Prince Charming

Chapter 1

London, England, 1868

The vultures were gathering in the vestibule. The salon was already filled to capacity, as was the dining room and the library above. More of the black-clad predators lined the curved staircase. Every now and then two or three would bob their heads in unison as they gulped from their glasses of champagne. They were watchful, expectant, hopeful. They were also vile and disgusting.

They were the relatives.

Quite a few friends of the earl of Havensmound were in attendance as well. They were there to show their support and their compassion over the unfortunate tragedy about to take place.

The celebration would come later.

For a brief spell, everyone tried to behave in a dignified manner befitting the solemn occasion. Liquor soon loosened both their thoughts and their smiles, however, and it wasn't long before outright laughter could be heard above the clinking of their crystal glasses.

The matriarch was finally dying. There had been two false alarms in the past year, but many believed this third attack would turn out to be the charm. She was simply too damned ancient to keep on disappointing everyone. Why, she was already past sixty.

Lady Esther Stapleton had spent her life accumulating her fortune, and it was high time the old girl died so her relatives could start spending it. She was, after all, reported to be one of the richest women in England. Her only surviving son was also reported to be one of the poorest. It wasn't right, or so his sympathetic creditors announced whenever the lecherous earl was within earshot. Malcolm was the earl of Havensmound, for God's sake, and should have been allowed to spend as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted. Granted, the man was a blatant squanderer, and a rake as well, whose sexual appetite ran to the very young, but those flaws weren't frowned upon by the moneylenders. Quite the opposite in fact. While the more respectable bankers had long ago refused to loan the licentious earl any more money, the street corner lenders were more than happy to accommodate the man. They were jubilant. They thoroughly enjoyed their client's debauchery. Each had charged an exorbitant amount of interest to shovel the earl out of his latest gambling fiasco to say nothing of the staggering amount they'd had to fork over to silence the parents of the young ladies their client had seduced and then discarded. The debts had piled up all right, but the patient creditors were soon going to be richly rewarded.

Or so they all believed.

Thomas, the ailing butler's young assistant, pushed yet another creditor out the entrance, then took great delight in slamming the door shut. He was appalled by their behavior. He was certain they knew better. They just didn't care.

Thomas had lived in the household since he was twelve, and in all that while, he didn't believe he'd ever seen anything as shameful as this. His dear mistress was above the stairs, struggling to hold on until all her affairs had been properly settled and her favored granddaughter, Taylor, arrived to say her farewell, while down below, the dying woman's son was holding court as pretty as you please, laughing and carrying on like the cad that he was. His daughter, Jane, clung to his side, a smug expression on her face. Thomas guessed the gloating look was due to the fact that she knew her father would share his wealth with her.

Two rotten peas in the same pod, Thomas thought to himself. Oh, yes, father and daughter were very alike in both character and appetite. The butler didn't feel he was being disloyal to his mistress because he harbored such dark opinions about her relatives. She felt the same way. Why, on several occasions, he'd heard Lady Esther refer to Jane as a viper. She was that, all right. Thomas secretly called her much worse. She was a vicious young woman, full of clever plots, and it seemed to him that the only time he ever saw her smile was after she had deliberately crushed someone's feelings. It was said by those in the know that Jane ruled the upper crust with a malicious hand and that most of the younger men and women just stepping into their places in society were actually afraid of her, although they knew better than to admit it. Thomas didn't know if the gossip was true or not, but one thing was certain in his mind. Jane was a destroyer of dreams.

She'd gone too far this time, however, for she'd dared to attack that which Lady Esther most valued. She'd tried to destroy Lady Taylor.

Thomas let out a loud grunt of satisfaction. Very soon now, Jane and her disreputable father would be made to realize the ramifications of their treacherous deeds.

Pear Lady Esther had been too occupied with ill health and family losses to notice what was going on. Since the day Taylor's older sister, Marian, had taken her twin babies to live in Boston, Lady Esther had begun her decline. She'd been failing ever since. Thomas believed the only reason she hadn't completely given up was because she was determined to see the child she'd raised as her own daughter married and settled first.

Taylor's wedding had been canceled, thanks to Jane's interference. A bit of good came out of the godawful humiliation, however. Lady Esther finally had her eyes opened. She used to be a forgiving woman until this latest outrage. Now she was just plain vindictive.

Where in heaven's name was Taylor? Thomas prayed she would arrive in time to sign the papers and say her farewell to her grandmother.

The servant paced and fretted for several more minutes. He then turned his attention to ushering the guests lounging so insolently on the steps into the already crowded solarium at the back of the house. He used food and additional liquor as an incentive to gain their cooperation. After he crammed the last of the vile creatures inside, he pulled the door closed, then hurried back to the foyer.

A commotion coming from outside drew his attention. He rushed over to look out the side window. He recognized the crest on the black carriage still rocking to a stop in the center of the circle drive, let out a sigh of relief, and then said a quick prayer in thanksgiving. Taylor had finally arrived.

Thomas looked into the salon to make certain both the earl and his daughter were still occupied with their friends. Since their backs were turned to the entrance, he hurried over to shut the salon doors. If luck stayed on his side, he would be able to get Taylor across the foyer and up the stairs before her uncle or cousin noticed.

Taylor was threading her way through the crowd of opportunists camped out on the drive when Thomas opened the door. He was pleased to notice she completely ignored the scoundrels trying to gain her attention. Several actually shoved their cards into her hands with loud boasts that they were the best investment counselors in all of England and could get her a triple return on the money she would soon inherit. All she needed to do was hand the inheritance over to them. Thomas was disgusted by their theatrics. If he had had a broom handy, he would have gone after the rabble.

"Here! Here! Get away from her." Thomas shouted the order and rushed forward. He latched onto Taylor's elbow in a protective gesture and glared over his shoulder at the offenders while he escorted her through the doorway.

"Criminals, if you ask me, every one of them," he muttered.

Taylor was in full agreement with his pronouncement. "You were ready to pounce on them, weren't you, Thomas?"

The servant smiled. "Cecil would box my ears if I were to lower myself to their station," Thomas remarked. "If I am to follow in his footsteps, I must refrain from boorish behavior. A butler must always maintain his dignity, milady."

"Yes, of course," Taylor agreed. "How is our Cecil doing? I sent him a note just last week, but I haven't heard a reply yet. Should I be worrying?"

"No, you shouldn't be worrying about Cecil. As old as he is, he's still as tough as leather. He rallied from his sickbed to say his farewell to Lady Esther. Your grandmother already pensioned him. Did you know that? She set him up as grand as can be, Lady Taylor. Cecil won't be wanting for anything the rest of his days."

"He was Madam's loyal butler for almost thirty years," Taylor reminded the servant. "He should have received a handsome pension. What about you, Tom? What will you do? I doubt Uncle Malcolm will let you stay on here."

"I've already been given an assignment by your grandmother. She wants me to look after her brother, Andrew. It means moving to the Highlands, but that doesn't matter. I would go around the world to please Lady Esther. She set aside a parcel of land and a monthly allowance for me, but I'd wager you already knew about that. It was your idea, wasn't it? You have always looked out for Tom, you have. Even though I'm your elder."

Taylor smiled. It had been her idea, but she was certain Madam would have come up with the notion if she hadn't been so busy with other matters.

"My elder, Tom?" she teased. "You're barely two years older than I am."

"I'm still older," he countered. "Here, let me take your wrap. I'm pleased to see you're wearing white just as your grandmother requested. It's a lovely dress, and if I may be so bold as to add, you're looking ever so much better today."

Thomas was immediately sorry he'd added the compliment, for he didn't want to remind her of their last encounter. Not that Taylor would ever forget, of course. Still, it wasn't gentlemanly to bring up the humiliation.

She did look better though. No one had seen her since that afternoon six weeks ago when her grandmother had taken her into the salon to give her the news about her fiance. Thomas had stood sentry inside the room with his back pressed against the doorknob so no one would dare intrude. He saw how devastated Taylor was by the announcement. To her credit, she neither wept nor carried on. Such behavior wouldn't have been appropriate for a lady. She'd kept her expression contained, but the proof of the injury done to her was evident all the same. Her hand shook as though with tremor as she nervously brushed her hair back over her shoulder, and her complexion turned as white as fresh snow. Her blue eyes, such fair, enchanting blue eyes, completely lost their sparkle, as did her voice when her grandmother at last finished reading the foul letter she had received and Taylor responded, "Thank you for telling me, Madam. I know it was difficult for you."

