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them. A part of her wanted to stick out her tongue like a child; the more practical side saw the need to escort her mother back inside, where no one would sneer at her.
    “I insist on paying you,” Alicia said. “Do come with me. It’s only a short walk.” She straightened her mother’s cape, took her by the elbow, and gently helped her to her feet.
    “Oh, bother.” Lady Eleanor’s lower lip trembled. “Truth be told, no one will buy from me. No one at all.”
    The hurt in her voice arrowed into Alicia. “Never mind them. Vulgar people don’t appreciate pretty flowers, that’s all.”
    Her mother brightened. “Aye. Ye must be right.”
    As they walked through the park, Alicia glanced past the plane trees to the row of houses. Like the others, theirs was a tall stone dwelling with pillars and three floors of windows, the roof crowned by several chimney pots. Her gaze riveted to the vehicle slowing to a halt at the curbstone.
    Guided by a liveried coachman, a pair of matched bays drew the sleek black coach. The carriage parked in the place where, only minutes ago, Lord Hailstock’s barouche had stood. The marquess had quickly taken his leave after Mrs. Molesworth’s agitated announcement, and Alicia hadn’t had time to feel disappointed or angry at his desertion. Her attention had been focused on finding Mama.
    Alicia sighed inwardly. The visitor must be one of Gerald’s high-flying friends, though the young coxcombs seldom came to call anymore, in part because of her mother and in part because of Alicia’s disapproval.
    She might have taken Mama in the back way, except they lived in the middle of the block, and it would mean walking the gauntlet of busybodies down the street, around the corner, and through the mews. She would rather spirit Mama inside quickly without subjecting her to another hurtful snub.
    Crossing the busy street, she kept an arm around her mother’s girlishly slender waist. Lady Eleanor hummed a tuneless ditty and half skipped over the hard cobbles. The basket of flowers swung from her hand, and her bare toes kicked up her hem. Lost in her own world, she didn’t notice the neighbors gawking from windows and door stoops.
    And just as well, Alicia thought, her chin held high. She couldn’t bear it if Mama comprehended the fear and loathing her madness inspired. Better she stay indoors, protected within the warm circle of family.
    Unfortunately, she had a habit of wandering off if she wasn’t watched every minute.
    They skirted around behind the coach, its windows transformed to mirrors by the sunlight. No insignia marked the black lacquered door. A trace of expensive leather underlay the more common smell of horses. The stone-faced coachman did not so much as glance at her.
    She had just placed her foot on the first step leading to the porch when she heard the carriage door open behind her. Blast. Moving in front of her mother, Alicia fabricated a polite smile and swung around to ward off the visitor. She would inform him that her brother had not yet returned from Tattersall’s. The dandy would scuttle off posthaste—
    Her diplomatic plan died a quick death as a tall man emerged from the coach. A comma of black hair lay on his broad brow, and his keen blue eyes glittered at her in the sunlight. The fine black suit and silver waistcoat might have marked him a gentleman, but Alicia wasn’t fooled by costly trappings.
    She saw the devil in Drake Wilder.
    Like Lucifer’s gift to womankind, he sauntered toward them. The promise of sin lay in that lean, muscled physique and the sensual slant of his mouth. The sight made her heart beat faster—only because he reminded her of that mortifying kiss. And the horrid fact that she owed him twenty thousand guineas.
    Had he come to pressure her for payment? To push his unthinkable proposal on her?
    Even that possibility fell secondary to the chance that he might poke fun at Mama. She could hear her mother humming softly behind her, could feel the