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always prefer the plain truth to fancy lies.”
    “Then you shall have the truth,” he said, his gaze riveted by her blazing blue eyes. A tactical mistake, he realized at once, for she did have the prettiest eyes. He cleared his throat. “My grandmother is right, Miss Farthingale. I did not mean any of the crass words you overheard. You were the unfortunate victim of my ill humor. I’d very much like to make amends.”
    “Not necessary.”
    “Quite necessary.” The little widgeon was hurt and still angry with him. He folded his arms over his chest and stared down at her, hoping to intimidate her. Only a little, of course. He didn’t wish to scare her—he merely wanted to impress upon her the importance of his apology. He owed her one and he was going to give it, whether or not she wished to receive it.
    “I believe your description of me was accurate.”
    “Indeed, it was not. I insist on making amends. May I have the honor of a dance with you at Lord Hornby’s ball?” Gad! Had he just asked this innocent for a dance? He’d only meant to mutter some contrite words and be on his way. He hadn’t meant to prolong their association beyond this uncomfortable chat in his grandmother’s parlor. She had to refuse him. He wanted her to refuse him.
    He sighed, knowing he was trapped. She would accept him, for women always did. Always . When she did the inevitable, he’d endure with manly grace. How bad could one dance with this incompetent snip of a girl be?
    She tipped her face upward to meet his gaze, her eyes an intense and fiery blue. “I don’t think so. Please don’t ask me again. Ever. ”
    ***
    “You’re in foul temper, Lord Dayne.”
    “Go away, Your Grace.” Gabriel had just settled for the evening in a dark leather chair in the smoking room at White’s, a stately room paneled in dark mahogany and filled with brightly polished tables, crinkled leather sofas, and comfortable wing chairs. He was still stewing over Daisy’s refusal and in no humor for a pleasant chat with Ian.
    Gabriel glowered at his friend in the hope he’d take the not so subtle hint to go away. Ian ignored both his comment and his dark scowl, instead taking a seat beside him. “Is there a reason for your ill humor?” he asked, casually lighting up a cigar. “Here, have a stiff drink. It’ll help warm you up.” Ian reached over and grabbed a whiskey off the tray of a passing servant. “By the way, you’ll like Veronique’s friend.”
    “Who?”
    “My mistress’s friend. Her name is Desiree, and she has red hair, sultry gray eyes, and a limber body that will render you speechless. It’s all arranged. You’re to meet her tonight. She’ll warm you up if the whiskey doesn’t.”
    “Can’t wait,” he said without a trace of enthusiasm.
    Ian arched an eyebrow. “You don’t have to meet her if you don’t wish to. I know a dozen other men who would give their right arms to take her under their care.”
    “I just said I’d do it, didn’t I?” He forced a smile. “And I’m looking forward to it.”
    “My, my. Seems the Farthingale girl has you quite turned upside-down. Well, it’s to be expected now that she’s grown into a beauty. Did your military training protect you from her onslaught?”
    Gabriel shook his head and sighed. “What makes you think I met Daisy?”
    Ian laughed. “You have the unmistakable look of panic in your eyes. You know, the look a deer gets when it realizes it’s about to be shot. I warned you, didn’t I? Now it’s too late. Tell me everything.”
    Bloody hell. Had he spent years fighting Napoleon’s army merely to protect a country of busybodies? “There’s nothing to tell. The girl and I are not on speaking terms.”
    Ian set his cigar in a nearby ashtray and leaned forward, his gaze sharp and assessing. “But you were on speaking terms at one time.”
    Gabriel grumbled something indistinguishable.
    “I heard you saved Daisy’s cousin from a team of thundering horses. Also