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one last covetous look. It would transform even the plainest creature into something close to beauty, she thought, and found herself wondering what a certain disreputable peer might think were he to be privileged to see Miss Gillian Redfern in such a glorious dress. Sternly she put that dangerously enticing thought from her mind. “Felicity, the dress is not for me.”
    “But that’s where you’re wrong,” a gentle voice came from directly behind them, a voice surprisingly familiar, considering that Gillian had only heard it on one other occasion in her life, two short weeks ago. “I think the dress would be perfect for you, Miss Redfern.”
    With a feeling of anticipation that she told herself was embarrassment and dread, Gillian turned slowly to meet Ronan Marlowe’s quizzical expression.

Chapter Four
    HER STARTLED BLUE eyes traveled up the seemingly endless length of him, to his saturnine face towering above her. In the brightly lit shop the streaks of gray in his curly black head stood out more prominently, as did the tiny lines around his eyes and mouth. He was dressed in great elegance, all in black, and on his hand was a large emerald, hard and cold and bright. Like his laughing green eyes.
    Gillian felt her face flushing like a veritable schoolgirl, and silently cursed the man for having such a devastating effect on her. An effect he was no doubt well aware of. She met his amused glance firmly. “Good afternoon, Lord Marlowe. I was wondering when we might meet again.”
    “Were you, Miss Redfern? And I had rather thought you were avoiding me. Not that I blamed you, of course. I fancied I detected your brother’s fell hand in the matter. I may have maligned him.” The gentle voice drawled on, and Gillian had no doubt he was enjoying her discomfiture.
    She threw back her head and met his gaze with a limpid one of her own. “Aren’t you pleased you were mistaken, Lord Marlowe?” she asked brightly. “And speaking of Derwent, may I present you to his daughter, Felicity?” She turned to her companion and recognized the sparkling gaze with a sinking feeling. Despite Felicity’s devotion to her stern vicar, she still had a penchant for attractive men, and Ronan Marlowe certainly fit that description. He seemed to have a devastating effect on the girl. She looked up at him, her dark eyes shining, lips parted breathlessly, cheeks flushed. Gillian hoped irritably that she hadn’t looked like that when she saw him.
    She could tell by the amused expression in those green eyes that Marlowe recognized Felicity’s condition as he acknowledged the introduction with a courtly little bow that just bordered on mocking, and Felicity’s answering smile, bright enough to dazzle a blind man, filled her with dread. What man could resist such loveliness? Certainly not a rake like Ronan Marlowe. Therefore it was with surprise that she found him turning back to her, all that magnetic attention focused on her until she felt almost faint.
    “Are you going to buy that dress?” he demanded in a lazy voice. “It would suit you, you know.”
    “No, I don’t know,” Gillian lied. “And I have no intention of buying it. It would be completely unsuitable for me.”
    “Unsuitable for the role your family has pushed you into,” he observed. “I can see how Derwent would want to keep you in such hideously drab clothes. He wouldn’t want to lose his unpaid drudge.” This was all delivered in such a mild tone of voice that Felicity, off to one side and staring at him dreamily, failed to notice.
    Gillian stared at him, aghast. “How dare you?” she demanded. “What gives you the right . . . ?”
    “Oh, I’m a very daring fellow,” he replied easily. “If it’s a simple matter of pockets to let, I would be honored to buy the dress for you.”
    There was a hiss of horrified reaction from the women around them, and even Gillian was temporarily silenced by the shocking suggestion. She forced herself to speak in calm,