Delia stood at the foot of the stairs, sketchbook under her arm, tapping the toe of her half boot on the elegant black-and-white-checkered marble floor.

Tap, tap, tap.

Rylands stood stiffly by the door, watching her from under his bushy gray eyebrows. “We are embarking on a simple sketching party, aren’t we, Rylands?” she asked, turning to him. “I did hear correctly, didn’t I?”

“Yes, miss. I believe so.”

Tap, tap, sigh. “Because with this much fuss, one would think we were being presented at court.”

“Yes, miss.”

First Charlotte had deemed her pink bonnet “a fright.” Then Eleanor declared her half boots “pinched her dreadfully,” and Lily realized she’d forgotten her blue ribbon. Each of them had scurried back up the stairs in turn to address these fashion faux pas, which left Delia alone in the entrance hall, rolling her eyes and tapping her toes.

Tap, tap, grumble, sigh.

At this rate they would have to sketch in the dark.

“Ready, girls?” Charlotte called gaily at last, skipping down the stairs and into the foyer. They were just about to sail forth when Eleanor came to an abrupt halt. “Wait. Where’s Robyn? I thought he was going to carry our sketching supplies.”

Charlotte snorted. “Robyn disappeared back up the stairs a half hour ago to bathe and change.” She tied the ribbons of yet another pink bonnet under her chin. “He promised to join us later. James will carry the supplies.” She gestured to a footman so burdened with bundles and baskets he looked like a camel about to embark on a journey across the desert.

“I should have known,” Eleanor said. “I can’t recall the last time Robyn carried anything. No doubt he needs to bathe. He was out all night. He didn’t return home until just before breakfast this morning, you know.”

“Oh, dear!” Lily’s face was a picture of dismay. “Surely that’s not true?”

“Oh, yes. I’m afraid so,” Ellie said. “Robyn is very wicked.”

“I wouldn’t call Robyn wicked,” Charlotte protested. “How can you say so, Eleanor?”

“Well, not precisely wicked perhaps.” She glanced at James and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “But Lady Audley, Charlotte!”

Charlotte shrugged. “All gentlemen of the ton have mistresses.”

Lily’s mouth dropped open and Delia felt her own face flood with heat. As the eldest of the young ladies, she should be the one to put a stop to the conversation, but she remained silent, half-ashamed, but also burning with curiosity.

“Oh, it’s not the having of a mistress,” Eleanor continued airily, shocking both Delia and Lily again with her cavalier air. “It’s the antics, Charlotte. The drinking, the gambling, and the bordello, you know.”

The bordello! This time even Delia gasped. But unfortunately Charlotte cut her sister off at this interesting point in the conversation. “Robyn behaves like all fashionable young men. Though of course, being a Sutherland, he pushes it rather farther than is wise.”

“He’s going to push Alec right off the edge of sanity if he continues,” Eleanor said.

Charlotte grinned. “Poor Alec! But he’s had mistresses of his own, you know, Ellie. Maybe he still does.”

Indeed he does! Delia bit down on her bottom lip so she wouldn’t shout the words aloud.

“But Alec is discreet,” Eleanor objected. “One doesn’t hear of carriage races and wagering and bordellos in relation to Alec.”

“Did you say something, Delia?” Lily asked.

Three bonneted heads turned to look expectantly at her.

“No, no,” Delia replied, trying to hide the strangled noise that had escaped her with a violent cough into her gloved hand. “I, ah, had something stuck in my throat, that’s all.”

The truth—that was what was stuck in her throat. One may not hear of plunging bodices and mistresses in relation to Lord Carlisle, but one could see it with their own eyes if they happened along the road at the right time. Discreet indeed! He was about as discreet as a blow to the head.

“Perhaps not anymore,” Charlotte said, interrupting Delia’s thoughts. “But before father died, there were rumors about Alec, you know. He was a rake,” she whispered delightedly. “I once overheard Lady Connelly say Alec was such a delicious rogue.” Charlotte frowned. “In fact, that was the precise phrase she used. Delicious rogue. She sounded rather disappointed he wasn’t one anymore.”

Delia didn’t know the difference between a rogue and a rake, but she was sure Lord Carlisle qualified as either. Or both. But she hadn’t time to consider it.

“Lady Connelly is such a scandal,” Eleanor said with relish. “I’m sure she was disappointed.”

“I think it rather unfair on Alec,” Charlotte said then. “He was only twenty-eight years old when Father died. He hadn’t the time to sow his oats after he inherited the title.”

Delia just managed to stifle an indignant snort. He’s making up for lost time now!

