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had retired to his adjacent bedroom, she looked in satisfaction at the likeness of Lord Nicholas. It was unfinished, but at least she could see that elusive spark of life within the clay. She wrapped the bust in a damp rag and covered it with oilcloth, then washed her hands and tumbled into bed.
    Despite her weariness Elizabeth found herself staring into the darkness. What if she’d agreed to the earl’s
proposal? He would have taken her into his arms, held
her against that hard body, kissed her. Perhaps at this
very moment she would have been lying naked beside
him.
    The image made her feel strangely warm. Rolling over, she fluffed the pillow into a more comfortable shape, then closed her eyes, willing him out of her mind. It was no use.
    Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
     

Chapter 3
    He couldn’t stop thinking about her. For the tenth time in as many minutes, Nicholas attempted to concentrate on the speech of a minor lord. The bill under discussion was one he supported: a proposal to expand public education. The debate had drawn a fair sized crowd to the long, stately Chamber of Lords with its elaborate heraldic designs on the walls and ceiling. A few peers dozed off the effects of luncheon, the other members listening courteously.
    Nicholas knew he should be reviewing his own imminent speech. Instead he found himself recalling how soft and vulnerable Elizabeth Hastings had looked upon awakening in his arms, how the rain dampened fabric of her bodice had outlined her womanly shape. In his mind he unbuttoned her gown and peeled away her chemise, cradled her bare breasts in his hands and put his mouth to her puckered nipple —
    A loud exclamation interrupted the fantasy. Murmuring swept the assemblage, but Nicholas had no notion of what point the speaker had made.
    To hell with Elizabeth Hastings, he thought, shifting irritably on the red leather bench. He couldn’t understand why she obsessed him. She was an artist, for God’s sake, too unconventional and independent for his tastes.
    The ache in his loins did little to improve his disposition. Remembering how disdainfully she’d rejected his proposal, he scowled. He hadn’t felt so humbled since adolescence, when his father had chastised him for succumbing to the charms of a pretty parlor maid. From then on, Nicholas had conducted discreet liaisons within his own social circle.
    Until now.
    Too late he’d recognized the innocence inherent in Elizabeth Hastings’s proud bearing and offended dignity. His sense of honor had prompted an apology and that should end the matter. She had made her contempt unmistakable.
    You have a pleasing face. Beyond that, nothing about you interests me.
    The words haunted him. Maybe he was too accustomed to fawning women. His pride was bruised; that must be why he couldn’t purge her from his mind. The acknowledgment of his conceited behavior was a bitter pill to swallow.
    Reaching into the pocket of his morning coat, Nicholas drew forth the signet ring he’d forgotten to return to Elizabeth Hastings. He ran a finger across the seal; embossed in the silver was a soaring swan on a shield. Although he didn’t recognize the coat of arms, it clearly belonged to a noble house. If her grandfather was a peer, then why did she live in poverty? And why did she have that husky soft American accent while her father spoke like a native Englishman?
    It was none of his concern, Nicholas told himself. Yet for four days now he’d kept the ring when the most logical course of action was to return it by messenger.
    So much for logic.
    Restlessly he moved on the hard bench, only half hearing the droning voice of yet another bombastic bore. Anticipation burned inside Nicholas. He would stay long enough to say his piece and cast his vote.
    Then, using the ring as an excuse, he would call on Elizabeth Hastings.
     

     
    “Does your brother know you’re here today?” From her chair at the worktable, Elizabeth gazed