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was a wondrously entertaining prospect, he assured himself.
    “ I’ll see you to your carriage, Lady Barbara,” Killoran murmured, coming up behind her and breaking Nathaniel’s surprisingly firm grasp of her. “I’m certain you’re anxious to be on your way.”
    She glared at him, hiking her dress up further, before turning to glance at Nathaniel. “Watch out for him, Mr. Hepburn,” she said frostily. “He’ll steal your soul if you don’t have a care.”
    Killoran followed her out into the hallway. He caught her shoulders and held her for a moment. “You’ll catch your death, Barbara,” he said softly, fastening the tiny hooks that traversed down her narrow back.
    She pouted. “You wouldn’t care.”
    “ On the contrary. You provide me with a fair amount of entertainment.”
    She glanced up at him, her coquettishness so blatant an act that he wondered that it managed to fool most of London. “I could provide you with a great deal more than that,” she said in a husky drawl.
    “ I doubt my young guest would approve.”
    The sultry expression vanished from her face abruptly. “Why is he here?”
    “ I thought I explained. An act of kindness. I promised his father I’d give him a bit of town bronze.”
    “ You’ve never done an act of kindness in your life,” Barbara hissed. “Leave the poor boy alone.”
    “ He’s hardly a boy. He’s older than you are.”
    Barbara’s laugh was mirthless. “No one is as old as I am,” she said bitterly. “Send him back home before you destroy him, Killoran. Leave some innocence in the world.”
    “ I seldom waste my time with innocence,” he replied reaching out and stroking her perfect skin. “Not when debauchery is so much more interesting.”
    She preened under his casual caress, a practiced gesture, and no warmth reached her bleak eyes. “Send him away Killoran,” she murmured, “and let me stay.”
    He smiled at her, gently, and gave her a gentle nudge toward the open door. “You forget, I know you too well. Good night, Babs.”
    Killoran had little doubt that Lady Barbara Fitzhugh’s blasphemous response, echoing all the way to the library, made Nathaniel Hepburn’s love-struck countenance darken in embarrassment once more.

Chapter 3
     
    Emma had always considered herself to be possessed of a few fortunate qualities, offset by the same number of drawbacks. She was brave, but when someone raised a threatening hand to her, that calm, faintly contemptuous expression on her face usually made the punishment far worse. She was strong, which made her able to withstand greater pain, both physical and emotional, whereas a weaker soul might dissolve into tears that would stop the torment. She considered herself to be passably pretty, though not quite in the common style, since she was built on large lines, but her height and her quiet life kept overeager swains at bay. Her face was lovely enough, yet her pale skin was marred by an unfortunate arrangement of freckles, and her brown eyes, pretty though they were, were alarmingly nearsighted. And there was the problem of her most unfortunate shade of hair. She would have given anything to have hair a plain, mousy brown, rather than the flame red she’d been born with. Miriam called her hair devil’s silk.
    On top of everything, Emma was far too intelligent for a woman. That intelligence, however, had served her in good stead. Were she not possessed of more than a mere competency of brain, she would never have guessed what her uncle had in mind when he entered her room at the Pear and Partridge.
    Apart from all her other mixed blessings, she came equipped with a fortune. Not a sufficiency, not a comfortable independence. A fortune. Little good it did her. Cousin Miriam had ruled the household in Crouch End and Uncle Horace with an iron hand, and she had made certain Emma had no claim on even a penny of the money her father had left her. The income went to God’s works, Miriam had righteously informed