“No. He’s never been the same since Father died, has he, Charlotte?” Eleanor’s voice had gone rather quiet. “Alec never said anything to us, of course,” she said, addressing Lily and Delia now, “but I believe some rather appalling financial difficulties accompanied the title.”

“I overheard Lady Connelly say Father would have ruined the Sutherlands,” Charlotte said.

“Lady Connelly again!” Eleanor’s voice was scathing. “She certainly has plenty to say, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” Charlotte replied. “And none of it is pleasant.”

“Did your father gamble?” Lily hesitated. “Keep, ah, mistresses?” She stumbled a little on the last word.

“Lily!” Delia cried, appalled she’d ask such a question.

“It’s all right, Delia,” Charlotte said. “No, Lily, father didn’t gamble or keep a mistress. Not that we know of anyway.”

Eleanor waved this away with a flick of her fingers, as though it were unthinkable. “If the gossip can be believed, he made bad investments. I’m not sure of the details, though I believe he considered most business ventures beneath his dignity.”

“Well, Alec has as much family pride as Father did, but apparently he has as much interest in profit as dignity. I’ve heard it whispered among the ton he’s utterly ruthless. Not unscrupulous, of course. Well, not entirely,” Charlotte added, reconsidering.

Delia thought of his cold black eyes when he’d discovered her on the road yesterday, and a nasty shiver darted down her spine. It was easy to believe Lord Carlisle was ruthless. “Does Lady Connelly approve of this?” she asked archly, attempting to shake off her uneasiness.

Her companions laughed. “Indeed,” Eleanor replied. “Let us by all means seek Lady Connelly’s approval!”

There was a brief silence; then Eleanor laughed again. “Do you remember when Alec collected all of the small statuary from the house and built an obstacle course, Charlotte? We ran races until Alec cracked Bacchus’s wine chalice with the heel of his boot. We had to hide the statue behind the large rose arbor. It’s still there, you know.”

Charlotte smiled. “There was that little foal, too. Do you remember, Eleanor? The poor thing was born sickly,” she said for Delia and Lily’s benefit. “Small, too. Father wanted to have her shot, but Alec fed her by hand and walked and groomed her until she grew strong and healthy. He spent every day that summer in the barn with that foal. He named her Athena.”

“I remember. Alec was such fun back then!” Eleanor frowned. “I doubt he will recover his good humor once he’s married. Lady Lisette isn’t the sort who enjoys playful antics. There will be no oat-sowing for Alec once he’s married to her.”

“Married!” Delia bit her tongue for all she was worth, but nothing could keep that shocked exclamation from escaping her mouth. She came to an abrupt halt and turned to stare at Eleanor, a torrent of questions frozen on her lips.

“Is Lord Carlisle engaged?” Lily asked.

“There is no official proposal yet,” Eleanor said. “But he’s courting Lady Lisette Cecil. We expect them to be engaged by the end of the house party.”

“But that’s not—” Delia began.

“Oh, look, Delia and Lily!” Charlotte interrupted, pointing. “Is this not the perfect place to sketch?”

Delia pressed her lips together for a moment, then turned to Charlotte. “It’s lovely, Charlotte.” She gave her friend a wan smile.

What else could she say? That it wasn’t possible for Lord Carlisle to be engaged because he’d been debauching a young woman from the village just yesterday? It was more than possible. It was probable. Charlotte was right. Gentlemen of the ton regularly kept mistresses. Why should a trifling thing like an engagement, or indeed a marriage, interfere with a gentleman’s pleasures? Delia felt a surge of pity for this Lady Lisette, whoever she was. Eleanor’s lip had curled with distaste when she’d said the lady’s name, but to be shackled to such a husband? No woman deserved such a fate.

“Shall we stop here?” Eleanor asked. “The prospect is beautiful. We have a perfect view of the folly and down the lawn to the lake.”

The ladies agreed and James spread out the picnic blanket for them. Delia accepted her sketching supplies from him and took up a perch on the blanket. She turned to a blank page in her book and attempted to focus on the picturesque view in front of her.

The folly was charming, small and dainty, like a doll’s toy. The lake was visible just beyond it, flashing in the sun and winding gracefully through the trees like a length of blue satin ribbon. Her companions fell silent, each absorbed in creating a masterpiece. The only sound was the faint scrape of pencils against paper.

Delia gripped her own pencil in her fingers and stared blindly ahead, her hand motionless on the page. How could she focus on her sketch when a libertine like the Earl of Carlisle roamed the estate like a hungry tiger among timid gazelles?

