Eleven years ago, Charlotte had been a starry-eyed debutante and had fallen deeply in love with Damien Archer, the Earl of Grayson. As she made her way from his parlor, her mind flashed back to their last clandestine meeting.

She’d snuck out of a ball to meet him in private and was determined to give herself to him. There had been no reason to wait since she was quite certain that he would be offering for her soon.

She had run into his arms and dropped kisses on his neck before nuzzling her face into his warm flesh and murmuring against him, “I love you, Damien. I do not want to wait any longer.”

When she’d tipped her chin up to gaze into his eyes, he’d brought his mouth to hers in a bruising kiss. Her insides had ignited in a flurry of passion as she’d pressed against him. When they finally parted she’d clung to him, her heart bursting with love, anticipation prickling at her as she awaited his declaration—his proposal.

Instead, he declared his intention never to marry—shattering her heart. In this moment, the pain stung her as though that meeting had happened only minutes ago. Perhaps it was being in his embrace again that had opened the old wound. She should never have hugged him.

That long-ago night when he’d scattered her dreams, he’d given her no reason for his rejection, simply said they were not to be then left her standing alone in the conservatory, staring after him with kiss-swollen lips.

For months thereafter, Charlotte had spent countless hours searching the gossip columns for any news of him, and even more hours crying into her pillows. She had eventually hardened her heart, turning all of her love into hatred. The last thing she had expected when she’d come to him this afternoon was to feel those old hurts afresh.

God’s bones, after what he’d done to her, she should not have any passionate feelings toward him—let alone tender ones. What the devil was wrong with her?

Charlotte marched down the porch steps of his mansion, clutching the skirt of her riding habit so hard that her knuckles turned white. Perhaps enlisting his help had been a mistake. Regardless, she could think of no other means to her end.

With the aid of a footman, she swung into her saddle. Hazarding a glance at her sister, she took the reins and set her horse into a canter. The breeze created by her fast pace calmed her as she guided her horse out of the gravel drive.

“Must we ride at such a breakneck pace?” Elizabeth yelled, glancing at Charlotte.

Rather than giving an answer, Charlotte simply pushed her mount faster.

Elizabeth caught up, shooting a peering glance at Charlotte. “Do slow down and tell me how things went with Lord Grayson.”

“Let us return home first.” She dismissed her sister, focusing her attention on the road ahead.

Charlotte was not ready to discuss the success of her meeting yet for fear that Elizabeth would see through to her angst. Elizabeth had warned her that seeing Damien could stir up old emotions, but Charlotte had insisted that no love remained. She wasn’t ready to bask in her sister's gloating. As it were, they would be home too soon for Charlotte’s liking.

After gaining some distance from Damien, Charlotte slowed her horse's pace and they rode the remaining distance in companionable silence. Elizabeth followed Charlotte from the stables and into their home before speaking again.

“Now will you tell what happened at Lord Grayson’s?” Elizabeth followed Charlotte up the stairs. “Or am I to guess?”

“There is not much to report. I asked him to help and he agreed.” Reaching the top of the grand staircase, Charlotte turned down the corridor that led to her rooms. She hoped Elizabeth would go her own way without added conversation. She stiffened a bit when they passed her sister's door and she did not enter.

“Marvelous news indeed. Your hasty retreat made me fear that he’d refused.”

Charlotte entered her bedchamber with Elizabeth on her heels. Turning to her sister, she said, “I intend to have a bath and perhaps a nap before the ball.” It should have been enough to send Elizabeth on her way, but Charlotte was not to be so lucky. She sighed when her sister lowered herself into an armchair. “Do you not have preparations to make for the ball? Surely your husband expects you home soon.”

“Never mind all of that.” Elizabeth removed her gloves and laid them in her lap. “I want to hear how Lord Grayson plans to aid you.”

Charlotte tossed her bonnet onto the bed, then strolled across the room and rang for her maid. While her back was to Elizabeth, she said, “He plans to attend tonight's ball and observe my interactions.”

“And then what?” Elizabeth asked.

Charlotte turned to her sister. “Then he will determine how best to help me.”

“You were with him for an absurd amount of time. What took so long?” Elizabeth stared at her through suspicious blue eyes. “Did he force you to beg?”

“No…not exactly. Worse, actually. He made me explain my motivation and my reason for enlisting him to help.”

Elizabeth's eyes softened and she came to stand beside Charlotte. “Are you quite certain you wish to go through with this scheme? I do not want to see you hurt.”

Elizabeth had stood by Charlotte through her heartbreak all those years ago and knew all too well what Charlotte had gone through. She did not blame her sister for harboring concerns now. In truth, Charlotte fretted as well. “I am determined to find a husband.”

“I am well aware, dear.” Elizabeth wrapped her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. “But are you sure that you want Lord Grayson’s help with the matter?”

“There is no one better suited to the task.” Charlotte gave a bright smile. She hoped it appeared cheery, rather than one of those frightful forced ones. “Now do take your leave so that I may prepare for the ball.”

Elizabeth gave Charlotte a slight squeeze before she released her. “I will see you this evening.”

Indeed, Charlotte would see a great many people—including Damien. Her traitorous heart speed up at the thought as she watched Elizabeth depart. Would Damien dance with her? Would he think her stunning in her new ball gown? She heaved a sigh, shaking her head at the foolish pondering. He’d broken her heart. She didn’t give a fig what he did or thought now, just so long as he helped her.