit her to throw herself away on an unprincipled fortune hunter?”

  “I believe nothing of the sort!” she snapped back. “But tonight she has felt the first stirrings of jealousy over Lord Ashby. And if I know Hanna Brookstone there will be many more to come. Give them a chance to develop and she’ll lose interest in so easy a conquest as her lieutenant.”

  “Or she’ll run off with him,” he countered.

  “Only if you raise so much opposition that she feels it to be her only choice.”

  He regarded her in exasperation. “Do you enjoy trying to manage everyone’s affairs, or merely my sister’s?”

  Her color darkened. “I don’t know why I waste my time talking to you. If I hadn’t promised Lucy—” She broke off. Without another word she strode from the room.

  So Lucy had begged her to intervene. He should have guessed.

  He did not, as temper urged him, leave the party. That would be to allow Lucilla free rein in her folly since Aunt Jane seemed to forget her role of chaperon the moment one of her cronies sat at her side. Instead he joined his sister and Lieutenant Harwich and forced himself to be polite to the man. He found it a strain but the surprised and gratified glances directed at him by Lucy made the effort worthwhile. The irritating suspicion that Miss Caldicot might perhaps be right upon this one point galled him.

  He didn’t speak to Miss Caldicot again that night except to take his leave. In the morning, somewhat to his surprised annoyance, she did not emerge from her house to indulge in an early ride. He took his exercise alone and found this normally enjoyable pastime did little to ease his growing temper. He returned early only to pace restlessly about the house until his aunt objected that she would never know a moment’s peace as long as he remained indoors. Miles took the hint and departed for his club.

  By the time he had enjoyed a few hands of piquet with Charles Dauntry, visited his tailor, ordered a new pair of riding boots and talked Wolverhampton out of purchasing an overly ornate snuffbox, it was time to change into riding dress and join the fashionable promenade through Hyde Park. He found his aunt laid down upon her bed recruiting her energies for the evening’s jollifications and his sister already departed in the company of Lady Xanthe, Miss Caldicot and Hanna Brookstone. Miles sent for Cuthbert and set off in pursuit of the ladies.

  They were surprisingly easy to find though not easy to reach. Lady Xanthe’s barouche stood to the side of the carriage drive about halfway around the circuit, surrounded by a horde of gentlemen on horseback who resolved themselves into Simon Ashby, Charles Dauntry, Viscount Wolverhampton and the Marquis of Rushmere. Miles urged Cuthbert forward and worked his way into the throng.

  “Miles!” Lucy waved gaily at him as he maneuvered into position between the marquis and Dauntry. “Rushmere has just suggested the most wonderful scheme. We are all to be his guests for a tour of Hampton Court!”

  Miles turned to the marquis who sat astride a large lanky black with a flashy blaze and stocking. “And when is this expedition to be?”

  “Three days hence, if that is convenient?” He spoke to them all but his gaze rested on Miss Caldicot, making it abundantly clear for whose pleasure he had planned this party.

  It was Lady Xanthe who answered. “It is very kind of you, to be sure but I quite regret that Mrs. Mannering and I have other plans.”

  Lucilla turned to her, her face a picture of dismay. “Aunt Jane cannot go? Oh that is too dreadful. It would have been the most delightful of treats.”

  “There is no need to fret, my dear.” Xanthe bestowed a smile on her. “I daresay there need not be the least objection to your brother acting as your escort. And if you are both to go, then I need not scruple to permit Phoebe to make one of the party.”

  Lucy brightened and turned toward him. “Oh, pray say we may go, Miles.”

  “Yes,” Rushmere awarded him a civil smile. “Do say you will come.”

  Miles experienced an overwhelming temptation to claim a prior engagement simply to scotch the man’s plans. But if he did the marquis might well find another way to spend the day in Miss Caldicot’s company, which Miles felt was an occurrence to be prevented. He forced a smile and said, “I shall look forward to it,” and did an admirable job of keeping his sarcasm from sounding in his voice.