"I believe you should leave London for a spell, Taylor, until this little scandal blows over. Uncle Andrew will be happy for your company."

"As you wish, Madam."

Taylor excused herself a moment later. She went up to her bedroom, helped pack her own bags, and left for her grandmother's estate in Scotland less than an hour later.

Lady Esther hadn't been idle during her granddaughter's absence. She'd spent her time with her solicitors.

"Your grandmother is going to be happy to see you, Lady Taylor," Thomas announced. "Since she received the mysterious letter the other day, she's been in such a fretful state of mind. I believe she's counting on you to know what's to be done."

The worry in his voice was quite pronounced. He noticed the name cards she was clutching in her hand, deposited them in the waste receptacle, and then followed her across the foyer to the staircase leading upstairs.

"How is she, Thomas? Has there been any improvement?"

The servant took hold of her hand and patted it with affection. He could hear the fear in her voice. He wanted to lie to her but didn't dare. She deserved the truth.

"She's failing, milady. There won't be a reprieve this time. You must say your good-bye to her now. She's most anxious to get everything settled. We can't continue to let her fret, now can we?"

Taylor shook her head. "No, of course not."

Tears filled her eyes. She tried to will them away. It would upset her grandmother if she saw her weep, and crying wouldn't change what was happening anyway.

"You aren't having second thoughts about your grandmother's grand plans for you, are you, Lady Taylor? If she believed she had truly coerced you into…" Thomas didn't finish voicing his concern.

Taylor forced a smile and said, "I'm not having second thoughts. You should know by now that I would go to any length to please my grandmother. She wants all the loose ends tied up before she dies, and since I happen to be the last of her loose ends, it has become my responsibility to help her. There will be no getting around that duty, Thomas."

A burst of laughter came from the salon. The sound jarred Taylor. She turned toward the noise, then spotted two strangers garbed in black attire lounging in the back of the hallway adjacent to the stairs. Both men, she noticed, held champagne flutes in their hands. She suddenly realized the house was packed with guests.

"What are all these people doing here?"

"They're getting ready to celebrate with your uncle Malcolm and your cousin, Jane," Thomas told her. He added a nod when Taylor looked so infuriated, then hastily added, "Your uncle invited a few friends…"

Taylor wouldn't let him finish his explanation. "The vile man doesn't have a single redeeming quality, does he?"

The anger in her voice inflamed his own. "It appears not, milady. Your father, God rest his soul, seems to have inherited all the good qualities, while your uncle Malcolm and his offspring…" Thomas paused to let out a weary sigh. He noticed that Taylor was about to pull open the salon doors and hastily shook his head. "Both Malcolm and Jane are inside, milady. If they spot you, there's bound to be a scene. I know you want to chase everyone out, but you really don't have the time. Your grandmother is waiting."

Taylor knew he was right. Her grandmother came first. She hurried back across the foyer, took hold of Thomas's arm, and started up the steps.

When they reached the landing, Taylor turned to the servant again. "What does the physician say about Madam's condition? Isn't it possible she could surprise all of us once again? She could get better, couldn't she?"

Thomas shook his head. "Sir Elliott believes it's only a matter of time now," he told her. "Lady Esther's heart has simply worn out. Elliott's the one who notified your uncle Malcolm, and that is why everyone has gathered here today. Your grandmother was fit to be tied when she found out, and I do believe Elliott's ears are still ringing from the tongue-lashing she gave him. It's a wonder his own heart didn't quit beating then and there."

The picture of her grandmother berating such a giant of a man like Elliott made Taylor smile. "Madam is an amazing woman, isn't she?"

"My, yes," Thomas replied. "She has the ability to make grown men shiver with fear. I had to remind myself I wasn't afraid of her."

"You were never afraid of her," Taylor scoffed at the notion.

Thomas grinned. "You wouldn't let me be afraid. Do you remember? You told me all about Madam's bluster while you were dragging me home with you."

Taylor nodded. "I remember. Madam didn't raise her voice when she berated Elliott, did she?"

"Good heavens, no," Thomas replied. "She's a lady, first and always," he boasted. "Elliott flinched as though she were shouting. You should have seen his expression when she threatened not to leave him any money for his new laboratory."

Taylor started down the long corridor with Thomas at her side. "Is Sir Elliott with Madam now?"

"No. He stayed the night through and only just left to get a change of clothing. He should be back in an hour or so. That gives us sufficient time. Your grandmother's guests are in the parlor adjacent to her chambers. She suggested I usher them up the back stairs so no one would see them. Your uncle Malcolm won't have an inkling what's going on until it's too late."

"Then Madam is still insistent we carry through with that plan too?"

"Yes, of course," Thomas answered. "My dear, a word of caution if I may. It will upset your grandmother if she sees tears in your eyes."

"She won't see me cry," Taylor promised.

Lady Esther's suite of rooms was located at the end of the hallway. Taylor didn't hesitate at the threshold to her bedroom. As soon as Thomas opened the door for her, she hurried through the entrance.

It was as dark as midnight inside. Taylor squinted against the darkness while she tried to get her bearings.

The bedroom was gigantic. Taylor used to believe it was at least half the size of Hyde Park. The square platform with the four-poster bed was on one side of the long chamber. On the opposite side were three wing-backed chairs and two small end tables, placed at an angle in front of the heavily draped windows. Taylor had always loved this room. When she was a little girl, she would jump on the bed, do endless somersaults across the thick Oriental carpets, and make enough noise to wake the dead, or so her grandmother often remarked.

There weren't any restrictions inside the chamber. When her grandmother was in an accommodating mood, Taylor was allowed to play dress-up in Lady Esther's wonderful silk gowns and satin covered shoes. She would put on a wide brimmed hat with clumps of flowers and feathers perched on top, drape mounds and mounds of precious jewels around her neck, and don white gloves that came all the way up to her shoulders. Once she was all dressed up in her finery, she would serve tea to her grandmother and make up outrageous stories about the pretend parties she had attended. Grandmother never laughed at her. She went right along with the game. She would diligently wave her painted fan in front of her face, whisper, "I declare" at the appropriate moments, and even gasp with mock dismay over the scandals Taylor would conjure up. Most involved a Gypsy or two and Ladies in Waiting. Occasionally Madam would even make up a few outrageous stories of her own.

Taylor cherished this room and all the wonderful memories, almost as much as she cherished the old woman who lived here.

"You took entirely too long to get here, young lady. You will now give me your apology because you made me wait for you."

Her grandmother's raspy voice echoed throughout the chamber. Taylor turned and started forward. She almost tripped over a footstool. She caught herself before she was pitched to her knees, then cautiously edged her way around the obstacle.

"I apologize, Madam," she called out.

"Quit dawdling, Taylor. Sit down. We have much to discuss."

"I cannot seem to find the chairs, Madam."

"Strike light to a single candle, Janet. That is all I will allow," Lady Esther instructed her maid. "Then leave the chamber. I wish to be alone with my granddaughter."

Taylor finally located the chairs. She sat down in the center seat, straightened the folds in her dress, and then folded her hands together in her lap. She couldn't see her grandmother. The distance and the darkness made it impossible to see much of anything. She still kept her posture ramrod straight. Her spine was as stiff as a starched petticoat. Grandmother hated to see anyone slump, and since she happened to have the vision of a cat, or so Taylor believed, she didn't dare relax.

The light from the candle on her grandmother's bedside table became a beacon in the darkness. Taylor felt rather than saw the lady's maid cross in front of her. She waited until she heard the click of the door as it was closed, then called out, "Why is it so dark in here, Madam? Don't you wish to see the sun today?"

"I do not wish to," her grandmother replied. "I'm dying, Taylor. I know it, God knows it, and so does the devil. I won't make a fuss. It wouldn't be ladylike. I won't be accommodating, however. Death is going to have to stalk me in the dark. If fortune stays on my side, he won't find me until all of my business here has been concluded to my satisfaction. Light might give him an advantage. I fear you're ill prepared for the tasks ahead of you."

The switch in topics took Taylor by surprise, but she was quick to recover. "I beg to differ with you, Madam. You have trained me well. I am prepared for any eventuality."

Lady Esther snorted. "I left a good deal out of your training, didn't I? You know nothing about marriage or what it takes to be a good wife. I blame my inability to discuss such intimate topics on the times, Taylor. We live in such a restrictive society. We must all be so very prim and proper. I don't know how you came by it, but you have great compassion and love inside you, and I will tell you now, I'm thankful I wasn't able to take those qualities away from you. You never caught on that you were supposed to be rigid, did you? Never mind," Lady Esther continued. "It's too late to change. You're a hopeless dreamer, Taylor. Your infatuation with those dime novels and your love for the ruffian men is proof enough."

