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twice in a book she’d read, and she’d rather liked the way it sounded—to a beautiful woman not a quarter of an hour ago, and yet there he stood now, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. It was perfectly incredible.
    And then—as if the evening had not gone bizarrely enough—suddenly, right before Caroline’s eyes, appeared Lady Jacquelyn Seldon. Truly, there she was, her lovely head thrown back as she laughed with delight as she made her way down the line of dancers. And beside her, keeping very good time for someone not to the manor born, was Braden Granville.
    Caroline stared, certain her eyes were going to pop out of her head. So he had found his Lady Jacquelyn at last, had he? And the lady, like Hurst, looked no different than she had at dinner, before their secret assignation. Incredible. Perfectly incredible. How was it possible that two people could have been engaged in doing . . . well, what the two of them had been doing . . . and then, a quarter of an hour later, be calmly dancing the Sir Roger de Coverley with someone else?
    It was more than a girl like Caroline could assimilate in one evening. When it came time for her and the marquis to promenade, she did so with all the grace of an automaton, hardly aware of what her feet were doing beneath her. Hurst did not seem to notice, however. He was in very high spirits, and swung her about most energetically, whispering endearments into her ear whenever her head came close enough for him to do so. He called her a pretty little thing and said, again, that he couldn’t wait until their wedding night to make her his own. Caroline heard what he said, and yet she did not respond. What could she say?
    Because of course she knew now there would be no wedding night. Not for the two of them. For whatever reason—and Caroline suspected very strongly that the reason had a good deal to do with the size of the inheri tance she’d come into recently, and the fact that Hurst had no income at all—Hurst was not going to break off the engagement.
    Which meant only one thing: Caroline was going to have to do it.
    It wasn’t going to be easy, of course. Her mother would be furious. After all, they owed Hurst Slater . . . well, everything. If it hadn’t been for him, Tommy would have died that chilly December night, bled to death on the street outside his college.
    But it couldn’t be helped now, could it? How could she possibly marry a man whose kisses had, for so many months, been making her feel as if she were the luckiest girl in the world. . . .
    Only to realize he’d been saving his real kisses for someone else?
    Just once did Caroline came to life during the rowdy country dance, and that was when she happened to find herself partnered momentarily with her brother Thomas, who took the opportunity to give her arm a pinch and say, “Cheer up, puss! You look like someone just told you the punch was poisoned.”
    “Tommy!” Caroline cried, startled out of her misery by the sight of him. “What do you think you’re doing, dancing like this? You know what Dr. Pettigrew said—”
    “Oh, Dr. Pettigrew,” Thomas said, scathingly. “I wish he’d sod off.”
    But before she’d had a chance to rebuke her brother, she was whirled away by—of all people—Braden Granville, looking very nearly as grim as she was certain she did, and she clamped her lips shut and said not another word until the reel was over.
    But if she’d hoped to escape without further communication with Mr. Granville, she was sorely disappointed. At least if her brother, who stepped forward abruptly and took hold of her arm, had anything to say about it.
    “Come on, puss,” Tommy said. “Someone sneaked a shrimp onto Ma’s plate at dinner, and now she’s gotten herself a hive. She’s waiting for us in the carriage. Oh, hullo there, sir.”
    Even if she had not happened to have glanced his way, Caroline would have known Braden Granville was still somewhere about from the worshipful