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barely stifle the rush of desire.
    He heard his aunt introduce him to Lady Charlene’s chaperone. He wasn’t interested in her. His focus was on the beauty before him.
    Lady Charlene—­even her name was lush and full. He took her gloved hand and helped her rise.
    She appraised him with the promise of a good intelligence and he realized she was waiting for him to speak. Everyone was waiting for him.
    On the morrow, he was certain the papers and anyone witnessing this meeting between them would claim he’d been smitten—­and they would be right.
    â€œWelcome to my home,” he managed to say.
    â€œThank you, Your Grace. It is an honor.”
    Her voice surprised him. There was a huskiness to it, a unique, melodic timbre.
    Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his aunt exchange a knowing glance with his mother. They approved. He approved.
    He was cognizant that they were holding up the receiving line. He didn’t care. He couldn’t even let go of her hand.
    In fact, he was done with this nonsense. He’d found his woman. Let the dancing begin and let him stake his claim by leading her first onto the dance floor. “My lady, will you give me the honor of the first dance?”
    She blushed prettily. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”
    Gavin looked for Henry to signal the receiving line was officially at an end. The waiting guests could meander their own way in. He who only danced if he must was ready to run to the dance floor.
    However, the always present Henry was missing from his post where Gavin could see him.
    Instead, the sound of stern words and the sight of footmen moving toward the front entrance indicated that there was a disturbance.
    Gavin stepped forward, placing himself between the door and the ladies even as Henry burst through the knot of footmen and waiting guests. He strode to Gavin’s side. “Your Grace, there is a difficulty,” he said in a low voice.
    â€œWith whom?”
    â€œThe head of the American delegation has ­arrived and wishes to present himself to you.”
    â€œI have no time for thorny Americans.” He was done with duty and obligation. He desired to spend an evening basking in the company of a woman. He did not want to discuss negotiations, or business, or favors. “Tell him to present himself to my secretary on the morrow. Talbert will schedule a meeting.”
    But Henry didn’t bow and obey. He leaned close to Gavin. “With all due respect, Your Grace, you may wish to meet this man.”
    â€œ Not tonight,” Gavin repeated, his tone alone making it clear he was in no mood for argument.
    He turned to Lady Charlene, who had not stayed safely behind him but had moved to his side, obviously curious about the disruption. He offered his gloved hand. “Our dance, my lady?”
    But before she could respond, the American ­literally muscled his way through the hallway door, several footmen gingerly holding on to his arms as if both determined and uncertain about holding him back—­and in the blink of an eye, Gavin understood why.
    Of course this man would not wait in any line, any more than Gavin himself would.
    Lady Charlene vanished from Gavin’s mind. The spectators in the crowded front hall all faded from his view, as did the humming of voices in the ballroom and the strains of music.
    Instead, he was transported back in time, to his years in boarding school and the largest scandal his family had ever faced.
    The “American” was tall and dressed in plain clothing. His jacket was one that had been worn many times before but he filled it well. His overlong dark hair touched his collar in contrary to any style on either side of the Atlantic.
    He gave the impression of being headstrong and proud, something Gavin knew to be true because he understood this man well. He even knew his name before it could be announced.
    Gavin and Jack Whitridge were not identical twins, but enough