Taylor smiled. "They're called mountain men, Madam," she corrected. "And I thought you enjoyed listening to me read the stories."

"I'm not saying I didn't enjoy the tales," Lady Esther muttered. "But that isn't the issue now. The stories of Daniel Crockett and Davy Boone would entice anyone, even rigid old women."

She'd mixed up the names. Taylor thought it was done on purpose so that she wouldn't think Madam had become as fascinated by the mountain men as she had. She didn't correct her again. "Yes, Madam," she said, guessing she wanted to hear her agreement.

"I wonder if I'll meet up with those mountain men in the afterlife."

"I believe you will," Taylor replied.

"You're going to have to get your head out of the clouds," her grandmother warned.

"I will, Madam."

"I should have taken the time to teach you how to train a man to be a good, caring husband."

"Uncle Andrew explained everything I need to know."

Lady Esther snorted again. "And just how would my brother be knowing anything about that topic? He's lived the life of a hermit all these years in the Highlands. You have to be married to know what it's all about, Taylor. Don't pay any attention to anything he told you. It's bound to be wrong."

Taylor shook her head. "He gave me sound advice, Madam. Why didn't Andrew ever marry?"

"Probably no one would have him," Madam speculated. "The only thing my brother was ever interested in was his giant horses."

"And his guns," Taylor reminded her. "He's still working on his patents."

"Yes, his guns," Madam agreed. "I'm curious, Taylor. What did he tell you about marriage?"

"If I wish to turn a rascal into a fine husband, then I must treat him very like a horse I'm trying to train. I should use a firm hand, never show him any fear, and dole out affection only sparingly. Uncle Andrew predicted I would have him eating out of my hand within six months. He will have learned to value me and treat me like a princess."

"And if he doesn't value you?"

Taylor smiled. "Then I should borrow one of Uncle's fine guns and shoot him."

Madam's smile was filled with tenderness. "There was a time or two I wanted to shoot your grandfather, but mind you, child, only a time or two."

Her mood turned from jovial to melancholy within the space of a heartbeat. Her voice shook with emotion when she said, "The babies are going to need you. Dear God, you're little more than a baby yourself. How will you ever get along?"

Taylor hurried to soothe her. "I'll do just fine," she insisted. "You think of me as a child, but I'm a fully grown woman now. You've trained me well, Madam. You mustn't worry."

Lady Esther let out a loud sigh. "All right then, I won't worry," she promised. "You have given me your love and your devotion all these years while I… do you realize I have never once told you I love you?"

"I do realize it. Madam."

A moment of silence followed Taylor's acknowledgment. Then Lady Esther changed the topic again. "I wouldn't let you tell me why your sister was so desperate to leave England. I'll admit to you now it was because I feared what I would hear. My son was the reason Marian left, wasn't he? What did Malcolm do to her? I'm prepared to listen, Taylor. You may tell me now if you're so inclined."

Taylor's stomach immediately tightened into a knot. She took a deep breath before answering. "I'm not so inclined, Madam. It all happened such a long time ago."

"You're still afraid, aren't you? Even the mention makes your voice tremble."

"No, I'm not afraid any longer."

"I gave you my complete trust and helped Marian and that worthless husband of hers leave, didn't I?"

"Yes, Madam."

"It was difficult for me, knowing I would never see them again. I certainly didn't trust Marian's judgment. Look at the man she married. George was only slightly better than a street beggar. He certainly didn't love her. He latched onto her for her money. She wouldn't listen to reason though, would she? I disowned the both of them. It was a spiteful thing to do. I realize that now."

"George wasn't worthless, Madam. He just didn't have a head for business. He might have only married my sister for her money, but he stayed with her after you took her inheritance back. I think he learned to love her, if only just a little. He was always good and kind to her. And from all the letters he sent us, I also believe he was a wonderful father."

Lady Esther nodded. "Yes, I, too, believe he was a good father," she admitted grudgingly. "It was you who convinced me to give them some money so they could leave England. I did the right thing, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did the right thing."

"Did Marian want to tell me what happened? Dear God, she's been dead eighteen months and I'm only just now able to ask you that question."

"Marian wouldn't have told you," Taylor insisted, her voice urgent now.

"But she confided in you, didn't she?"

"Yes, but only because she wanted to protect me."

Taylor paused to take another breath in an attempt to hold onto her composure. The topic was so distressing, her hands started shaking. She didn't want her grandmother to know how upset she was. She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice when she spoke again. "You showed your love for her by protecting her without demanding reasons. You helped her leave. She and George were happy in Boston, and I'm certain Marian died at peace."

"If I ordered you to bring her daughters home to England now, would they be safe?"

"No." Her answer was quick, forceful. She softened her tone when she added, "The little girls should be raised in their father's country. It is what George and Marian both wanted." And not under Malcolm's guardianship, Taylor silently added.

"Do you believe the cholera has taken the babies as well? We would have heard by now, wouldn't we?"

"Yes, we would have heard. They're healthy and well," she said. She made her voice as emphatic as possible and said a quick prayer that she was right. The babies' nanny, Mrs. Bartlesmith, had written with the tragic news. She hadn't been at all certain cholera had killed George, and since the physician refused to expose himself to the possibility of catching the disease by coming to the house after George had died, no one could be sure. The nanny kept the babies away from their father while he was so ill. She protected them as best she could. God had already taken Marian, and now George, and He wouldn't be so unmerciful as to take the two-year-olds as well. It was too upsetting to even consider.

"I trust you, Taylor." Madam's voice was weary now.

"Thank you, Madam."

"Did I protect you growing up?"

"Oh, yes," Taylor cried out. "All these many years you've protected me."

Several minutes passed in silence. Then Lady Esther said, "Are you prepared to leave England?"

"I am."

"Boston is a world away from us. Tell the babies kind stories about me, even if you have to make them up. I wish to be remembered fondly."

"Yes, Madam."

Taylor tried desperately not to cry. She stared at her hands and took several deep breaths.

Lady Esther didn't seem to notice her granddaughter's distress. She went into detail once again about the money she had had transferred to the bank in Boston. Her voice was weak with fatigue by the time she finished her instructions.

"As soon as Sir Elliott returns, he'll announce I've had yet another miraculous recovery. He may be an imbecile but he knows who is buttering his bread. You'll attend the ball tonight and act as though everything is as right as ever. You will laugh. You will smile. You will celebrate my good health. You will stay until the chimes strike the midnight hour. No one must know you're leaving at first light. No one."

"But, Madam, now that you're so ill, I had thought to stay here with you."

"You'll do no such thing," her grandmother snapped. "You must be away from England before I die. My brother, Andrew, will keep me company. I won't be alone. Malcolm and the others will be told that you've gone after you've set sail. Agree with me, Taylor. It's your duty to make this old woman die content."

"Yes, Madam." Her voice caught on a sob.

"Are you weeping?"

"No, Madam."

"I cannot abide tears."

"Yes, Madam."

Her grandmother sighed with satisfaction. "I went to a great deal of trouble to find the right one. You do know that, don't you, Taylor?" she asked. "Of course you do. Now then, there is just one more document to sign and witness. One last ceremony for me to see through. Then I'll be at peace."

"I do not wish for you to die, Madam."

"One doesn't always get what one wishes, young lady. Remember that."

"Yes, Madam."

"Tell Thomas to fetch the guests he's hidden away in the parlor. Then come and stand next to me. I want to watch you sign the paper before I witness it."

Taylor stood up. "You will not change your mind about this?"

"I will not," her grandmother answered. "Will you change yours?"

The challenge was there in her clipped, no-nonsense tone of voice. Taylor managed a smile. "No, I will not change my mind," she answered just as forcefully.

"Then hurry up, Taylor. Time's wasting away, and time, you see, is my enemy."

Taylor started for the door connecting the bedroom to the adjacent parlor. She was halfway across the chamber when she suddenly stopped. "Madam?"

"What is it?"

"Before Thomas brings the others inside… we won't be alone again and I… may I…"

She didn't say more. She didn't need to. Her grandmother understood what she was asking.

A loud sigh filled the chamber. "If you must," her grandmother grumbled.

"Thank you."

"Get it said, Taylor."

"Very well," she agreed. "I love you, Madam, with all my heart."

