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his face. He wanted her to say yes, and from the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, he needed her. Nothing could have moved her more.
    “I would do more than consider, my lord,” she answered, lowering her eyes shyly.
    He was very still, his finger still on her cheek. “Do you mean that, Clare? I couldn’t bear it if you changed your mind. What of Whitton?”
    Clare lifted her eyes to his. “Giles is an old and dear friend, Justin, and I love him as such. I always will. But I have never felt with him what I feel with you. I never knew it could be like this.”
    Clare could think of nothing but the sweetness of candied violets as she was lost in the sweetness of their second kiss. It wasn’t deep, but they nibbled and teased each other with lips and tongues until Justin pulled away again. She moaned her disappointment.
    “Whitton has never kissed you like this?”
    Clare was so dazed she could only shake her head, wondering why she must be made to think of Giles when all she wanted was Justin.
    “I am glad.” Rainsborough took her left hand and stroked it with his thumb. “I want you to be wearing a sign of our betrothal, Clare. I will speak with your parents tomorrow.”
    Clare lifted her face for one last, quick kiss, and they walked slowly back to the center of the garden. She took a deep breath and thought it was no wonder roses were considered the flower of love. Surely she was breathing in not air, but love and roses.
    * * * *
    The next morning, Clare lay in bed reliving every moment in the garden. For the first time in her life, she felt the center of someone’s attention. It was hard to believe, but the handsome and sophisticated Justin Rainsborough had pursued her single-mindedly, had kissed her into oblivion, and had shown her a side of himself she would never have guessed existed: his vulnerability. He truly had not been confident that she would accept him. And once she had, he was determined to secure her. Giles had never made her feel like his life depended upon her. But she refused to think of Giles today.
    Her parents always breakfasted early, and so Clare had the breakfast room to herself as usual. On this morning, she was thankful, for she could not have faced her mother and father and kept her secret. After breakfast, she wandered restlessly through their conservatory and out into the town house garden before she made her way to the music room. Once there, she was still unable to settle into anything more than a short, distracted practice. Finally she summoned her abigail and set off for the Pantheon Bazaar, where she purchased several pairs of gloves and stockings, which she had no need for at all.
    When she returned home, she saw Justin’s carriage outside their door, and once she was inside, saw that the library door was closed. He had come, she thought. Not that she had really doubted him, but it still felt a little like she was living in a dream. She had sent her maid for her embroidery basket, brought it into the morning room, and attempted unsuccessfully to keep her hands steady and her threads untangled, while she awaited her parents.
    Only her mother came in.
    “Your father is closeted in the library with Lord Rainsborough, Clare. I am sure you know why.”
    Clare blushed. “Yes, Mama.”
    “There seems to be nothing objectionable about the young man. The title is an old one, the estate is in excellent condition, and his income more than adequate.”
    Clare nodded, keeping her eyes on her work.
    “And he is sinfully handsome. And devilishly charming. I wonder why just those adjectives came to mind,” Lady Rowland added. “He has been away for over five years and before that, was raised up north, so that we don’t know much about him,” she mused. "But he is most certainly head over heels for you, my dear.”
    “And I with him, Mama,” Clare said boldly.
    “What of Giles? There has never been any formal agreement, mind you, but our understanding and the Whittons was that