Eliza was not happy that William was leaving on a business trip that was expected to take the better part of a month, especially once Clara had informed her that Lord Evanston would be coming to stay at Lawton Park during his absence.

She had attempted to convince her brother that the best course of action was his remaining in Kent, to no avail. William could not be dissuaded, and while he would be back in time for the house party, now she was preparing to endure nearly a month of dealing with Evanston in the best way she knew how . . . by trying to ignore him. This had been made substantially more difficult by his shocking admission on the lawn, and she couldn’t deny that the thought of the viscount having deeper feelings for her caused her heart to ache in fretful longing. But it was no matter. She just had to maintain until Landry had a chance to finalize things with her, and this time she was determined to let him. No doubt Thomas would find another lady to assuage his wounded pride, and would forget about her as quickly as he’d forgotten about their first kiss.

The idea of accepting Sir James was still a bittersweet notion, but she was convinced this was the wisest resolution for both her and Rosa. Eliza knew there was a part of her that despaired over losing the viscount forever, although again she reminded herself, regardless of their friendship and whatever intimacy they had shared recently, he was not hers. And the only thing she could ever truly hope to share with Thomas was the pleasure of a physical union. Delicious as she knew it would be, he just wasn’t a man designed for anything else, and she couldn’t allow desire to be the sole criterion when selecting her husband.

On this resplendent day, Eliza and Clara were sharing a pot of tea out on the back patio, being pleasantly warmed by the sunlight slanting over the northern side of the house. It felt lovely and decadent at the moment, but Eliza knew that by midafternoon the heat would likely be sweltering. Thankfully, she could enjoy this moment of privacy with Lady Ashworth prior to Evanston’s arrival at the house later. The very thought of seeing him again caused her heart to flutter painfully.

Inhaling a soothing breath, she admired the splendor around her. Lawton Park was awash in full glorious color, a sight that Eliza would never find tiresome. The pale blooms of blush noisette roses arched and crept gracefully along the stately stone wall surrounding the courtyard. Mossy green ground cover wove its way through the flagstones, and an abundance of her favorite cerise peonies perfumed the air while black-and-yellow-striped bumblebees trundled and buzzed heavily between the brightly colored offerings.

Rosa ran through the gardens singing, her little legs pumping beneath the tea length hem of her skirt, the gleaming white ribbon in her hair trailing aloft behind her as she sprinted. Her favorite dolly in its faded pink dress was clutched tightly in her fist.

“My goodness, look at the little darling. How wonderfully she entertains herself,” gushed Clara, beaming with affection. A happy shriek from the little girl punctuated the observation. “Now,” she continued, switching topics, “for the house party, if the weather is still warm enough, I was thinking . . .”

Clara discussed her plans, but Eliza found herself unable to follow the thread of the conversation. Her mind kept wandering while she sat watching her daughter, who reminded her so much of herself as a child, racing through the bushes with hair flying wild like a heathen. She fondly recalled chases with William and Thomas through these same gardens, musing that perhaps since the boys were so much older than she, they had participated in many youthful activities simply for her sake.

This was something that, in retrospect, she was very thankful for. Eliza wasn’t certain she had ever fully acknowledged the level of kindness they had shown to her. Especially from Evanston, who was not even a relation but simply a friend of the family. A friend who had no preference for children to begin with. It was a jarring realization that perhaps maybe the viscount was much kinder than he was inclined to let on. Now, many years later, she reflected on that kindness, and thought about the ways it had manifested towards her daughter as well, albeit awkwardly and often at a distance.

“Eliza?”

She glanced at Clara with a start. “Hmm?”

“You seem distracted. Have you heard anything I’ve been saying?”

“Oh yes. You’ve been discussing your outdoor plans for the house party,” she said, guessing hastily.

The comment may have been vague, but it also must have hit the mark to some degree, for Clara nodded in agreement. “Yes, right. So the invitations were sent last week, and . . .”

Her mind unwittingly evoked her recent visit to Hawthorne Manor, recalling with unsettling clarity the sounds of Evanston’s groans and the brandied taste of his lips. The feel of his hands sliding possessively over her back . . . the hard surface of his chest raking against her breasts through the unyielding fabric of her bodice . . . the way he had swept her into his arms . . .