He couldn't believe he'd done it. Damn it all, he almost hadn't been able to pull it off. He shook his head in disgust. What kind of man would demand one brother buy another brother's freedom? A real bastard, that's who, he thought to himself… a real son of a…

Lucas Michael Ross forced the raging thoughts aside. What was done was done. The boy was free now and ready to start a new life. That was all that mattered. The son-of-a-bitch heir to the family fortune would eventually get his reward. As far as Lucas was concerned, his older half brother could rot or thrive in England for all he cared.

His anger wouldn't go away. Lucas leaned against the pillar near the alcove in the majestic ballroom and watched the couples twirling around the marble floor in front of him. He was flanked on both sides by his brothers' friends, Morris and Hampton. They both held titles, but Lucas couldn't remember what they were. The two men were in the middle of a heated debate on the merits versus the perils of capitalism in

America and why it would never work. Lucas pretended interest, nodded whenever he thought it was probably appropriate, but otherwise pretty much ignored the men and their discussion.

It was his last night in England. He didn't want to savor the evening; he wanted to finish it. He didn't have any particular fondness for this bleak country and was in fact confused by those who chose to make their home here. After living in the wilderness deep in America, Lucas couldn't imagine why anyone would deliberately choose England. He found most of the inhabitants to be as pompous and pretentious as their leaders and their monuments and every bit as stifling as the air they breathed. He detested the closeness, the endless smoke stacks, the gray-black film that hung over the city, the gaudiness of the women, the prissiness of the men. When he was in London, Lucas felt penned in, caged. The sudden image of a dancing bear he'd once seen when he was a boy attending a country fair on the outskirts of Cincinnati came into his mind. The animal had been dressed in men's britches and was prancing in a circle on his hind legs around and around the owner who controlled the beast by holding onto a long, heavy chain he'd secured around the bear's neck.

The men and women circling the dance floor reminded Lucas of the trained bear. Their movements were jerky, controlled, certainly rehearsed. The women's gowns were all different in color but otherwise identical in both cut and style. The men were just as silly looking to him. They all wore their black formal uniform. Hell, even their shoes were identical to one another. The rules and regulations of the restrictive society in which they lived were their chains, Lucas supposed, and he found himself feeling a little sorry for them. They would never know real adventure or freedom or wide-open spaces. They would live, then die, and never realize what they had missed.

"What has you frowning, Lucas?"

Morris, the older of the two Englishmen, asked the question. He looked up at Lucas while he waited for his answer.

Lucas nodded toward the dance floor. "I was thinking there isn't a maverick among them," he replied in that soft Kentucky drawl that seemed to amuse the men so.

Morris obviously didn't understand what he'd meant by the remark. He shook his head in confusion. Hampton was more astute. He nodded agreement. "He's referring to the couples dancing," he explained.

"And?" Morris prodded, still not comprehending.

"Don't you notice how alike the women are? Every one of them has her hair all bound up tight at the back of her head, and most of them have those ridiculous feathers sticking out at all angles. The gowns are quite identical as well," he added. "With those wire contraptions hidden underneath the skirts to make their backsides look so bizarre. The men aren't any better. They're all dressed alike, too."

Hampton turned to Lucas. "Breeding and education have taken all our individuality away."

"Lucas is dressed in formal attire, just like we are," Morris blurted out. He acted as though the thought had only just occurred to him. He was a short, squat man with thick glasses, a receding hairline, and firm opinions about every possible topic. He felt it was his sole duty to play the devil's advocate and argue against any view his best friend held. "The clothing you've suddenly taken exception to is appropriate attire at a ball, Hampton. What would you have us wear? Boots and buckskin?"

"It would be a refreshing change," Hampton snapped.

Before Morris could come back with a rebuttal, Hampton turned to Lucas and changed the topic. "Are you anxious to get back to your valley?"

"I am," Lucas agreed, finding his first smile.

"Then all of your business has been completed?"

"Almost all," Lucas replied.

"Aren't you leaving tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"How can you finish up your business with so little time left?" Hampton asked.

Lucas shrugged. "There is only one small task to take care of," he explained.

"Are you taking Kelsey back with you?" Hampton asked.

"He's the reason I came back to London," Lucas answered. "The boy's already on his way to Boston with his brothers. They left the day before yesterday."

Kelsey was the youngest of Lucas's three half brothers. The older two, Jordan and Douglas, were already seasoned frontiersmen working their land in the valley. Kelsey hadn't been old enough on Lucas's last trip back, and so he'd left the boy with his tutors for two more years. Kelsey was almost twelve years old now. Intellectually he'd been nurtured, Lucas had seen to that, but emotionally he'd been neglected to the point of starvation. The son-of-a-bitch heir to the family fortune had seen to that.

It no longer mattered that Kelsey was too young for the harsh life in the wilderness. The boy would die if he stayed in England any longer.

"It's a pity Jordan and Douglas didn't stay on in

London a little longer," Morris remarked. "They would have enjoyed this affair tonight. Quite a few of their friends are here."

"They wanted to get a head start with Kelsey," Lucas replied.

They were also determined to get their brother out of England with all possible haste. As soon as the son-of-a-bitch heir had signed the guardianship papers, they booked passage. They were concerned he might change his mind or increase the amount of money he wanted in exchange for his own brother.

He was getting angry again. Damn but he wanted to get out of England. During the war with the South he'd been locked up in a prison the size of a broom closet. He'd turned claustrophobic then and thought he would go out of his mind before he escaped. The torments weren't over yet, however, and he'd been forced to endure another atrocity he still couldn't think about without breaking out in a cold sweat. The war had changed him all right. He couldn't stand close quarters now. His throat would start to tighten up on him, and he'd have difficulty taking a deep breath. The feeling was welling up inside him again. London was rapidly turning into a prison in his mind and all he could think about was breaking free.

Lucas pulled out his timepiece, flipped open the latch, and noted the time. Twenty minutes until midnight. He could last, he told himself. He had promised to stay until midnight, and twenty more minutes wouldn't kill him.

"How I wish I could go with you to your valley," Hampton suddenly blurted out.

Morris looked appalled. He squinted up at his friend through thick glasses. "You can't be serious. You have responsibilities here. Do your title and your lands mean so little to you? I don't believe you really mean it, man. No one in his right mind would give up England and all she has to offer."

Morris was gravely offended by what he considered to be extreme disloyalty to his homeland. He hurled himself into a lecture meant to shame his friend Hampton. Lucas wasn't listening. He'd just spotted the son-of-a-bitch heir across the hall. William Merritt III was the legitimate firstborn son. Lucas was three years younger. He was the bastard. Their father had visited America when he was a young man, and while he was there, he swept an innocent country girl off her feet and into his bed. He gave her his pledge of love, bedded her every night of the month he spent in Kentucky, and then thought to mention he had a wife and a son waiting for him back in England. The son had grown up to be just like his father. He was a self-indulgent demon who thought only of his own pleasures. Loyalty and family values held little meaning for him. Because he was the privileged firstborn, he inherited the land, the title, and whatever funds were left. His father hadn't bothered to make provisions for his other legitimate sons, and his firstborn wasn't about to share the wealth. Jordan, Douglas, and Kelsey weren't just left out in the cold. They'd been thrown there.

Jordan was the first to track Lucas down and ask him for help. He wanted to come to America and start a new life. Lucas hadn't wanted to get involved. Jordan and his brothers were strangers to him. He felt disconnected from the world of privilege they lived in. He was an outsider, and though they shared the same father, he didn't feel any kinship to his half brothers. Family was a concept altogether foreign to him.

Loyalty, however, was another matter.

He couldn't turn his back on Jordan, and he refused to take the time to figure out why. Then Douglas came along, and by then it was too late for Lucas to change his mind. When he traveled to England and saw how Kelsey was being treated, he knew he wouldn't be finished with his duty until he'd found a way to free the youngest from bondage.

The price Lucas had had to pay was well worth his own freedom.

The waltz ended with a crescendo of sound just as Morris finished his spontaneous lecture. The men in the orchestra stood up, then formally bowed to the sound of thunderous applause.

The clapping was suddenly, inexplicably cut off. Couples still lingering on the dance floor turned to the entrance. A hush fell over the guests. Lucas was intrigued by the behavior of the crowd. He turned to see what attraction held everyone so spellbound just as Morris nudged him.

"Not everything in England is tainted," Morris announced. "Have a look, Lucas. The proof of England's superiority stands at the entrance."

From the enthusiasm in his voice, Lucas didn't think he would be surprised to find the queen of England standing there.

"Hampton, get out of his way so he can see," Morris ordered.