One of the few advantages of social inferiority was invisibility, drat it. She shouldn’t have to feel like a gazelle. She should feel like a chameleon or another one of those odd little lizards that lived in Africa. She’d read all about how they could change color with their environment. So why did she feel hunted, as if Lord Carlisle were ready to snap her fragile bones between his greedy jaws?

Delia placed the tip of her pencil against her paper and began to sketch a series of delicate vertical lines. Before long the slender legs of a gazelle emerged in the center of her page.

She couldn’t shake the suspicion he’d been hoping to catch her alone this morning. It was too coincidental he’d appear in the exact same place not five minutes after she left the manor for her walk. Had he been waiting for her?

Delia made a few more quick strokes on the page. Her gazelle now had a face, a bow around its slender neck, and a lush meadow under its feet, but it still didn’t look pleased. It looked nervous, as if it expected a predator to pounce upon it at any moment.

Then Lord Carlisle had been so determined to walk with her! And not just talk to her, but flirt with her. Oh, she may be innocent by ton standards, but she knew when a gentleman was flirting with her, especially when he did it as audaciously as Lord Carlisle had. He’d asked her to comment on his parts, for heaven’s sake. He’d stared into her eyes as if he could drown in their depths. It was ridiculous.

Delia clutched at her pencil as she remembered. Ah, now she could see why the gazelle was so nervous. The poor thing. A fiendish predator had crept up behind her. This hideous creature looked like a man, with a man’s body and a man’s face and distinctive wavy dark hair, but it had a tiger’s claws and hideous razor-sharp teeth in its gaping mouth.

It wasn’t just the flirting, though. Gentlemen flirted. It meant nothing—even less than nothing with a man of Lord Carlisle’s ilk. No, it was the way he’d seemed to relish the idea of the ton reviving the old gossip about her mother. Why should that please him when his own mother was a player in that ugly little drama? Then he’d seemed downright gleeful to find she so strongly resembled her mother. What difference should it make to him?

Delia ran her pencil furiously across the page. The horrid tiger man had crept up behind the gazelle now, a frightening leer on his face. The awful paws with their jagged claws were mere inches from her neck, poised for attack.

Was it, as he’d said, that he found house parties a bore, and the gossip would prove entertaining? Of course, a spoiled aristocrat like Lord Carlisle would be accustomed to being entertained at all times. Hadn’t he said something about chess?

Delia moved to a blank section of her page and drew a chessboard. A white queen faced off against a black king across the checkered expanse. The king was leering in much the same manner as the tiger man.

Well, a ruthless man like Lord Carlisle would appreciate chess, wouldn’t he? Even his own sisters admitted he was ruthless, and from what Delia could tell, they didn’t know about even a fraction of his sins. They thought Robyn was wicked! She’d been a little shocked to hear of Robyn’s antics, but they paled in comparison to Lord Carlisle frolicking in the woods with one woman while he was as good as engaged to another.

Delia supposed his affianced bride was the belle of her season. Nothing less would do for Lord Carlisle, she was sure. Charlotte and Eleanor had said he had as much family pride as their father had, if fewer scruples.

The pencil skittered down to the bottom left corner of the page. Delia drew a huge black horse rearing back, its enormous hooves pawing at the air. The horse was attached to a shiny black lacquered traveling coach with the Carlisle crest emblazoned on the door. The carriage had a broken axle.

Delia stopped sketching and studied her page. A quiet laugh escaped her. Oh, it was a sketch worthy of Rowlandson himself! She’d have to burn it, of course, since the dreadful tiger bore far too recognizable a resemblance to Lord Carlisle.

She was busily adding a bushy tiger’s tail when all at once her amusement turned to uneasiness. She stared at the tiger and the gazelle. Something was wrong …

Her eyes darted over the chessboard with the battling queen and king, down to the sketch of the horse and carriage and then back to the center of the page. The gazelle stood trembling in the middle of her meadow, the man tiger approaching her menacingly from behind. Delia drew a box around them, like a frame around a picture.

Suddenly all of the blood drained from her face. Oh, no. It couldn’t be! Gentlemen of the ton were idle, vain, and selfish, but even Lord Carlisle couldn’t be as wicked as that—

“May I see your sketch, Delia?” Lily had laid aside her own sketchbook and was holding out her hand for Delia’s, a sweet smile on her face.

Delia slammed her sketchbook closed. “No!” Her voice was a shriek, and she slapped her hand over the cover of the book protectively.