I want more.

More of everything.

It was hard to believe. Especially since she had been the one who’d wanted him for years—since that budding moment of self-awareness. With the awe he had inspired within her as an impressive specimen of the masculine sex. She had matured and changed considerably since the first sparks of desire for him had started to smolder and knew his need for her did not go back nearly that far. But now she was curious. When had it begun? Had it all happened during the course of the season?

And had he actually been trying to tell her that his feelings had evolved into something resembling . . . love?

Eliza’s head began to ache. She squeezed her eyes shut against the morning sun, slowly reopening them as Clara’s hand slid gently over her own.

“Are you well?” Clara asked softly, her dark eyes full of concern.

“Yes, forgive me,” she replied. “You were speaking of—”

“Eliza.” The countess eyed her insistently, raising her eyebrows for emphasis. “Is something wrong?”

Eliza gazed out at the courtyard, where Rosa had seen fit to lie on her stomach, her chin propped up in her hands. Amidst the music of birdsong, she could hear her daughter conversing with the various creatures crawling among the moss.

“Rosa!” she called out, rising from her wrought-iron chair. “Your dress will get filthy!”

A hushed chuckle was her daughter’s only reply. No doubt the insect now crawling across the girl’s hand was receiving an earful regarding Rosa’s thoughts on overbearing mothers.

Clara laughed and took a sip from her china cup. “No harm done. I’m sure you did worse to your dresses as a child.”

“Oh yes. I know it,” said Eliza, sinking back down into her seat, immensely relieved at the benign turn in conversation. “I climbed trees in my dresses.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did, actually,” she asserted with an amused grin. “With both William and Thomas for playmates, how can you doubt me?”

“Point taken,” Clara replied, her eyes dancing. There was a slight pause. “And how is Thomas faring?”

Something in Clara’s tone made Eliza think the inquiry stemmed from some kind of suspicion.

“I believe he is well. Why do you ask?”

“No reason, really,” answered Clara, shielding her eyes and searching the garden for Rosa, who had concealed herself behind a hedge. “Although, and I might be mistaken in this, things did seem a bit tense between you two the other day.”

“Did they?” managed Eliza with a barely convincing laugh. “Well, you know Evanston. He does like to tease, and after twenty years of it I suppose I may just be reaching my limit.”

Clara’s gaze slid over to settle heavily on Eliza, her expression inscrutable. “Yes, I understand,” she agreed. “It’s as if he is unable to tell when he should stop.”

Uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, Eliza simply nodded and occupied herself by taking a long sip of her tea. Clara surprised her with another question.

“I assume you have rejected your other offers of marriage by now?”

Eliza set her cup down on its saucer much harder than intended, resulting in a noisy clank. The entire subject—and Evanston’s involvement, of course—still caused her agitation.

“Yes, of course I’ve sent letters,” she said, staring down at her hands. “I was only shocked that I had managed to garner such attention with Landry having shown such outward interest throughout the season.”

Lady Ashworth chuckled. “I, however, am not surprised at all.” She leaned forwards, her dark eyes shining. “Tell me of Sir James. Is he a hopeless romantic?”

“Oh yes. In fact, he caused quite a stir at a ball by paying an immoderate amount of attention to me.” Eliza laughed in reflection, then paused, also recalling Evanston’s fury and what it had prompted him to do before the watchful faces gathered there.

Sir James was certainly romantic in the traditional sense. He was affable and polite, enraptured in her presence, made certain she received a steady stream of letters and flowers, and had even tried—and failed, because of her—to declare himself. Evanston was not a romantic, not in the truest sense of the word anyway, and yet there was something strangely tender about him. A dark magnetism that tugged her back each time she thought she might have broken free.

The minute tilt of Clara’s head caused Eliza to fumble for words. “Sir James is lovely. He took me to the theater, we danced together often, and we took a great many walks through Hyde Park. He comes from a very well-respected family,” she rushed to add. “I met many acquaintances of his who all agreed that he is a stable and trustworthy sort of man.”