"Lucas is a good head taller than every other man here," Hampton muttered. "He can see well enough. Besides, I can't take my gaze off the vision long enough to even consider moving anywhere. God love her, she showed up," he added in a whisper, the adoration in his voice unmistakable. "She's got courage, I'd say. Oh, yes, courage, indeed."

"There's your maverick, Lucas," Morris announced in a voice thick with pride.

The young lady under discussion stood on the top of the steps leading down into the ballroom. The

Englishmen hadn't exaggerated. She really was an incredibly beautiful woman. She wore a royal blue evening gown with a scooped neck that was neither overly revealing nor overly concealing. The dress wasn't molded to her figure, yet it was impossible not to notice her softly rounded curves and her creamy white skin.

She was all alone, and from the faint smile on her face, she didn't seem to be the least bothered by the stir she was causing. She didn't seem to care that her clothing wasn't considered fashionable either. Her skirt wasn't all poofed out at odd angles, and it was apparent she wasn't wearing one of those wire contraptions underneath. Her hair wasn't bound up tight in a braid. The long, golden-colored curls fell in soft waves around her slender shoulders.

No, she wasn't dressed in the uniform of the other women at the ball, and perhaps that was one reason she held every man's rapt attention. She was a refreshing diversion in perfection.

Lucas was certainly affected by the sight of such loveliness. He instinctively blinked. She didn't disappear. He couldn't see the color of her eyes, but he already knew they were blue… candlelight blue. They had to be.

He was suddenly having difficulty drawing a breath. A tightness settled inside his chest, and his heart started slamming a wild beat. Hell, he was acting like a schoolboy. It was humiliating.

"She really is a maverick," Hampton agreed. "Will you look at the marquess? He's standing directly across the ballroom. I declare I can see the lust in his eyes even from this considerable distance. I imagine his new wife sees it, too. Look how she's glaring at him. Lord, this really is quite delightful. I do believe justice is finally being served to the blackheart. He's getting his due now. God, I'm sorry, Lucas. I shouldn't be talking about your half brother with such disrespect."

"I don't consider him family," Lucas replied in a hard, unbending voice. "He disowned the rest of us years ago. And you're right, Hampton," he added. "Justice has been served in more ways than even you realize."

Hampton gave him a quizzical look. "You've made me mighty curious, Lucas. What is it you know that we don't?"

"He probably heard all about the humiliation," Morris speculated. He didn't wait for Lucas to confirm or deny his statement but hurried on to give the full report just in case he hadn't heard every single little detail.

"The beautiful vision in blue smiling so sweetly was engaged to your half brother, but I'm certain you already knew that much of the story," he began. "William could have had it all. He was quite smooth while he courted her, and she, so young and innocent, surely found him attractive. Then, just two weeks before the wedding was scheduled to take place, William eloped with his fiancee's cousin, Jane. Over five hundred people had been invited to the celebration, and of course, all had to be notified of the cancellation. It was going to be the bash of the season all right. Can you imagine the disgrace of having to call the thing off at such a late hour?"

Hampton nodded. "Do you see how Jane is clinging to William now? Oh, this is priceless. It really is. William isn't even trying to hide his lustful thoughts. I wouldn't be surprised if he started drooling. Jane's a pale shadow next to what he gave up, isn't she?"

Lucas wasn't amused. "He's a fool," he muttered.

Hampton agreed with a nod. "I despise William

Merritt. He's a crook and a manipulator. He duped my father, then publicly boasted of his cleverness. My father was humiliated."

"Look what William did to his own brothers," Morris said.

"He almost destroyed Jordan and Douglas, didn't he?" Hampton asked.

"He did," Morris answered. "William's getting his just reward, all right. He's going to be miserable the rest of his life. Jane's every bit as vile as he is. They make a frightening couple, don't they? Rumor has it she's carrying his child. I pity the babe if that gossip is true."

"She could be carrying," Hampton agreed. "The two were blatantly carrying on while he was engaged. Jane's going to be sorry, too. She thinks William has quite an inheritance left."

"Doesn't he?" Lucas asked the question.

Hampton shook his head. "It will soon come out with the wash. He's as destitute as a beggar. The fool speculated and lost every pound he had. The bankers own his land now. He's probably counting on Jane getting a fat inheritance when old Lady Stapleton dies. She was ailing, but I understand she made another miraculous recovery."

The music started up again. The crowd was forced to quit gawking. Taylor lifted the hem of her gown and walked down the steps. Lucas couldn't take his gaze off her. He took a step toward her, then stopped to look at his timepiece again.

Ten more minutes left. He could last that long. Just ten more minutes and then he would be free. He let out a loud sigh of satisfaction and smiled in anticipation.

Lady Taylor was also smiling. She was following her grandmother's orders to the letter. She had forced a smile on her face the second she'd walked through the doorway, and by God, no one was going to do or say anything to make her frown.

She would smile. She would celebrate. It was agony. She was so sick inside over the mockery of it all, her stomach felt as though it were on fire.

Taylor forced herself not to give in to despair. She must look forward to the future, she thought, echoing her grandmother's words to her. The babies needed her.

Young, unattached men came rushing forward. Taylor ignored them. She looked around the ballroom, trying to find her escort. She spotted her cousin, Jane, then William, but refused to allow herself to stare at either one of them. Her heart started pounding. Dear God, what would she do if they came over to her? What would she say to them? Congratulations? Oh, God, she'd die first or throw up. She hadn't considered the possibility they would attend the affair. Her mind had been consumed with her worry about her grandmother. There hadn't been room for lesser concerns. Ironically, Madam had made quite an improvement that afternoon, and when Taylor had taken her leave, she was hopeful her grandmother had truly been given another reprieve.

An eager young man she knew she'd met before but couldn't remember where or when begged her for the honor of escorting her onto the dance floor. Taylor graciously declined. He had just turned away from her when she heard Jane's distinctive high-pitched laughter. She turned to look, spotted Jane's malicious smile, and then noticed a young lady turn and hurry toward the exit. Taylor recognized the girl. She was Lady Catherine, the youngest of Sir Connan's offspring and barely fifteen years old.

Getting married hadn't improved Jane's disposition. Catherine had just become her latest victim, Taylor decided, when she saw the look of devastation on the poor girl's face.

Taylor was suddenly overwhelmed with melancholy. Cruelty was a sport some of her relatives thoroughly enjoyed. She was sickened by their meanness, and in her present state of mind, she simply didn't know how to combat it any longer. She felt useless, inept. She had always known she didn't fit in with the upper crust of England's society, and perhaps that was why she always had her head in the clouds and her nose in the dime novels. Yes, she was a dreamer, just as her grandmother had accused, but Taylor didn't think that was so terrible. Reality was often quite ugly, and it would have been completely unbearable if she hadn't been able to daydream every now and then. It was escapism, pure and simple.

She loved romantic stories most of all. Unfortunately, the only heroes she'd ever known were those dashing figures she'd read about. Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett were her favorites. They were long dead now, but the romantic legends surrounding their lives still enchanted writers and readers alike.

Madam wanted her to become a realist, and all because she believed there weren't any heroes left.

Lady Catherine was in such a state of despair, she very nearly knocked Taylor down on her way to the steps. She was thinking only of running away from the cruelty.

Taylor grabbed hold of the distraught girl. "Do slow down, Catherine."

"Please let me pass," Catherine begged.

Tears were already streaming down her face. Taylor refused to let go of her arm. "Quit crying," she ordered. "You aren't going anywhere. If you leave, it will be all the more difficult for you to show your face in public again. You can't allow Jane to have such power over you."

"You don't know what happened," Catherine wailed. "She said… she's telling everyone I…"

Taylor gave her a little squeeze to get her to calm down. "It doesn't matter what vile things she's saying. If you pretend to ignore her and her slander, no one will believe her."

Catherine pulled a handkerchief out of the sleeve of her gown and mopped her face. "I was so mortified," she whispered. "I don't know what I did to cause her to turn on me the way she did."

"You're young and very pretty," Taylor answered. "And that is why she turned on you. Your mistake was getting too close to her. You'll survive, Catherine, just as I have. I'm certain Jane's already looking for someone else to try to make miserable. Being cruel amuses her. She's quite disgusting, isn't she?"

Catherine managed a weak smile. "Oh, yes, Lady Taylor. She really is disgusting. You should have heard what she just said about you. The sapphires you're wearing should belong to her."

"Is that so?"

Catherine nodded. "She says Lady Esther's gone dotty and…"

Taylor cut her off. "I'm not interested in anything Jane has to say about my dear grandmother."

