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unwelcome. What if he couldn’t find another woman to match her? It occurred to him he’d never met a woman he’d liked quite as much as he liked Elizabeth. She was a unique blend of beauty and genuine warmth, wit and easy banter, confidence and vulnerability.
    The vulnerability was an unpleasant reminder of how much he desired her. He would have thought it a weakness in anyone else, an obstacle that would take too much time and effort to overcome. But because this was Elizabeth, he wanted to overcome it, he wanted to smooth away all the little hurts her husband had inflicted until she realized what he’d seen almost immediately—earl or not, the man hadn’t deserved to lick her shoes.
    Cale stopped by a gilded mirror in the hallway to straighten his cravat. From a distance he heard a knock at the door and the murmur of his butler. The first guests had arrived.
    With an irritating jump of nerves, he walked to the staircase and descended. He stopped on the landing above the entrance hall and saw Mr. Stapleton, a historian who’d just published a book, and his wife.
    But his gaze was riveted by a flash of fair hair behind them.
    As though she could feel his interest, Elizabeth looked up, and her cobalt-blue eyes met his, sending an electric jolt through him, as though she’d brushed her fingertips along his face.
    She lifted one shoulder in a dainty shrug.
    All of his tension abruptly eased. He laughed and moved toward her, guided by her answering smile like a vagabond following the North Star.

Chapter Four
    Cale came down the staircase as leisurely as he was confident—a king intent on surveying his domain. Elizabeth had no doubt that in this metaphor she was his domain. As he greeted the guests who’d arrived before her, she turned away to compose herself, suddenly feeling a riot of nervous energy. And was confronted with a full-scale nude statue of Venus that stood proudly at the base of the stairs.
    Why wasn’t she surprised?
    “I see you’ve noticed my Venus,” Cale said wickedly, arms folded over his chest.
    The other guests had made their way to the drawing room. She glanced at him with an arched brow, endeavoring to appear as self-assured as he. “It’s difficult not to notice. A bit gaudy, don’t you think?”
    “I have an appreciation for the feminine form,” he responded.
    She cast another surreptitious look at Venus with her full, rounded breasts, flat stomach, and gently curved thighs. “A rather idealized feminine form.”
    His hand rested on the small of her back, and he leaned close to her. When he spoke, his breath tickled her ear. “Don’t fret, Elizabeth. I prefer flaws to perfection.”
    She couldn’t find an answering quip to that , so she remained silent.
    As he led her into the drawing room, he asked, “What did you tell your family?”
    She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I didn’t,” she replied, feeling a brief stab of guilt over her lie by omission. “I pleaded a headache and waited until they left for the evening’s engagements before slipping out.”
    He sent her a neutral glance, but didn’t have a chance to reply, as they’d joined the others.
    He introduced her as Mrs. Grey, a distant relation. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when she heard that, and she doubted the other guests were convinced. Cale wasn’t exerting much of an effort to seem disinterested. He rarely left her side.
    As she spoke with the Stapletons and the guests who arrived later, she took in the details of his drawing room. It contained elegant rosewood furniture, gleaming floors covered in lush rugs, and yellow wallpaper with a subtle Oriental motif. He either had remarkably good taste or he’d hired someone to help him decorate his house in a way fit for a nobleman.
    But he wasn’t a nobleman. He wasn’t even a gentleman. A fact that was made abundantly clear when she met Julia Forsythe. The name sounded familiar, but Elizabeth was quite sure she’d never been introduced