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who might favor them or strike them dead according to his whim. And in a few eyes, she perceived wariness.
    He was standing in front of her. She was aware Ophelia and her mother were talking, and she was sure he was introduced to her, for he took her hand. The warmth of his penetrated to her innermost self, and she couldn’t keep from staring at him. He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was looking at Ophelia, who had put her hand on his arm as though he were a wayward child in need of guidance. Ophelia’s mother was gushing. Ophelia was purring.
    Then he spoke. Kate let the deep sound flow through her, but unfortunately, Ophelia interrupted him.
    “Mother and I were just telling Kate about how the de Granvilles used to own the old Tower, my lord.” Ophelia snapped her fan open and waved it slowly, disturbing a curl that cascaded to her breast. “Kate didn’t know that the Maitlands have acquired quite a bit of de Granville land, and we were saying how fitting it would be if the ancient holdings were united again, somehow.”
    Hearing so many lies at once, Kate could only stare from Ophelia and her undulating fan to the marquess. Ophelia’s mother bobbed her head in agreement.
    “Yes indeed, it would be fitting,” Ophelia said. “And of course, Lord Alexis is so clever as well as handsome, we’re all sure he’ll be able to find a way of solving such a little problem. Don’t you think so, Kate?”
    Flushing, Kate nodded. Such blatant fawning clearly annoyed the marquess, and she was embarrassed for Ophelia and for herself. Oblivious of her error, Ophelia continued.
    “Kate is a stranger to England, and I’ve taken her under my wing.” Ophelia moved closer to the marquess. “I know everyone would like her if you were to take her up, my lord.”
    Kate could feel her cheeks redden even further. She wondered what they looked like under all the powder, but it couldn’t be too awful, for the marquess only flicked aglance down at her before returning an increasingly frigid stare to Ophelia. Ophelia plunged on, while Kate tried to quell her own discomfort.
    “So I’m sure you’ll do my cousin the honor of dancing with her. Kate would like that, wouldn’t you?”
    Kate nodded again, but the marquess was still examining Ophelia as though she were a frog on the toe of his boot. A few moments went by during which Kate kept a smile tacked on her face and willed herself not to blush again. Finally de Granville let his gaze drop to her, but it quickly flitted away to survey the dancers.
    “I regret that I am unable to avail myself of such a great honor. I pulled a muscle while riding, and it is only with the greatest difficulty that I walk without limping.”
    Kate said nothing, for Ophelia began to scold the man before she could open her mouth. It was evident that the marquess rode too much for Ophelia’s convenience, and his recklessness displeased her. Kate offered her own sympathy. The marquess bowed to her, and she made up the excuse of fetching water for the dozing Aunt Emeline that got her away from the two.
    She had to restrain herself from racing toward the refreshment room. Hellfire. That man must have traded his soul to the devil for a wagonload of male allure that would have gotten him accused of witchcraft two centuries ago. She would have loved to dance with him, even if Ophelia’s claim was staked.
    She obtained a glass of Aunt Emeline’s special mineral water and went back to the ballroom. Balancing the glass carefully, she skirted the edge of the dance floor. Shining black hair caught her eye, and she stopped. The Marquess of Richfield swept past her with a young woman in his arms. Violins filled the air with the strains of a waltz.
    He was dancing. Kate tightened her fingers around the water glass while her heart skidded to a halt, fluttered, then began to pound. Her hands went cold. Her fingerswere numb, and the numbness spread to her legs and feet. Someone almost tripped over her. She stumbled