Catherine peeked over Taylor's shoulder. "She's watching us," she whispered.

Taylor refused to look. Lord, just a little longer, she thought, and then she could leave this godawful place.

"Catherine, would you do an enormous favor for me?"

"Anything," Catherine fervently promised.

"Wear my sapphires."

"I beg your pardon?"

Taylor reached up to unclasp the necklace from the back of her neck. She removed her earrings next.

Catherine was gaping at her. The look on her face was quite comical. Taylor smiled in reaction.

"You cannot be serious, Lady Taylor. They must have cost a fortune. Jane will scream if she sees me wearing them."

"She will become upset, won't she?" She drawled out her question and smiled again.

Catherine burst into laughter. The sound echoed throughout the hall. It was cleansing, honest, joyful. Taylor was suddenly feeling much better.

Taylor assisted Catherine in putting the jewelry on before speaking again.

"Never be ruled by possessions, and never, ever make wealth more important to you than your selfrespect and your dignity. Otherwise you're bound to end up like Jane," she warned. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Dear heavens, no," Catherine blurted out, appalled by the very idea. "I promise I won't be ruled by possessions. At least I'll try not to be ruled by them. I feel like a princess wearing this necklace. Is it proper to feel that way?"

Taylor laughed. "Yes, of course. I'm glad they bring you such joy."

"I shall make certain Papa hides these in a safe place. Tomorrow I shall personally deliver them to you."

Taylor shook her head. "I won't need them tomorrow," she explained. "They're yours to keep. I'm not ever going to need such jewels again."

Catherine almost fell over. "But…" she began. She was clearly too astonished to continue. "But…"

"They're my gift to you."

Catherine burst into tears. She was obviously overwhelmed by Taylor's generosity.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," Taylor said. "You look beautiful, Catherine, with or without sapphires. Wipe your tears away while I find a suitable dance partner for you."

Milton Thompson caught her eye. Taylor motioned to the young man. He came running. A scant minute later, Catherine was being escorted onto the dance floor.

She looked radiant. She was giggling and flirting and once again acting like a fifteen-year-old.

Taylor was content. The feeling didn't last long. Where was her escort? She decided she would circle the ballroom, being sure to make a wide arch around her cousin, of course, and if she came up empty-handed, she would simply leave. She had arrived fashionably late and would leave fashionably early. She had smiled enough for one evening, and Grandmother would never know she only stayed fifteen or twenty minutes. Yes, Madam would approve of her performance.

Taylor was waylaid from going anywhere by three well-meaning friends. Alison, Jennifer, and Constance had all attended Miss Lorrison's School of Charm and Scholarly Pursuits with Taylor. They had all been fast friends ever since. Alison was a year older than the others, and for that reason alone, she believed she was far more sophisticated.

She led the procession over to Taylor. Alison was tall, a bit ungainly, and had dark blond hair and hazel-colored eyes.

"Darling Taylor, you look beautiful tonight," she announced. "I do believe I look drab just standing next to you."

Taylor smiled. Alison called everyone darling. She believed it made her appear to be more sophisticated. "No one can make you look drab," she replied, knowing instinctively that was what Alison wanted to hear.

"I do look lovely, don't I? The gown is new," she went on to explain. "It cost Father a fortune. He's determined to get me married this season even if it bankrupts him."

Taylor found Alison's honesty refreshing.."I'm certain you could have your pick of any gentleman here."

"The only one I'm interested in won't give me a single glance," Alison confessed.

"She's done everything possible to gain his attention," Jennifer interjected. She reached up to pin a strand of her brown hair back into her coiled braid before adding, "She could try swooning in front of him, I suppose."

"He probably wouldn't catch her," Constance said. "Do leave your hair alone, Jennifer. You're making a mess of it. And put on your spectacles. Squinting makes wrinkles around the corners of your eyes."

Jennifer ignored Constance's suggestions. "Alison's father would have heart palpitations if that man did pursue her."

Constance nodded agreement. Her short, curly bob bounced in reaction. "He's quite the bad boy," she told Taylor.

"Boy? Darling, he's a man," Alison chided.

"A man with a black reputation," Constance countered. "Taylor, do I look all washed out wearing a pink gown? Jennifer said my red hair and freckles don't go at all well with any shade of pink, but I was so partial to this fabric…"

"You look beautiful," Taylor replied.

"He does have a black reputation," Alison admitted. "And that, you see, is what intrigues me about him."

"Melinda told me she'd heard he's taken a different woman to his bed every single night this past week alone," Constance interjected. "Can you imagine? He can have anyone he wants. He's very…"

"Seductive?" Alison suggested the description.

Constance immediately blushed. "I'll admit there is a certain raw appeal about him. He's so… huge. His eyes are simply divine. They're a dark, dark brown."

"Who are we talking about?" Taylor asked, her curiosity caught.

"We don't know his name yet," Alison explained. "But he's here tonight, and he isn't leaving until I get an introduction. There is something sinfully erotic about him." She paused to wave her fan in front of her face. "I declare he makes my heart skip."

Taylor suddenly noticed Jennifer was frowning at her and giving her what she could only conclude was a pitying look. "Is something the matter, Jennifer?" she asked.

"Oh, Taylor, it's so terribly brave of you to come here tonight."

Alison smacked Jennifer on the shoulder with the edge of her fan. "For God's sake, Jennifer, we said we wouldn't bring up her humiliation."

"Now you've done it," Constance snapped. "Shame on you for being so thoughtless. Taylor, is your heart breaking?"

"No. I really…"

She wasn't given time to say more. "Rumor has it that Jane's carrying his child," Jennifer whispered.

"The two were carrying on all the while he was courting you."

"Did you really need to bring that up?" Alison asked.

"She has a right to know," Jennifer argued.

"We didn't know," Constance interjected. "We would have told you, Taylor. We never would have let you marry such a scoundrel."

"I really don't want to talk…"

Once again Taylor was interrupted before she could finish her thought. "He's here, you know," Jennifer informed the group. "I saw Jane grab hold of his arm the minute Taylor walked in. She hasn't let go of him yet. William Merritt should be hung for his sins."

"I really don't want to talk about him," Taylor said.

"No, of course you don't," Alison agreed. "Mark my words, darling. The time will come when you'll realize how fortunate you were to be jilted."

"We shall stand by your side for the rest of the evening," Constance pledged. "If anyone tries to say anything thoughtless, I shall personally give him or her a setdown. You have my word, Taylor."

"Thank you," Taylor replied. "But I'm not so thin-skinned. You don't need to worry anyone's going to hurt my feelings. I can take care of myself."

"Yes, of course you can," Alison told her in a pitying tone of voice.

"Do you still have feelings for him?" Jennifer wanted to know.

"No. As a matter of fact I…"

"But of course she has feelings for him. She hates him," Constance decreed.

"No, I don't…" Taylor began again.

"Love and hate go hand in hand," Jennifer explained. "I believe she should hate all men in general and William Merritt in particular."

"I don't believe hating anyone will solve…"

"But of course you must hate him," Constance argued.

Taylor decided it was high time she gained control of the conversation and turned the topic. "I've written long letters to all of you with important news," she blurted out before she could be interrupted again.

"Whatever for?" Alison asked.

"News? What news?" Constance demanded.

Taylor shook her head. "You'll have to wait until tomorrow. You'll receive your letters by late afternoon."

"Tell us your news now," Jennifer insisted.

"You're being very mysterious," Constance remarked.

"I don't mean to be mysterious," Taylor replied. "Sometimes it's easier to write down what I want to say rather than…"

"Spill it out, Taylor," Alison demanded.

"You cannot leave us hanging like this," Constance interjected.

"Are you going away?" Jennifer asked. She turned to Constance. "People always write letters when they're going away."

Taylor was sorry she'd mentioned the letters. "It's a surprise," she insisted.

"Now you've got to tell us," Alison said. "You aren't leaving this ballroom until you do. I won't be able to sleep until I've heard this mysterious news."

Taylor shook her head. The look on Alison's face told her she wasn't going to let the matter drop. Constance inadvertently came to Taylor's rescue. She spotted Lady Catherine on the dance floor, recognized the sapphire necklace around her neck, and immediately demanded to know why she was wearing Taylor's jewelry.

Taylor took her time explaining her reasons for giving the jewels away.

Lucas watched her from across the ballroom. He was penned in by a crowd of men who took turns plying him with questions about life in America. He was amused by some of their obvious prejudices, irritated by others. The Englishmen all seemed to be fascinated by the Indians. Had Lucas killed many?