  “Excellent.” Rushmere eyed the group. “Miss Caldicot, will you do me the honor of riding with me in my curricle?”

  A delicate flush tinged Miss Caldicot’s cheeks. Very becomingly, at that. What right had Rushmere to make her blush with pleasure? But as long as that unprincipled rake gave her no other cause, he would be satisfied.

  “Thank you,” she said simply.

  The marquis beamed at her. “Then I shall call for you on Thursday at nine in the morning. If you will excuse me? I have more invitations to extend.” He swept off his hat in farewell but his smiling gaze lingered on Miss Caldicot a moment before he wheeled his horse and rode off.

  The situation might be worse, Miles reflected as the barouche maneuvered once more into the line of traffic. Ashby, Dauntry and Wolverhampton trailed after it with Miles remaining close to the carriage. At least Lieutenant Gregory Harwich was not likely to make up one of the party. That meant for once he could relax his vigil on Lucy—and direct it instead toward protecting Miss Caldicot.

  That young lady said something which he didn’t quite hear but Lucy, who sat at her side, laughed gaily. “It is you who has been singled out for this honor. Do you honestly believe for a moment he would have invited any of the rest of us had we not been in your company?”

  Which was exactly what Miles was thinking but he didn’t like the idea any better when his sister voiced it.

  “Oh, if only the other girls at school could see this,” giggled Hanna Brookstone. “He is their idol, dear Lady Xanthe, yet it is our own Miss Caldicot he seeks out.”

  “They would refuse to believe it,” said Lucy.

  Miss Caldicot directed a quelling glance first at Lucy then at Hanna. “I too refuse to believe it so let us have no more of this nonsense, please.”

  “But he is quite one of the most sought-after gentlemen in London,” cried Hanna. “And since the death of his wife he has had uncounted caps set at him. Oh Miss Caldicot, just think if he should offer for you! That would be such a triumph for he is quite the greatest matrimonial prize imaginable, not to mention being such a dashing romantic gentleman.” The girl blinked at her former instructress. “You do not look pleased.”

  Miss Caldicot cast an odd glance at her godmother. “I
t seems such a very unlikely thing for him to do, does it not?”

  Lady Xanthe returned the regard with unusual solemnity. “Should you like it?”

  Lucy laughed. “Of course she would. Why, any lady would be in alt at the mere prospect!”

  Miss Caldicot shook her head. “This is all the most complete nonsense. He is merely indulging in a flirtation, probably being kind because I was one of his daughter’s instructresses. He doesn’t mean anything by it. I would be foolish beyond permission if I were to refine upon his attentions.”

  And that, Miles reflected, was the most sensible speech he had ever heard made by a marriageable young lady. Now if only he could convince himself she meant it.

  * * * * *

  Xanthe knelt in the corner of her room, rummaging through the collection of beeswax tapers that lay in the box on the floor. She hesitated over her choice then drew out three of the candles, one of pink for love, one of light blue to open understanding and one of white to ward away doubts and fears. Humming softly, she arranged them in holders on the lace cloth.

  A curious myap sound came from the bed where Titus lay with his tail wrapped about his body, watching.

  “Because she used a candle when she made her original wish,” Xanthe told the feline. “Make yourself useful and come breathe on the flames.”

  The cat unwound himself, stretched luxuriously then sprang lightly from the coverlet, sauntered across the room and in one leap landed before the tapers she arranged in a triangle. He sniffed each one then looked at her expectantly.

  “She’s very difficult,” Xanthe told Titus who merely flicked an ear in response. She regarded him with a touch of exasperation. “Well what would you call someone who cannot see the obvious? She looks for her answer everywhere except in the right place.”

  Titus made a derisive sound.

  She shook her head. “Coming right out and simply telling someone their answer never works. You know that. She has to find it out for herself.”

  The very tip of Titus’ tail twitched and he emitted a silent meow.