Clara’s lips twitched and she leaned back in her chair. “He does sound lovely. I look forward to meeting him here at Lawton Park.” Her gaze moved out across the courtyard to where Rosa still played, seeming to consider something, and Eliza feared she had suspected the truth of the matter. That although Landry could create a stir in a ballroom, he could not quite cause Eliza’s blood to stir the way Thomas did so effortlessly. She’d seen the countess watching them both since their return from London.

Eliza had sometimes wondered if Evanston’s only motivation in delaying the response to her suitors was to pay her back for her rejection of him during the season . . . a move that might have been more in line with his character before. But a lot had happened over the summer, and now something about this idea didn’t ring true. The only answer that did ring true time and time again was that he, against all odds, wanted her for himself. Her search for a husband would have been more than enough to force his hand, were he to actually feel affection for her.

In fact, now that she thought about it, Lord Evanston was the one acting like a hopeless romantic . . .

Both ladies straightened up at the sudden appearance of the head footman. Clara smiled at him.

“Yes, Matthew?”

“Pardon the interruption, my lady, but Lord Evanston approaches the drive.”

“Ah, lovely,” said Clara. “Thank you, Matthew. We will meet him out front. Rosa!” She called out towards the garden. A cherubic face peered out from behind a cluster of rose bushes. “Thomas has arrived!”

“Hooray!”

The ladies proceeded to the drive from around the side of the house. They emerged out front just as his carriage was pulling up, and Eliza spied the viscount behind the vehicle, seated astride his chestnut horse. She knew he preferred riding whenever possible, and had to admit it was somewhat humorous he had elected to bring the animal he’d managed to snatch out of Landry’s grasp. Once she had torn her eyes away from the distracting cling of his riding breeches, she met his azure gaze and lowered into a curtsy alongside Clara and Rosa.

“Greetings, my lord.” She examined him with a wry look. “I would congratulate you on your fine steed, but I happen to know the circumstances behind its acquisition.”

Clara’s eyebrows shot upward and she grinned in anticipation. “Do tell, Eliza. Thomas excels at causing scandals, but I long to know how he managed to generate one through the purchase of a horse.”

Evanston swung out of the saddle with agile grace to land on the gravel drive, a flash of surprise preceding a warning glance directed at Eliza.

“It was nothing. Only a minor coincidence, and not even truly scandalous.”

At his censorious demeanor, Eliza realized her error. In referring to the viscount’s purchase of this horse, an animal which Sir James had shown great interest in at the time, she was close to outwardly accusing him of trying to vex her most promising suitor. And William would be enraged to discover that Thomas’s time in London had been spent trying to influence the men pursuing her. It could absolutely destroy their relationship.

She glanced at Thomas in panicked understanding just a moment before Rosa rushed forwards to hug his legs.

“Hello!” she chirruped, beaming up at him.

Relief flooded through Eliza at her daughter’s fortuitous interruption. Knocked slightly off balance, Evanston rocked back on his feet then lowered himself to one knee.

“Greetings, Miss Rosa.” He chuckled softly, casting a sideways glance at the worn doll clutched lovingly in her hand. “I brought something for you, but you will need to wait until my trunks are unpacked to receive it.”

Rosa’s eyes widened to nearly comical proportions. “Really?”

“Really,” Thomas assured her. “But you will have to wait,” he repeated with a wink.

Rosa groaned theatrically and threw her arms around his neck in a forlorn hug, and Thomas’s hands remained suspended in midair for a moment before coming to rest gently around the little girl. Clara smiled down at the pair, then glanced towards Matthew and Charles, who stood in nearby silent attendance with the rest of the servants. They immediately jumped forwards to unload the carriage, and Evanston rose to a stand.

“Let us give the viscount a chance to be settled,” Clara said, taking Rosa’s small hand in her own before turning to approach the front door. “Although, I will not forget to ask about the horse, Thomas. Do not think you have escaped me on that score,” she teased over her shoulder.

He nodded dutifully in Clara’s direction, then slid a chiding glance at Eliza. “Duly noted, my lady. I shall relate the boring particulars at your earliest request.”