He patiently answered the less offensive questions but kept looking at his timepiece every other minute. He didn't particularly care if he was being rude or not. When midnight arrived, he was leaving. Lucas rechecked the time, noted he only had a few more minutes left, and then went back to answering the men. He was in the middle of explaining that his ranch was surrounded by mountains and that the Sioux and the Crow allowed him and his brothers to share their land when he spotted the son-of-a-bitch heir to the family fortune shrug off his wife's hand and head for Taylor. His new bride chased after him.

Taylor spotted him, too. She looked ready to bolt. Lucas watched her bend to lift the hem of her skirt, then suddenly let go and straighten up again. She had obviously decided not to run after all.

No one was going to know the panic she was feeling, not even her dearest friends. Taylor made that vow and smiled until her face felt brittle. The humiliation. She knew that was what everyone was calling the cancellation of her wedding. They all expected her to act humiliated, she supposed. Well, by God, they were going to be disappointed.

Alison was going on and on about something or other, but Taylor wasn't paying any attention. She didn't want to injure her friend's feelings, however, and so she pretended great interest. She nodded whenever Alison paused for air and kept right on smiling. Taylor could only hope she was telling an amusing story and not a tragic one.

They were getting closer. William was weaving his way around the couples on the dance floor. Jane was in hot pursuit of her husband.

Taylor might have been able to control her panic if she hadn't seen the expression on her cousin's face. Jane looked livid. When she was in a cheerful mood, she was a little malicious, but when she was angry… it was simply too chilling to think about.

Taylor thought she was going to be sick. Oh, Lord, she simply couldn't do it. Her noble intention to stand firm hadn't lasted more than a minute or two. She really was going to run. She had neither the strength nor the inclination to be civil to her cousin. Cousins, she silently corrected. Her ex-fiance was related by marriage to her now.

Oh, yes, she was going to be sick all right.

Lucas saw the panic in her eyes, stopped his explanation about the Indians in midsentence, and pushed his way through the throng of men surrounding him. Both Morris and Hampton followed him as he headed across the ballroom.

"Taylor, what in heaven's name are you doing?" Alison demanded in an appalled tone of voice.

"She's taking great gulps of air," Constance said. She frowned over her own observation and leaned closer to Taylor in an attempt to understand her mysterious behavior.

"But why is she breathing like that?" Jennifer asked.

Taylor tried to calm herself. "I believe I should leave now," she began.

"You only just got here," Jennifer argued.

"Yes, but I really think I…"

"Dear heavens, he's coming over here."

Alison made the comment in a fluster and immediately set about straightening the sleeves of her gown.

Constance peeked around Alison, let out a gasp, and then turned back to Taylor. "Oh, wait until you meet him," she whispered. "Even though Mama has declared he's a sinfully bad man, I must admit he has the most adorable drawl."

"How would you know?" Jennifer asked.

"I heard him talking to Hampton," Constance explained.

"You were eavesdropping," Jennifer accused.

Constance nodded. "Yes," she admitted quite cheerfully.

Taylor was slowly backing away from her friends. She glanced over her shoulder to judge the distance to the entrance. Freedom, she decided, was a good thirty feet away. If she could just get to the steps, she could…

"Taylor, you simply must speak to the man," Alison insisted.

"Have you all gone crazy? I will not speak to him. Why, there isn't a thing adorable about William Merritt."

Taylor fairly shouted that statement of fact. Her friends all turned to look at her.

"William? No one mentioned William," Constance said.

"Do come back here, Taylor," Alison demanded.

"Oh, dear, William's on his way over, too," Jennifer announced in a low whisper. "No wonder Taylor's trying to sneak away."

"I'm not trying to sneak away," Taylor argued. It was a blatant lie, of course, but she'd go to her grave before admitting her cowardice. "I just want to avert a scene. If you'll excuse me, I…"

Constance grabbed hold of her arm to stop her from leaving. "You can't sneak out," she whispered. "It would make you appear to be quite pitiful, Taylor. We can't have that. Simply ignore him. Alison, will you quit gawking at that man?"

"Someone really must introduce me," Alison insisted once again. She was violently swinging her fan in front of her face.

"Morris might introduce you," Jennifer suggested. She backed up a space so she wouldn't be injured by Alison's fan, then added, "Isn't he beautiful?"

She asked the question with a long, drawn-out sigh. Alison nodded agreement. "Men are handsome, darling, not beautiful, but I do believe this one is both. God, he's huge, isn't he? I fear I'm becoming fainthearted just looking at him."

Taylor was diligently trying to get Constance to unhand her. She finally managed to pull free and was just about to pick up her skirts again and run for her life when she happened to spot the man Alison and the others were carrying on about.

She froze. Her eyes widened just a fraction, and she thought she might have forgotten how to breathe, for she was suddenly, unexplainably, feeling terribly light-headed.

He was the most incredibly handsome man she had ever seen. He was a giant of a man, lean, yet muscular at the same time, with broad shoulders and dark, dark hair. His skin was bronzed in color, certainly achieved by spending long days out in the sun, and his eyes, dear God, his eyes were the most beguiling color. They were a deep, rich, chocolate brown. There were creases at the corners, wonderful little creases, probably caused from squinting against the sun.

He didn't look like the sort who laughed much. He didn't appear to be the kind of man you'd want to meet up with on a dark, deserted corner either or spend the rest of your life with… Oh, God, what had she done?

Taylor reached up and snatched Alison's fan out of her hand. Before her friend could protest, she began to furiously wave the thing in front of her face. Lord, but it had gone warm in here.

Wouldn't it be outrageous if she fainted at his feet? He'd probably step over her on his way to the doors. Taylor shook her head. She really had to get hold of her thoughts and her composure, she decided. She could feel herself blushing. How ridiculous, she thought. She had nothing to feel embarrassed about. It was the heat, she told herself. Why, it was as hot as purgatory now.

Was the giant walking toward her the one with the godawful reputation? Lord, she hoped not. Just as soon as she recovered her wits, Taylor was going to ask Constance why her mama didn't like him. She wished she'd paid more attention to the conversation. Hadn't Constance said he'd taken a different woman to his bed every night this past week? She'd ask Constance that question, too, along with at least a hundred more, for she suddenly wanted to know all about the mysterious stranger.

Dear God, it was a little late for questions, wasn't it? Heaven help her, she was losing her mind. She certainly wasn't thinking coherent thoughts now. It was probably all his fault. His gaze, after all, was fully directed on her. It was unnerving, penetrating. No wonder she was rattled. And so rudely undisciplined, she silently added. She couldn't stop staring at him. She wondered if her mouth were gaping open. She hoped it wasn't but doubted she could do anything about it even if it were. No matter, she told herself. The fan would hide most of her face.

Alison grabbed her fan back. Taylor felt as though her gown had just been ripped off her. She felt exposed, but only for a second or two. Then she straightened her shoulders, slapped a smile on her face, and tried to remember how to act like a lady.

Oh, yes, he was handsome all right. She could barely catch her breath just looking at him. She wanted to sigh in appreciation. She didn't dare.

Taylor understood the reason behind her bizarre reaction to the man. He was her dream-come-true, for he reminded her of one of her mountain men. It was as though he'd stepped out of one of her dime novels. After reading so many stories about Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone, she had begun to think of both men as relatives from the past who belonged to her. There wasn't any harm in that romantic notion, was there? Surely no one else fantasized about the American frontiersmen the way she did. When she was younger, she constantly daydreamed about what life would have been like if she'd been married to one of those adventurous men. The Indians, or rather the savages as they were called in the stories, were reported to kill a man, then cut his scalp away to use as a trophy proving their prowess. Both Boone and Crockett had fought hundreds of Indians. Neither man had been scalped, however, and did in fact befriend the savages.

Taylor started shivering. The man scaring goosebumps on her arms wouldn't have any difficulty frightening the scalps off the Indians, she decided. Why, his stare was piercing enough to make her hair stand on end. He was a handsome devil, all right, but there was also an air of danger about him. And power, she thought. This one didn't look like he would be afraid of anything or be at all vulnerable to attack. From his appearance alone, she judged him to be more than capable of protecting his property.

And the babies, she thought. He would protect the babies.

Wasn't that all that really mattered? His reputation shouldn't concern her and neither should her bizarre reaction to him. For her purposes, he was more than adequate. He was perfect.

She let out a sigh. Her friends echoed the sound. They were obviously as mesmerized by the man as she was.