Lily stared at her. “Whatever is the matter, Delia?” She started to rise to her feet.

“Nothing!” Delia squeaked. Making an enormous effort to remain calm and lower her voice, she said, “Nothing is the matter, Lily. I’m only embarrassed because I haven’t gotten very far with my sketch.”

Lily settled back onto her corner of the blanket. “Very well,” she replied after a moment. “You don’t have to show me.” She eyed her sister with concern. “Are you tired from yesterday, dear?”

Delia nodded, relieved to have an excuse for her bizarre behavior. “Yes. I believe I am, Lily. I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Charlotte closed her sketchbook and stretched her arms over her head. “I’ve exhausted my artistic inspiration for today. Shall we return to the house for luncheon? I believe I’ll have a nap and a bath before the dinner party this evening.”

“Yes, I am for the house, as well,” Eleanor said. She closed her own book and rose from the blanket.

“Are you coming, Delia?” Lily asked.

“No. Not yet. You go on without me.” Delia pasted a smile on her face. “I believe I’ll take a few more minutes and see if I can’t finish my sketch.”

“Don’t stay too long,” Lily said. “I think you need a nap before dinner, as well.”

“I won’t. I do feel rather weary,” Delia said meekly, trying to look exhausted.

She didn’t open her sketchbook again until the others were out of sight; then she raised the cover carefully, as if the tiger man were lying in wait for his chance to leap from the page and sink his deadly claws into her neck.

Then again, it wasn’t her neck she needed to worry about. It was her virtue and her reputation in danger of being torn to bits.

It was as clear as the page in front of her. Lord Carlisle was going to attempt to seduce her. Not because he desired her, of course, but to amuse himself and put the Somerset family in their place once and for all. It would be nothing at all to him to ruin an innocent for sport, and what better way to relieve his boredom than to add a final chapter to the scandalous tale of Millicent Chase and Hart Sutherland? Wasn’t it fortunate for him she looked so much like her mother? It added just the right finishing touch to his fiendish scheme.

Her mother. For one horrible moment Delia felt so alone tears gathered behind her eyes, but then she was gripped by a surge of fury so intense she had to struggle to catch her breath. She frowned at her sketch, the tears evaporating along with all the pity she’d felt earlier for the delicate gazelle. Was the foolish thing just going to stand there, a useless bow about its neck, while a predator threatened to devour her?

She’d be damned if she’d be the gazelle in this scenario.

An awful, foolish, delightful plan was taking shape in her head. It was a mad scheme, and Delia had promised Lily she’d be the soul of propriety for the duration of the house party. Now here she was, letting her temper lead her into just the kind of mischief that would infuriate her sister.

But then, Lily didn’t have to know, did she? What difference did one more secret make?

No, no, no. She’d best put it out of her mind. It was reckless in the extreme to play games with Lord Carlisle. He was an earl, for goodness’ sake, and he was her host, so she was technically under his protection at the moment. He was also haughty, arrogant, and dismissive—not a man who’d take kindly to being toyed with.

But that was exactly what made it so irresistible. The great Lord Carlisle, bested at his own game! How satisfying it would be to show him that even an aristocrat with wealth and a title could be humbled, and by an insignificant girl from some obscure village in Surrey, no less! Oh, it was too delicious.

“Am I late?” a deep male voice asked.

A shadow fell across her sketchbook and Delia’s heart leapt into her throat. “Oh!” She closed her sketchbook and scrambled to her feet.

“I apologize, Miss Somerset. I didn’t mean to startle you. Where have the others gone? I thought we were having a sketching party?”

Delia smiled up at Robyn Sutherland, relief weakening her knees for a moment. “We are. That is, we were. It’s been hours. The others returned to the house to rest before dinner. I’m just about to return myself.”

“Ah. I see.” Robyn shook his head with mock regret. “I’m afraid my sketching will never improve at this rate.”

Delia looked into his twinkling black eyes and couldn’t help but return his crooked grin. Perhaps Robyn Sutherland was a little wicked, but he was also so pleasant and charming it was impossible not to like him. “No, I’m afraid it won’t. I’m sorry for it, Mr. Sutherland. A gentleman who can’t sketch is shocking indeed.”

“At least let me escort you back to the house. It will be a kindness on your part to save me from utter disgrace.” He held out his hand to carry her sketchbook.

Delia hesitated briefly, but then handed over the book.

“May I take you through some of the formal gardens close to the house on the way back?” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “It’s too early for the roses to be in full bloom, but it’s still a pleasant walk.”

“By all means,” Delia said. “I would be delighted.”