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ungrateful of her to feel a thorny stab of pain in her heart each time a gentleman sent her a tribute such as this. The gesture only reinforced the fact that Griffin had never given her so much as a dandelion to mark his regard.
    Not that she cared about flowers so much; the occasional letter would have sufficed. At least by such communications, her betrothed might acknowledge she existed.
    But in almost three years, he hadn’t made a single attempt to further his acquaintance with her.
    And now, all of a sudden, Griffin ordered her to marry him, posthaste! Even more galling, he sent her a rude, peremptory summons, as if she were a servant, not his future countess.
    Well, she’d learned something since the age of eighteen. Men never valued what they won too easily. If Griffin wanted her, he’d have to work much harder than this.
    “Another letter arrived yesterday,” she murmured, handing on the rose bouquet.
    Cecily looked up from a bunch of lilies she was arranging in a vase. “What did it say?”
    Rosamund made a face. “More bluster, I’m afraid.”
    “The man is an oaf!” Cecily’s strongly marked brows drew together. “You will not give in to him.”
    “Of course not,” said Rosamund.
    Yet, how she wished he’d hand her the smallest excuse to do so. One tiny sop to her pride, one small compliment, the slightest glimmer of affection, and she’d race down to Cornwall like a shot.
    She lifted her chin. “I’ve told him if he wishes our wedding to go forward, he’ll come here and court me properly.”
    But Griffin deVere was as stubborn as a rock.
    “Let him but show his face,” grumbled Cecily. “I’d have some words to say to him.”
    “No doubt.” Rosamund smiled at Cecily’s vehemence. “You are the most fearsome creature. Even I quake in my shoes when you frown like that.”
    Cecily’s scowl deepened. “If I were a man, I’d run him through. Do you think Captain Lauderdale will challenge him to a duel? I’d like to see that.”
    Rosamund bit her lip. Like everyone else, Cecily thought Rosamund was in love with Philip Lauderdale. Guiltily, she acknowledged the misunderstanding was all her fault.
    Despite her whirlwind success in her first season, when another year passed leaving her unwed, there’d been a constant, underlying question in everyone’s gaze. Why didn’t her betrothed claim her? Was there something amiss with Lady Rosamund that others couldn’t see?
    The Westruther ladies commiserated that she should be landed with such an uncouth beast for a fiancé; her male relatives had proposed several increasingly violent ways of bringing Griffin to heel.
    Even her brother had offered to fix the matter. She’d no doubt Xavier would do it, too, in a manner so subtle and diabolically clever as to be worthy of the duke himself. Of course, one word to her former guardian, the Duke of Montford, and all would be settled.
    But Rosamund didn’t wish her family to intercede for her with Griffin.
    She wanted Griffin to want her.
    And then along came Philip Lauderdale, a dashing cavalry officer. The most honorable, handsome gallant any girl’s heart could hope for. He adored her. Everyone said so. Not only that, he was intelligent, amusing company, the kind of man who cast all others into the shade.
    Despite Rosamund’s longstanding engagement and her insistence that she could give him no hope, Philip remained flatteringly persistent. He was so ingenious at cutting out his rivals that it soon appeared to everyone that Rosamund favored him.
    That had not been her intention. She’d tried to show no preference for any gentleman, for the last thing she desired was to be labeled a flirt. But by the time she realized how particular her friendship with Philip must appear to the world, the damage was done.
    Far from dubbing her a flighty miss, the ton had been captivated by these star-crossed lovers. Everyone murmured what a pity it was that the Duke of Montford remained adamant, a travesty that