William and Lucas crossed the ballroom from different angles, yet they both reached Taylor at the same time. They stood no more than three feet apart. William was on her left side and Lucas was on her right.

William was the first to speak. His voice held a note of anger. "Taylor, I want a word in private with you."

"You aren't going anywhere alone with her," his wife snapped from behind.

Taylor ignored both William and Jane. Her head was tilted all the way back so she could keep her gaze firmly directed on the man who had stolen her every logical thought. She was desperately trying not to be afraid of him. He did have the most beautiful eyes.

"You're much taller than I remember."

The words came out in a bare whisper. Lucas smiled. Her voice appealed to him. It was throaty, soft, damned arousing.

"You're much prettier than I remember."

Constance was right. He did have an adorable drawl in his voice.

Chaos whirled around her. Everyone but Taylor and Lucas was suddenly talking at once. Constance and Jennifer were demanding to know when Taylor had met the stranger, Alison was begging for an introduction, William was arguing with his wife, and Hampton and Morris were loudly debating the possibility that Taylor might have already been introduced to the American, and how was that possible? Everyone knew Taylor had been in Scotland for the past several weeks, recovering from the humiliation, and when she was called back to London, she stayed cloistered with her ailing grandmother. When would she have had time to meet Lucas?

Taylor couldn't keep up with all the conversations going on around her. She was suddenly feeling quite exhilarated, however. The tightness inside her chest vanished. The chains binding her to England and to duty were being ripped away. She was going to be free. She knew that when she walked out of the ballroom, she would walk away from all the restrictions and responsibilities associated with England's rigid society.

She also knew she would never come back. She would never have to see her uncle Malcolm again, never have to look him in the eye and pretend she didn't know about the atrocity he'd committed, never ever have to speak a civil word to him. She would never have to suffer Jane's presence or cruelty again either, though that was certainly minor in comparison to her uncle's sins, and she would never again have to feel ashamed or humiliated.

Taylor let out another sigh. Freedom was just a few steps away.

"Is it almost midnight, sir?"

She blurted out her question, her eagerness sinfully evident. He gave her a quick nod in response. "We can leave now."

Everyone started pulling on her then. "Leave? Taylor, where is it you think you're going?" Constance demanded to know.

"Is she leaving with him?" Jennifer asked with a wave of her hand in Lucas's direction. "She shouldn't do that, should she? What will people think?"

"Exactly when and where did you two meet?" Hampton asked.

"They couldn't have met before," Morris stubbornly insisted.

"You aren't going anywhere with him," William announced in a near shout so he'd be heard. He was so angry, the veins in the sides of his neck stood out. His complexion turned a splotchy, ugly red. "You're coming with me, Taylor. I demand a word in private with you. This blackguard you're lowering yourself to speak to is actually…"

Alison interrupted him. "Do be quiet, William. Taylor, darling, please introduce me to this gentleman."

William wasn't about to be deterred. He reached out to take hold of Taylor's arm. Lucas's command stopped him. It was whisper soft, yet chilling all the same.

"I wouldn't touch her if I were you."

He hadn't raised his voice, and his tone was actually quite mild, but the warning was there all the same, and William reacted as though Lucas had roared the command. He took a quick step back. It was probably an instinctive reaction, Taylor thought, but it was still quite telling. William was actually afraid of the man.

Jane let out a sharp gasp. "Keep Taylor here, William, while I go and fetch Father. He'll know what to do." She glared up at Lucas when she added, "My husband might be intimidated by you, but my father won't be. He's Taylor's guardian."

Lucas gave Jane as much attention as he would a gnat flying by. He showed absolutely no reaction to her remarks and didn't even bother to glance her way.

Taylor decided to follow his example. She refused to look at her cousin when she gave her denial. "Your father is not my guardian."

"He will be," Jane boasted. "Just as soon as the old lady dies. You'll be sorry then, Taylor. Father's going to lock you away before you can do or say anything further to disgrace us. Why, everyone knows you're in need of a keeper."

Morris and Hampton were the first two to rush to Taylor's defense. "You're the disgraceful one, Jane Merritt," Hampton fairly shouted. He lowered his voice when he added, "Haven't you wondered why neither you nor William has received any invitations to the affairs this season? You have both been marked off all the lists," he added with a nod.

"The only reason you were invited tonight is because you received the invite a good week before you eloped. You've done yourself in this time," Morris snapped. "Acting like a trollop with Taylor's fiance. Tell me this. Are you really carrying William's child or did you make that up to trap him?"

"How dare you slander my character," Jane cried out. She slapped her husband on his shoulder to gain his attention. "William, aren't you going to defend my honor?"

Her husband didn't say a word. His full attention was focused on Taylor.

"Lady Taylor isn't mad or crazed, but you are if you believe she's done anything wrong. You're despicable, Jane, Oh, yes," Morris sputtered with indignation. "You and William deserve each other. I pray the two of you will get exactly what you deserve."

The war with words soon jumped to shouts, then shoves. Taylor found it impossible to keep up with who was giving what insults. Alison started pulling on her arm again, demanding her attention, and Constance was diligently poking her in the shoulder from behind with the plea that she please turn around and explain what was going on. Jennifer, the peacemaker in the crowd, was trying to get all of them to lower their voices.

Taylor became quite frazzled in no time at all. She turned to her left to tell William she had no intention of going anywhere with him but before she could get the words out of her mouth, Alison pulled on her arm again to gain her attention, and Taylor turned back to her. Constance wasn't about to be ignored, however, and once again prodded her from behind.

Taylor's head felt as though it were spinning. She glanced up at her escort to see how he was reacting to the fiasco and was quite astonished by the expression on his face.

The man looked bored. She wondered how he could remain so unaffected by the slander William was spewing about him. William was going on and on about his black character when Lucas reached into his pocket, pulled out his timepiece, and flipped open the latch to check the time.

Then William called Lucas a bastard. Alison, Jennifer, and Constance let out loud gasps, almost in perfect unison. Taylor waited for her escort to defend himself. A good fifteen seconds passed before she realized he wasn't going to do or say anything.

She suddenly became his champion. William repeated the blasphemous charge again. Taylor was outraged. She turned to Alison, snatched her fan out of her hand, then turned back to William. Before he had a glimmer of her intent, she smacked him across his face with the fan, then turned back to Alison.

"Thank you," she said as she handed the fan back to her friend.

Alison's mouth was gaping open. Taylor's shoulders slumped. She detested making a scene, for it really wasn't ladylike, but there came a time when proper behavior had to be set aside.

William was slow to understand that Taylor had reached her limit. "If you'll only listen to me," he demanded. "You'll realize I speak the truth. He's nothing but a…"

Taylor grabbed Alison's fan again. She turned to confront William once again.

"If you say one more slanderous word, I swear I'll poke your eye out."

"Taylor, whatever has come over you?" Alison whispered.

Taylor tossed the fan in her friend's direction. She turned her gaze to her escort.

"May we please leave, sir?"

She sounded desperate. She didn't care. Lucas smiled in reaction. "Yes," he answered. "It's past midnight."

She let out a long sigh. Lucas nodded to Morris and Hampton, then started for the entrance. He passed Taylor, didn't pause, but clasped hold of her hand and continued right along. His stride was long, purposeful. She didn't resist. She turned around and let herself be pulled along, and Lord, she was actually smiling now.

Hampton's shout made Lucas stop on the top step. "Will she be safe with you?"

He should have been insulted by the question. Yet the concern he heard in Hampton's voice overrode his initial irritation. It was a logical question, he decided, given the fact that the Englishman didn't know him well at all.

He turned around to give his answer. "Yes, she'll be safe."

Alison ran forward to shout her plea next. "Taylor, before you leave, won't you please introduce me to the gentleman?"

"Yes, of course I'll introduce you," Taylor agreed. "He's…"

Her mind went blank. Dear God, she couldn't remember his name. Panic grabbed hold. Taylor didn't know if she were going to burst into laughter or dissolve into tears. Maybe Jane was right after all. Maybe she was crazed and in need of a keeper.

She opened her mouth to answer. No words came out.

"Well?" Alison demanded. She put her hands on her hips and frowned with impatience. "Who is he?"

"Yes," Constance blurted out. "Who is he?"

Taylor looked up at her escort, hoping he might come to her rescue. He didn't say a word, however. He simply stared down at her and waited to see what she would do.

Taylor was mortified. Why couldn't she remember his name? She took a deep breath, shook her head over her own sorry behavior, and then turned back to her audience.

She couldn't remember who he was, but she at least remembered what he was.

"He's my husband."