The countess and Rosa made their way into the house, and Eliza felt an unseemly rush of excitement when Thomas leaned down to add under his breath, “And you had better learn to exert more caution, Eliza. That is, unless, you wish to create chaos.”

The irony of his words proved too much for her to ignore. “Haven’t you managed to do that already?” she bit back.

“Have I?” Evanston raised his dark brow and paused, silently evaluating her, his gaze running a leisurely pathway across her face.

Eliza could only stare at him mutely in response to his scrutiny. Then, with an excess of civility, he extended his arm. She scowled at it, knowing that to refuse his gentlemanly gesture before the remaining servants on the drive would only succeed in creating gossip—speculation that all was not well between the earl’s sister and his friend. Since she had no choice, Eliza accepted his offer and the pair started off to join Clara and Rosa.

“You are lucky there are witnesses,” she grumbled.

By the time Evanston finally came downstairs, the late afternoon light had turned into an amber glow, filtering hazily through the south-facing windows of the drawing room. Being an uncommonly warm day, he had elected not to retain his coat and waistcoat, and given his intimate acquaintance with the family, he knew that formality would not be required. He could see immediately that both ladies were of a similar mind. They had changed into their lightest gowns. Even then, he noted in sympathy, they remained encumbered by layers of skirts.

Eliza looked miserably hot, the curve of her cheek tinged pink from the overbearing heat. Thomas remembered the discreet glimmer of perspiration on her face that evening in Belgravia, the night Landry had followed her into the garden. Then he recalled how she had retrieved a handkerchief to blot at the moisture, freeing his calling card from the confines of her reticule to flutter down amidst the mossy flagstones.

Evanston often wondered . . . had she destroyed the slip of paper that had served to bring her embarrassment, or did she still carry it out of sentiment?

Clara and Eliza stood to greet him, and he ceased his musings to bow politely in return. Rosa grinned impishly, bouncing on the powder-blue couch cushions, her dolly flopping about beside her. A turn of the head and an outstretched hand from her mother was all that was required to bring the child into standing, curtseying politeness.

Thomas couldn’t help but be entertained by the ever present mischievous twinkle in Rosa’s eyes. It reminded him of himself as a child, although on this specific occasion he knew the reason for her excitement. He slowly brought forth a box he’d been holding at his side and lowered himself next to the countess as she seated herself once again.

“It is my understanding, Miss Rosa, that you were exceptionally well behaved while your mother was away in London.” His eyes flicked over to Clara. “Is this true?”

Lady Ashworth smiled knowingly and folded her hands primly upon her lap. “Indeed, my lord. A finer example of youthful refinement I’ve yet to behold.”

Across from them, Eliza seated herself as well, but he detected a thoughtfulness to her movements, her gaze intensely focused on the box in his hands. It was a reaction that appeared to originate from something other than the expected anticipation of a gift. Her response stirred his curiosity.

Meanwhile, Rosa was literally quivering with anticipation. She left her dolly with her mother and came forwards to meet him.

“I tried to be good,” she whispered earnestly, twisting her fingers before her skirts.

Her seriousness caused him to laugh. “I know you did. Which is why you have earned this.” Thomas relinquished the gift box, wrapped in a wide, vibrant green ribbon, the color chosen as a tribute to the eyes of its recipient.

Those very eyes widened with delight, and he felt a pleasure so sharp and so different from any he’d ever felt that it caused his breath to halt in his throat. His gaze immediately sought Eliza, whose slender fingers were touching her lips in intrigued observation. Her eyes met his, but her expression was still frozen in contemplation, unsmiling. By way of contrast, Clara was beaming broadly.

“Open it, Rosa! What did he bring you?” she exclaimed.

The little girl tugged on the ribbon, then gripped the lid and raised it to reveal a china doll, wearing a soft ivory dress interwoven with golden thread. The doll did not have molded porcelain hair as many other dolls did, but was rather covered in an intricate blond wig. The wig was arranged in the fashionable style of Queen Victoria, parted in the middle with plaited sides that wound around the ears to meet atop the head in a knot. Rosa’s gasp could be discerned throughout the still of the drawing room, and she stared reverently at the blushing doll face, glazed and gleaming beneath her tiny fingers.

