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and something akin to reverence. How his wish to help her had battled with his aversion to what she did, what she was, when he came to her at Jane’s party and offered her a way out.
    She saw him everywhere. She would catch a glimpse of a tall blond man on the street, and her heart would jump until she looked closer and realized it wasn’t Camden. Someone would call her name on the street, and when she felt a surge of disappointment upon seeing who it was, she knew she had been hoping it had been him. It was his face she saw in her mind, late at night, when her body ached for another person’s touch, and when she finally fell asleep, frustrated and alone, she dreamt of him.
    It terrified Del, this preoccupation, this wanting that she couldn’t seem to control. Men had always been a means to an end for her, a way for her to escape the indentured servitude of a penniless orphan dependent on the goodwill of merciless or indifferent relatives. She had always been able to keep men at a distance, to use them as they used her. Even Blakely, whom she was genuinely fond of, had been thus far unable to penetrate her defenses, though he seemed intent on trying. So what was it about Camden that made him affect her in such a manner? What made him take over her thoughts and dreams and desires? She was so consumed with Camden since seeing him outside her townhouse she had been unable to be with anyone else. She knew she risked everything by putting a hold on her arrangements. The men would soon tire of waiting for her and would turn their attentions to someone else. Someone younger and more pliable, more easily dealt with. But still she could not bring herself to see anyone.
    Del was struggling with what to reveal to Jane and how to put her confusion into words, when a strangled gasp escaped her lips as she suddenly spotted the object of discussion. Rhys Camden was just ahead on the path, mounted atop a large chestnut stallion, as if her thoughts about him had conjured him into being right before her. He was dressed as properly as ever, with a conservatively cut tailcoat and impossibly snug nankeen breeches, but his cravat was loosened slightly and his hair was a bit disheveled. He was wearing an expression Del had never seen on him before: carefree contentment. His gloved hands held the reins loosely and his bearing was relaxed. The breeze tousled his hair, causing the longish strands to curl around his high collar. Del saw the hard lines of his muscles flex against his breeches as his thighs gripped the horse. He looked almost happy, and it was such a stark contrast to his usual stiff and formal demeanor that Del almost gasped again.
    Del realized she had stopped walking and now stood in the middle of the path gaping stupidly at Camden, Jane still hanging on her arm. If she did not move, Camden would ride right past them, seeing them, and Del could think of nothing she wanted less than to converse with him right now, especially with Jane studying her every expression.
    “Oh, Jane, I just remembered I wanted to show you the new roses in Kensington Gardens,” Del said as she turned around abruptly, dragging Jane with her. “They’re just back this way.”
    Jane glanced behind them, and with a sly smile she withdrew her arm from Del’s and stopped walking. “Oh! I seem to have a bit of gravel stuck in the sole of my walking boot. I’ll just be a moment to fish it out.” She bent down to her shoe, her skirts billowing out behind her, and inspected her — suspiciously unobstructed-looking — sole.
    Del tugged at Jane’s arm, desperate to get away from Camden. She thought they still might be able to escape his notice if they hurried, but then she heard the jangle of the horse’s bit right behind her and knew it was too late.
    “Mr. Camden,” Jane said warmly as she rose to her feet. “What a happy surprise to see you.”
    Camden reined in his horse, stopping so close that Del could feel the beast’s breath on her still-turned