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accomplished flirt.
    Possessing a beguiling smile, a head full of soft, fair hair, and china blue eyes along with a face to make the gods swoon, Maryanne had become the cynosure of all eyes no matter where she went that season. Nicolas found himself utterly dazzled by her.
    Nicolas had left Sherbourne Court at an early age to begin his military career, and having spent several years with Sir Arthur Wellesley in India before fighting in Portugal, he was far more worldly and older than most of the young men who flocked to worship at the feet of the latest “Incomparable.” But even at the grand age of twenty-nine, he had almost immediately fallen under her spell and had paid the young beauty assiduous court. It was common knowledge that her family was expecting Maryanne to marry well to retrieve the family wealth, but despite his lack of any fortune, for several weeks that fall Nicolas was the odds-on favorite for the hand of the fair Blanchard. When it appeared that the Beauty seemed to be found most frequently in his company, the wagering on his chances of success reached a fevered pitch in the various gentlemen’s clubs about the city.
    At that time, Nicolas had possessed neither fortune nor title, as the youngest and second son of Lord Sherbourne, and a military career was all that had been open to him—a life in the clergy, frequently the other career for second sons, had not even been considered. But if Nicolas had lacked a fortune, he had been blessed with charm aplenty and as handsome and manly a face and form as any maiden could have wished. With his black curly hair and laughing black eyes, broad shoulders, and elegantly muscled legs, it was no wonder that he was a great favorite among the ladies. The gentlemen, too, found him very agreeable company, and it was the consensus of many of Maryanne’s suitors that if someone had to marry the Blanchard Beauty, a better candidate than Lieutenant Nicolas Talmage couldn’t be found.
    Unfortunately, it wasn’t too long before polite society was titillated by the antics of a man older than Maryanne’s own father—the notorious duke of Halliwell. Having watched the courtship of Nicolas and Maryanne for some weeks with cynical, calculating eyes, the duke finally decided to put an end to the nonsense. Halliwell let it be known, and not too discreetly, that since the time of mourning for his late wife, a poor downtrodden creature known more for her wealth and breeding than her beauty, was over, he was looking to marry to please himself. Wealth or even breeding didn’t matter so much this time, as he had already done his duty and provided for the continuation of his line with his first wife. Wealthy, powerful, and arrogant, he soon made it clear that if the Blanchard Beauty married anyone that season, it was going to be he. Sir George, Maryanne’s father, immediately began to be seen quite frequently in the company of Lord Halliwell. When it was learned that the Beauty and her family were to spend the Christmas holidays at the duke’s palatial home in Derbyshire, the odds favoring Nicolas in the betting books changed dramatically.
    Nicolas couldn’t believe that he had been ousted so easily from Maryanne’s affections, but all too soon it was obvious, even to him, that the Beauty had decided to marry for the wealth and power she would have as the wife of a duke rather than endure the uncertain life she would face as the wife of a mere lieutenant. He had been utterly disillusioned and certain that his heart had been shattered. It had been with a great deal of disgust that he had put London and the Blanchard Beauty behind him and returned to the war in Portugal.
    Taking a long, slow sip of his port, Nicolas reflected ironically on the vagaries of fate. Who could have known that two short years later, not only would his father, Francis, have died, but that his brother would die without issue and that the once “mere”