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was the same devil that had put Albert in his path: he just could not resist a dare. It would never do. The viscount shook himself, bringing his cracked ribs forcibly back to mind.
    "Angel, Angel, you mustn't look at me all dewy and awestruck, or I'll forget I am a gentleman altogether. It was only a simple little kiss."
    Her first rake. Her first kiss. The first time a second became eternity. And to him it was just a simple kiss? Melody sighed. "I suppose I have a lot to learn, after all."
    "You'll get swallowed whole in the ton, else."
    "I might never get to London." Never know another libertine, never feel that delicious tingling.
    "Well, then your rural society, which can be even more moralistic. I really feel I owe it to you, to finish your education."
    Melody felt that his kiss had opened more horizons than all the books in Miss Meadow's library. She sighed again.
    His fingers stroked her hand, which was somehow still in his. "The first rule is no sighing; it gives a fellow notions. No, the first rule is never let a man get you off somewhere alone. Then you don't need any other rules. But if you should find yourself alone, say on a starry balcony, and the cur dares to take liberties with you, like this—"
    This time the world stopped.
    "—then you are supposed to slap him, like this." And he raised her hand to his face, but instead of the slap, her palm caressed his empurpled cheek.
    The viscount took a deep, painful breath. "You're not a very apt pupil, are you, sweetheart?" He laughed.
    He was laughing at her! "Of all the miserable—"
    "That's it, Angel, you are supposed to be mad, not moonstruck. Here, make a fist, since your slaps would not precisely discourage an overheated beau." Corey's hands curled Melody's fingers into a ball, and he grinned at her. "Now pretend I am a randy buck toying with your affections."
    She didn't have to pretend. She hauled off and swung at him, she really did. She missed, of course; he ducked back. But her reticule, with its roll of coins and hefty little book, swung right behind her fist—and it didn't miss.
    Mingleforth's
Rules of Polite Decorum
came in handy, after all.
Now
Corey's nose was broken.
     
    One other event interrupted Miss Ashton's journey home. Late in the afternoon, a shabby boy ran onto the roadway chasing a small dog, and Toby pulled back on the reins. The pup ran between the sturdy legs of Old Bess and Thimble and stayed there cowering, while the boy shouted louder, and Toby's hearing grew worse.
    Nanny positively swelled in anticipation. Now here was someone she could intimidate. Here was a male, dirty, full of profanity, disturbing the right-of-way, and small. He was going to pay for all the indignities she'd suffered at his fellow men's hands. She grabbed the lad by the ear and jabbed him with her knitting needle. She called him a misbegotten whelp and a gorm-grown gallow's bait. She would have gone on for at least an hour, if Melody hadn't taken part.
    At first Miss Ashton hadn't even stepped down from the carriage. She was too despondent to care about a foul-mouthed boy and his dog. But it was getting later, and other vehicles might come along, so she intervened. At the sight of a reasonable face, the boy rushed into explanation: "It's me own bloody dog, and the old dungcrow's got no damn business akeepin' me from it. Bloody mutt were worritin' the chickens an' Ma says iffin I catch it, I can help drown the bleedin' bitch."
    So Melody slapped the brat. Then she tossed a coin into the dirt at his feet. "There, now it's not your dog any longer. And if you are not out of here in two minutes, I'll send for the magistrate, you little muckworm." The boy grabbed up the coin and ran. Melody used a piece of cheese to coax the dog out from the proximity of Thimble's massive hooves. The little mongrel was ridged-rib starving, shivering, and filthy. It was young, mostly hound with something shaggy mixed in, and it licked Melody's hand in pathetic gratitude. She wrapped