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troubling situation of his missing paintings ignited his anger in as much as it challenged him to find a solution. But tonight, his smooth plan to insure he danced with the lovely stranger he’d seen standing under the archway, proved the disaster to spark his temper. The footman delivered his message to the wrong person. He discovered the error too late to rectify the situation and there was little help for it, as the lady accepted his invitation with unabashed enthusiasm.
    Lady Newby initiated introductions and while making the acquaintance of Lady Meredith Rossmore proved pleasant, by no means would he consider spending time with the overtly friendly widow. Her thinly veiled attempts at flirtation bespoke of the exact reason he preferred the study to the ballroom. To make matters worse, he’d kept an astute eye on the room for little over an hour and the magnificent beauty he sought was nowhere to be found. With every intention of enjoying another glass of Lord Rochester’s superior brandy, he planned to extend his apologies to the host and leave before dinner was served.
    He made long strides to the sideboard, a curse on his lips, and dropped his gloves on a nearby chair. So enmeshed was he in his frustration, he might never have noticed he was not alone, but a sudden intake of breath and the delicate scent of perfume assailed him and heightened his awareness. He replaced the brandy decanter and turned in the direction of the fireplace, unable to stop the slow, satisfied smile that curled his mouth. His temper dissipated completely and another more urgent emotion jolted to life.
    Before him, looking just a little surprised, stood the enchanting goddess he had noticed in the ballroom earlier. The unmistakable beauty with whom he intended to dance. When he tried to match eyes with her across the dance floor, she glanced over her shoulder, as if she believed he viewed someone else. The unexpected action struck him as so utterly charming it fueled his curiosity as to her identity further, but then the unforgiving crowd interrupted and prevented him from finding her.
    Now she stood half a room’s length away, a shimmering vision in soft green silk and delicate lace. Her hair, captured in a neat chignon, left a few wayward tendrils to dangle enticingly near her ear and neck. Candlelight caught in each delicate curl and reflected the colours of sunsets, rose petals, and passion. Vibrantly intrigued, he resisted the urge to reach forward and undo the lacy netting containing the fiery tresses. How long did her hair flow and what other shades of red would he find in the silky waves were he to act on impulse?
    He continued his assessment with a nonchalant sweep of the eyes.
    Her dress fit exquisitely, sheathing her in silky elegance without the flounces and ruffles so many women affected to enhance their figure. This gown hugged in all the right places, and he anxiously considered the women beneath the layers, underneath the lace and silk, the tapes and ribbons. She released a hitch of breath and he became distracted by the sheer chemisette covering her lush bodice. Her face was perfection. He could imagine how lovely the rest of her body would be.
    ‘What are you doing here? Have I interrupted a theft in Lord Rochester’s study?’ He had no doubt the beguiling beauty standing before him stole hearts as a preoccupation. ‘Or are you here awaiting a prearranged lover’s tryst?’ That too, posed a definite possibility.
    She startled for less than a heartbeat before she smoothly replied, ‘Nothing as interesting or exciting as you suggest, I assure you.’ Then after a short pause she continued. ‘Of course, I could ask you the very same question.’
    Caught off-guard by her belated challenge, Con smiled and strode further into the room. Her voice, melodic with a warm pitch, affected him in an almost sensual way and he had no way to explain the uncommon reaction. He stepped closer still, determined to ascertain the colour of