“This is a fancy dolly,” Rosa declared in awe.

Clara leaned over for a better view. “Oh, it’s lovely, Thomas. Where did you find such an exquisite gift?”

“There is a little shop on Bond Street that I frequent from time to time,” he replied with a smile.

Rosa gently scooped the doll from the padded confines of the box and held it as if it were a baby, causing Clara to chuckle softly. “You had better not be cleaning floors with that doll, Miss Rosa.”

“Oh, no,” replied the little girl. “I’ll be so careful.” She approached Thomas then, and he froze as Rosa’s eyes raised to his, filled with brimming appreciation. Leaning in, she placed a kiss squarely on his cheek. “Thank you.”

A little discomfited, yet gratified, by the sincere show of affection, Evanston bowed his head and smiled. “You’re very welcome.”

It was only upon glancing at Eliza that he saw she was not well. Her cheeks were now fully flushed, lungs working with the effort to take a normal breath. He regarded her in alarm.

“Eliza? What is—”

She rose abruptly, swaying slightly in her haste. “I beg your pardon . . . I need some air.”

Clara placed an arm around Rosa. “By all means, it’s dreadfully hot in here. I’ll watch after Rosa.”

Briefly waving her thanks, Eliza hurried from the room. Rosa’s eyes grew large as she regarded Clara.

“Is Mama sick?”

“No, no, my dearest. She is just so very sensitive to the heat.” Clara’s gaze shifted to Thomas, who had risen from his seat and was already halfway to the door. “But perhaps you could go check on her in a moment, my lord. To be certain.”

Eliza sank down onto the stone retaining wall near the garden, her breath hitching in her throat. Her eyes fell closed, and she pressed the heels of her palms against them until bright spots illuminated the darkness. She felt ridiculous for reacting in such a way, particularly in front of Thomas. But in the end, it had been her own foolish assumptions that had set her up for such a shock.

She’d been so certain Thomas had been at Bond Street seeking a gift for his mistress that day he’d been spotted by Caroline and her aunt. He’d built himself a dubious reputation upon the adoration of many women. So who would have guessed . . . who would have even believed . . . that the notorious libertine, Lord Evanston, would be seen in Bond Street buying a gift for a little girl? Her little girl, no less.

It meant disaster for her heart. If he cared for Rosa, it was more difficult to ignore his continued assertions that this time, it was different. That against all odds, he really did want more with Eliza. More than a flirtation. More than a few hours of pleasure. More than he’d experienced with any other woman.

With a groan of frustration, she buried her face in her hands. Thomas was a good person, but in William’s eyes, and perhaps even hers, he was fatally flawed. Her brother had seen him at his worst, in school and beyond, when Thomas hadn’t cared one whit for the good opinion of others. And as much as he held her family in high esteem, he’d betrayed them too on the night of her engagement. His greedy kiss in the name of insatiable curiosity was all it had taken for her to understand that, to him, loyalty was a flexible notion—one that could be bent and manipulated based on whichever desire tempted him most. Nor was that the only time he’d shown such selfishness. Even Rosa’s birth had apparently been an opportunity for him to indulge his bad habits, for he’d been discovered by Mrs. Malone the following morning, insensible with drink, lying haphazardly on the staircase.

Regardless of the tales, Eliza had to admit that Thomas must have felt very alone after the elder viscount’s death. She was sure the bitter insults he received regularly from his mother had served as a painful reminder of his father’s love, now lost forever. Perhaps this alone explained his gravitation to William and her family. Perhaps it explained why he had ventured to their house so often. Perhaps it explained his reckless, wild behavior.

And perhaps somewhere along the way, he had changed.

Reaching down, she gripped her skirts, balling her hands into fists and crushing the fragile muslin beneath her fingers. William would never be swayed, and she would be risking Rosa’s well-being on a hope. A wish. What kind of mother was she, anyway, to consider such a match? To allow her own feelings to cloud her judgment? Feelings that were unsettling, and more confusing each and every day . . .

She stiffened at the sound of approaching steps. It was the footfall of a man, and Evanston appeared seconds later, his eyes glowing bright with concern despite the fading light and the shadows cast within the garden.

