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you!”
    The gentleman reached for the clasp at the top of his cloak, lifting his chin as he did so, and his gaze met Daintry’s. She saw that his eyes were sunk deep beneath dark brows, his nose was straight, and his cheekbones and square jaw were rather pronounced. So that was Penthorpe. She thought him handsome but very large. His lips had parted, revealing even white teeth, and he had seemed about to speak, but after gazing at her for a long moment, he closed his mouth. Then, visibly collecting himself, he said in a pleasant, deep voice, “Aye, sir, I’m Penthorpe.”

Three
    G IDEON HAD NOT SO much as paused to think before speaking, but for the moment at least, he did not regret the impulse that had overcome his good sense. Lady Daintry Tarrant was even lovelier than her portrait.
    She had not moved but still stood poised with one tan-gloved hand resting lightly on the polished banister. Her scarlet cloak accented the glow in her cheeks, and her eyes were so brilliant a blue that he could see their color from where he stood. Her elfin chin had lifted when St. Merryn called him Penthorpe, and her full, red lips had parted, but he could see that she was not particularly happy to think her betrothed had arrived at last. The thought cheered him, but he was wrenched from his pleasant reverie when the footman took his hat and St. Merryn seized his hand to shake it. Feeling sudden warmth in his cheeks, Gideon hoped to God he wasn’t blushing like a damned schoolboy.
    “Delighted to see you, my boy,” St. Merryn exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder as he pumped his hand up and down. “Not but what I haven’t been on the watch for you this past month. Knew you’d sell out the moment that rascal Boney was clapped up again, but I daresay there were any number of details to see to before you could get back to England, and I can’t doubt you went to Tattersall Greens before you came here to us.”
    “Yes, sir,” Gideon said, thankful that that much at least was the truth. He had certainly sold out, but he had not done so as quickly as Penthorpe would have; not until he had received word of Jack’s death, and that disconcerting—not to mention tragic—news had been more than six weeks in reaching him. But he had indeed gone to Tattersall, believing Penthorpe’s uncle would desire to learn how his nephew had died. It had not occurred to him that Lord Tattersall might be wholly unaware of Penthorpe’s death, but he had not been surprised to discover that was the case, for the losses at Waterloo had been so staggering—between forty and fifty thousand men—that he knew some families would never receive official notice. They would be told only that their relatives were missing and presumed to have died, and even that much information would take months to reach them.
    The thought gave him pause, but a glance at the haughty, silent beauty standing at the top of the stairs, and another at her beaming parent, steadied his resolve. He was an honorable man, but he was also a crack cavalry officer, trained to take the line of least resistance, to accept whatever challenges came his way, and to seize even the slimmest opportunity that the Fates provided. Thus, though his initial reaction had been to set the earl straight at once, one look at Lady Daintry, added to the certainty that St. Merryn would send him packing the minute he discovered he was a Deverill, made up his mind for him. It would do no harm to masquerade as Penthorpe for the short time it would take him to get to know the lady better.
    Realizing that St. Merryn was demanding news of Penthorpe’s uncle, he collected his wits and gave his full attention to the earl. “He is as well as can be expected, I suppose, sir.”
    “Still in the gout, is he?” St. Merryn nodded wisely. “I had a letter from him in the spring, and he complained about it then. Quacks himself, of course. Do him a world of good to get out of the house now and again and onto a good horse.