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were still so raw. Panic rose, suffocating, in her throat.
    Nothing happened, she told herself. There is no scandal, for nothing happened at all.
    She tried to gather up the change from the counter, but the coins slipped and scattered on the floor. Mrs. Morton was looking at her with curiosity in her darting brown eyes. “Are you quite well, Lady Elizabeth? You seem a little distracted thismorning. I wondered—” she gave a little artificial tinkle of laughter “—whether you knew aught of the broken betrothal. After all, you are a great friend of Lord Waterhouse, are you not? A very great friend indeed.”
    Lizzie bent to pick up her money. She did not answer. The shop felt airless. She felt a little dizzy.
    “And you are the richest heiress left,” Mrs. Morton’s voice continued, above her head. “A very rich prize indeed. Will you wed, Lady Elizabeth, before your half brother steals your fortune?”
    There was a ping as the door of the shop opened and the bell rang loudly. Lizzie jumped. She stood up abruptly. Nat Waterhouse had come in and was standing only a few feet away. Lizzie’s head spun with the sudden shock of his appearance when she had been thinking about him only a moment before. She put a hand out to steady herself and the smooth wood of the counter slipped beneath her fingers. Damn it, if only she did not feel so strange about everything…
    Nothing happened …
    Nat looked so tired, she thought. There were deep lines about his eyes, as though he had not slept, and a grim set to his mouth, but he still looked fiercely intimidating enough to make her legs feel weak.
    “Lady Elizabeth,” he said, bowing.
    He looked the same, Lizzie thought. He looks exactly the same as he did last week, so why do I see him differently? Why do I see him as my lover andsee an answering knowledge in his eyes when I do not want to think of him like that because I still love him and it hurts …It hurts as though I am wearing all my feelings on the outside and have no protection against him.
    “Lord Waterhouse!” Mrs. Morton was fluttering around. “I was so very sorry to hear about your broken betrothal—”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Morton,” Nat said. He did not take his eyes from Lizzie. Nor did he offer any explanation whatsoever.
    He was standing between Lizzie and the door. She realized that she could not get out—and that he had done it deliberately in order to force her to confront him. Suddenly she felt as though the walls of the shop were closing in on her and all the bolts of cloth Mrs. Morton had swathed so artfully about the place to display her wares were swooping down to smother her.
    “Are you quite well, Lady Elizabeth?” Mrs. Morton sounded excited. “You look very pale. Are you going to swoon?”
    “Of course not,” Lizzie said. “I never faint. It is a hot day. That is all. Thank you, Mrs. Morton. Good day, Lord Waterhouse.”
    She found she could not look at him. He had moved closer to her and his very proximity seemed to hold her still, unable to speak, unable to move. Her awareness of him was overwhelming. She could sense Mrs.Morton looking from one of them to the other with an expression of most gleeful curiosity on her face.
    “May I escort you somewhere, Lady Elizabeth?” Nat murmured. He put out a hand and took her by the elbow. The shivers skittered along her nerve endings. Her heart raced, bumping painfully against her ribs. Nat’s touch had never stirred her before. He must have touched her a thousand times in the past when she dismounted her horse or when he acted her friend and escorted her to a ball or on endless other occasions. Only now did he make her body ripple with responsiveness even as her mind despaired.
    “Thank you, but no,” Lizzie said rapidly. “I have errands to run.”
    “Then I will accompany you.”
    “No, indeed—”
    “I would like very much to speak with you,” Nat said. There was an undertone of steel in his voice now that brought Lizzie’s eyes up