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hiding.”
    “Well, you'd better do something about the blasted situation soon, or Pauline will make a bigamist of you.”
    “I'm not going to marry Pauline.”
    “She's told everyone in London that you are. Good God, Damon, don't you think you should tell Pauline the rumors are true, that you are in fact married?”
    The subject of Pauline, Lady Ashton caused Damon's scowl to deepen. The sultry young widow had pursued him ardently for a year, invading his privacy and cornering him at every social event he attended. Pauline was the kind of woman who knew exactly how to please a man. She was beautiful and dark-haired, completely uninhibited in bed, and possessed a dry sense of humor that appealed to Damon.
    In spite of his better judgment, he had begun an affair with Pauline about six months ago. After all, he was a man with the same needs as any other, and he had little taste for prostitutes. Neither did he have an interest in the flocks of marriage-minded virgins being brought out each season. They were forbidden to him, though the fact of his marriage was not known for certain by the public.
    Recently, however, Pauline had begun a campaign to become the next Marchioness of Savage. So far she had been wise enough not to pressure him or make demands. In fact, she hadn't yet dared to ask him if the gossip was true, if he already had a wife.
    “I've told Pauline many times not to hope for a future with me,” Damon said gruffly. “Don't pity her—she's been well-compensated for the time she's spent with me.”
    “Oh, I don't pity Pauline,” William assured him. “I have a fair idea of the jewels, gowns, and credit accounts you've given her.” A sly grin curved his mouth. “She must be damned entertaining in bed to deserve all that.”
    “She's good at many things. Beautiful, charming, and intelligent. All things considered, she wouldn't make a bad wife.”
    “You're not seriously considering…” William frowned and stared at him in surprise. “Talk like that alarms me, Damon! Pauline may like you, may even be fond of you, but in my opinion she's not capable of love.”
    “Perhaps I'm not either,” Damon murmured, his face inscrutable.
    A quizzical silence passed, and William appeared nonplussed. Then he gave a short laugh. “Well, I can't say that I've ever seen you fall madly in love—but having a wife since age seven is something of a handicap. You haven't let yourself feel anything for a woman because of some obligation to a girl you've never known. My advice is, dispose of Julia…and you may be surprised at how quickly your heart thaws.”
    “Always the optimist,” Damon accused ruefully, and motioned for his brother to leave the room. “I'll consider your advice, Will. In the meantime, I have work to do.”
     
    Julia suppressed a yawn of boredom as she surveyed the ballroom. The dance was an elegant affair with sprightly music, a grand display of refreshments, and a sophisticated assemblage of rich and titled guests. The room was too hot, even though the towering rectangular windows had been opened to admit cooling summer breezes from the garden. Guests dabbed surreptitiously at their perspiring faces and drank cup after cup of fruited punch in between dances.
    In spite of Julia's objections, Logan Scott had insisted that she accompany him to the weekend party at Lord and Lady Brandon's Warwickshire country house. Julia was fully aware that it was not precisely her company Logan desired, although they had developed a friendship of sorts over the past two years. The real reason he had wanted her to attend was her ability to attract donations to the Capital Theatre.
    Julia stood with Logan in the corner of the ballroom, sharing a discreet conversation before they would mingle separately with various guests. Idly she smoothed the skirts of her ice-blue silk gown, a simple design with a wide, straight neckline that almost bared the tops of her shoulders. Aside from the four blue satin bands that molded