“Eliza?” he asked urgently, lowering himself down next to her on the wall. She turned away.

“I’m fine,” she said, annoyed, blotting at her heated face. “Thomas. I just—”

The gentle pressure of his fingers along the curve of her jaw quelled her remaining thoughts. He guided her head around until his eyes held hers fast within their turquoise depths, darting over the mottled surface of her cheeks.

“You’re not fine. You’re upset.” A notch formed between his brows as he released her. “Why?”

Because of you.

“No, truly I’m fine. It was just the heat . . .”

His low laugh surprised her, and he leaned back to regard her in confusion. “Eliza, given the traumas you have endured these past years, I would never have guessed you to be so vulnerable to a mere increase in temperature. Yet it seems to be your undoing, both here and in London.” Evanston shrugged. “Who knew?”

Eliza felt her mouth curve into a smile, even as her eyes narrowed at him. “You can go back inside if you insist on teasing me. I didn’t ask you to come out here.”

“And yet, I felt compelled,” he replied with a sigh. “Now be honest. I’m sure Caroline must have told you about my visit to Bond Street, so why did my gift seem like such a monumental discovery to you today?”

Her mouth opened in reply but the words died on her lips. How honest could she really be?

“Fine,” she relented. “I knew you had purchased a gift on Bond Street the day Caroline and Lady Frances saw you. I just thought . . . that it was for . . . someone else.”

Evanston’s gaze became alert. “How could you possibly surmise who it was intended for?”

“I suppose the fact you are often in female company has escaped your remembrance? Or that Mrs. Varnham had accompanied you around London?” she asked acidly.

A pause. Silence.

“I have not truly shared female company since before seeing you at the party in Belgravia,” he clarified.

The first time they’d met during the season. The night she’d met Landry, when Evanston had followed them out into the garden. Eliza stared at him, inordinately aware of the sounds of their breathing and the luscious fragrance of the peonies fanning out from behind them.

This would mean that he hadn’t been with a woman in months.

“I don’t understand . . .”

His head lowered. “I think you do.”

Pressing her lips tightly together, Eliza tried to ignore the surge of adrenaline racing through her veins. If she could not, she worried her next action would be the gripping of his white linen shirt as she pulled him close.

“But Mrs. Varnham said—”

“Mrs. Varnham was lying.”

She stared at him, desperately grasping for something to say. “Even so, you have never liked children,” she pointed out. “What would lead me to believe you would go out of your way to buy her a gift?”

Thomas looked taken aback. “I have always cared for Rosa.”

“Perhaps, although I remember a day when you spoke of never wanting children of your own.”

His face turned serious. “Yes, because I can’t imagine worrying about them. It seems it would be a terrifying burden. But there is no denying that Rosa is like family to me.” He shook his head and glanced away, then rose to a stand. “I should be heading back—”

Her hand shot out to grasp his. The move surprised them both, and she stared at her hand as if it belonged to someone else.

“I’m sorry, Thomas,” she said before she could lose her courage. “You’ve always been kind to Rosa . . . despite what you may have said before.”

Evanston stood there for a moment, his fingers warm and strong around her own. Then, with a soft tug, he pulled her upward to face him. They were standing much too close, the heat from his body scorching her own, and she could detect a hint of his masculine scent . . . spicy, almost woodsy . . . as a wayward breeze stirred the air around them. Eliza felt herself tilting in his direction, could perfectly recall the sublime sensuality of his kiss. Knew that, were he to lean down, she would willingly be lost once again.

“Don’t kiss me,” she whispered, panicking. “Please.”

His eyes held hers fast as they wandered over her in sultry evaluation.

“The next time we kiss, Eliza,” he stated quietly, “it will be at your behest.”

She folded her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrows defiantly, while inside she feared it was the truth. It took every ounce of restraint she possessed not to beg him for it now. Feebly, she made an attempt at anger.

“Caroline warned me, you know,” she said accusingly. “She said you were buying time to seduce me.”

He evaluated her sternly before making his reply. “Lady Caroline knows better.”

To that Eliza had no reply, angry or otherwise, and she could only watch him mutely as he turned on his heel and strode back into the house.