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    She put a hand
to her forehead as though in distress, uncomfortably reminding him of Althaea
Hillary. Her words, though, were anything but those of a demure young miss.
"Oh, please, don't say you'll never waltz with me again. I couldn't
survive the deprivation!"
    Truly irritated
now, he took a step forward. She must have seen something in his face, for her
hand lowered and she stepped backward. "Waltzing again with me should be
the least of your worries, Miss Ralston," he said with a growl. "I
think there are other social graces you have more need to perfect."
    "What? How
dare you, of all people, lecture me on proper behavior?" she hissed, her
eyes flashing.
    She had a
point, but he was angry enough that he didn't care. "It's obvious that
someone needs to," he returned, taking another step closer and noting her
fast breathing and the flush on her cheeks. Apparently she wasn't quite as
composed as she wanted him to believe.
    She backed away
again. "You, sir," she spat out, "are a great beast."
    "I've been
called worse," he murmured, tempted to take the pretty chit over his knee.
    "And with
good reason, I'm certain," she retorted, and ducked sideways to put the
couch between them. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a far more
pleasant diversion to prepare for."
    Not finished
venting his anger, and at any rate unwilling to let her have the last word,
Nicholas pursued her to the doorway and blocked her exit with his body.
"And what might that be?"
    She stopped in
front of him and put her hands on her hips. "Not that it's any of your
concern, but I am going picnicking with some of the parties you were so kind as
to provide me introduction to last evening."
    "You're―"
he began, and then changed his mind. It appeared that she wasn't aware of the
identities of all the guests invited to the al fresco luncheon.
    "Yes," she went on scathingly, "and they apparently
have found no fault with my manners."
    "You
little hoyden," he snapped. "You won't be picnicking with anyone
after I ask them to beg off." Nicholas turned and headed through the
doorway.
    She gasped.
"You wouldn't."
    It wasn't her
words that stopped him, but her tone of voice. He turned to see that she was
shaking, her face white. Something abruptly made him wonder how long she had
been alone before her arrival at Hampton House. Perhaps he wasn't the only one
whose list of acquaintances was far longer than that of friends.
"No," he said slowly, "I wouldn't." He cleared his throat.
"Good day, Miss Ralston."
    With that he
was out the door. He collected his hat and greatcoat and left without a word to
Neville, wondering, of all things, how anyone's eyes could be so blue.

 
     
    6

     
     
    B y the time the Viscount of Sheresford arrived to escort
her to Hyde Park, Kate had begun to calm down. What nerve Nicholas Varon had,
to threaten never to dance with her again, for heaven's sake, even after she
had thanked him for his help. She knew she had a temper herself, but no one
had ever looked at her that way before, and it had frightened her a little.
    There was
nothing frightening in the Viscount of Sheresford's gaze as she met him in the
hall. "By heaven," he exclaimed, looking at her admiringly, "if
you ain't slap up to the echo."
    It was exactly
what she needed to put her in good humor again. She laughed and curtseyed.
''Thank you, milord."
    He hurried
forward to pull her upright. "Thomas, please," he said.
    She smiled.
''Thank you, Thomas."
    By the time
they reached Hyde Park they were a party of five, having been joined by Captain
Reg Hillary, his younger sister Althaea, apparently recovered from her fainting
spell, and Sir John Dremond's daughter, Louisa. Lord Neville had given Kate a
spirited gray mare named Winter, and when Thomas suggested they head off the main
drag to the more open area of the park, she readily agreed.
    "What are
you looking for?" the viscount asked a few moments later, following her
gaze toward a group of riders a