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he know what proper calling hours are?"
    "Obviously not. However, since everyone seems to want me to educate him, he soon will." Sara drained her coffee cup, then followed the butler.
    The prince was looking out one of the windows when she entered the drawing room. Sara paused a moment to admire the way his dark, well-cut clothing emphasized his broad shoulders and lean body. One could only hope that more Kafirs would find their way to England .
    Then he turned and gave her an enchanting smile. "I hope the time is not inconvenient? You did give me permission to make a morning call.''
    She smiled and offered her hand. "I forgot to mention that morning calls are made in the afternoon."
    As he straightened from bowing over her hand, the prince raised his thick black brows. "Morning calls occur in the afternoon? That is not logical."
    "You must not expect society to be logical, Your Highness," Sara commented, then added the reminder, "The hand?"
    "Ah, yes, it must be released." His green eyes sparkling, the prince relinquished Sara's hand.
    "Why do I have the feeling that you are using your foreign status to be outrageous?" she asked, trying to sound severe.
    "I have no idea. Perhaps you have a naturally suspicious mind," he replied, brimming with innocence. He thought a moment. "I could return this afternoon to make my morning call, but doubtless at that time your house will be full of others who are calling to express thanks for your estimable party. In such a crowd, you would have no time to correct my errors. That being the case, you should let me take you for a drive now, so you will have ample time to educate me."
    Sara eyed him admiringly. "I see why you are such a successful merchant. You could sell sand to a Bedouin." Before she could say more, the door opened and a line of three maids entered, each one carrying a huge vase of white roses.
    As she stared at the parade of flowers, Peregrine said, "Roses are an acceptable token of gratitude for a hostess?"
    She nodded, rather dazed. "Yes, though usually the quantity would be smaller. Much, much smaller."
    He smiled, the tanned skin crinkling around his eyes. "But I had an exceedingly good time, many roses worth." The maids having set the flowers on various tables and withdrawn, he moved to the nearest vase and pulled out a single blossom. His gaze holding hers, the prince inhaled the flower's fragrance, then offered it to Sara. "White roses, for sweetness and purity. There are not enough in London to do you justice."
    Bemused, she accepted the flower. It was at the perfect moment of expectant bloom, just beginning to open, a faint blush of pink at the heart of the ivory petals. Impressive how he managed to make every gesture extravagant and romantic. She really must convince him to restrain himself, or every female he met would think she was being courted.
    Sara inhaled the delicate scent of the rose and sighed. It would be a crime to constrain such charm. Perhaps she should be training Englishmen to emulate the Kafir rather than vice versa.
    Before she could decide where to start her lecture on propriety, her father entered the drawing room. In his early sixties, the Duke of Haddonfield was only average height, but he carried his spare frame with such dignity that he commanded attention anywhere.
    Sara made the introductions as the two men regarded each other speculatively. Peregrine's manners blended ease with deference to the other man's greater age, and after a few minutes of conversation her father's reserved expression thawed to affability. From there, it was a short step to the duke encouraging Sara to take advantage of the fine weather to go driving with the prince in Hyde Park .
    As Peregrine assisted Sara into his curricle, she remarked, "I am beginning to believe that you are a fraud, Your Highness."
    Surprised by his sudden sharp glance, she explained, "You may be a stranger to London, but you must have moved in European circles in India and the cities of the