Alyssa stood at the top of the stairs overlooking the Plinkton ball and looked down at the hostile glares staring up at her. One by one, couples in attendance gave her their backs. Alyssa knew it was going to happen. She was prepared to see it, but that didn’t make it any easier to live through.

Yet, what choice did she have. Especially if she wanted to make a place for Elizabeth. More importantly, if she wanted to prove that she wasn’t guilty of her husband’s death.

She let her gaze take in the crush at the Plinkton ball, then slowly descended the stairs. Lady Plinkton wasn’t there to greet her, but Alyssa didn’t expect her to be.

The orchestra was playing and at least tonight they didn’t stop their tune when she arrived. Alyssa thought that was a good sign. An indication of progress.

Alyssa would have loved to have hidden behind one of the huge potted plants decorating the ballroom, but that wouldn’t have shown Society that she didn’t fear them. That she was more determined than they gave her credit for being.

The Duke of Townsend stood on the opposite side of the ballroom. She knew he’d be here. Knew he wouldn’t let her go through this alone, but she couldn’t allow him to come to her rescue yet. She had to let Society know that she intended to face them on her own, without the help of one of the most powerful men in England.

His Grace kept his eyes focused on her, then shifted as if he intended to approach her. Alyssa locked her gaze with his and gave a slight shake of her head. He understood her meaning and turned back and continued his conversation.

Alyssa walked through the ballroom, keeping mainly to the sides where few people were gathered. When she had no choice but to walk near a group of couples conversing privately, she paid no attention to them when they gave her their backs, but continued as if she hadn’t noticed their slight.

She’d made a complete round of the ballroom and stopped at a refreshment table in a small alcove. She’d endured as much as she could for the moment. She needed a place where she could be by herself for a while, a secluded corner where she could compose herself so she could brave the cruel comments she knew were yet to come.

She saw just such a spot near the refreshment table. She accepted a flute of champagne, then forced her feet to move slowly enough that it didn’t appear she was running away. She couldn’t wait to escape to the safe haven.

She had to remind herself to drink slowly, and not drain the contents of the glass in one swallow. She hadn’t yet taken her first sip when a familiar voice stopped her.

“One would think it would be obvious to even the most thickheaded person to realize when one isn’t welcome among polite Society,” a shrill voice said.

Alyssa didn’t turn to see who had spoken. She didn’t need to. The voice belonged to the Countess of Crumbcoat, one of Society’s most vicious gossips.

Nor did Alyssa have to wonder who the intended victim of her cruel remarks was. She didn’t turn to see to whom Lady Crumbcoat was speaking. Her companions would be the Marchioness of Ruskins, and the Duchess of Waitfort. Where you found one, you almost always found the three. The only one missing was the late Duchess of Townsend. Until her death, the quartet of vicious gossipmongers had ruined more innocents than anyone in Society could keep count of, and the Duchess of Townsend had led the pack.

Unfortunately, the trio didn’t seem to miss the instigator of their vile attacks, but continued in fine form without her. It appeared as if tonight, Alyssa was to be the focus of their attacks.

“Not only should certain people not be allowed to associate with their betters, but they should be locked behind bars for the crime they committed.”

The high pitched voice belonging to the Duchess of Waitfort was impossible to miss.

“Everyone knows she is a murderer. Enough of us witnessed the argument she had with her husband that night to know she undoubtedly killed him.”

This accusation came from the Marchioness of Ruskins.

“She should be in prison because of what she did. Or worse.”

This affirmation of guilt was a decree stated by the duchess.

Alyssa didn’t think their words would hurt as much as they did. She’d heard them before. Knew that Society believed she was responsible for Kendrick’s death. Knew when half of Society witnessed their argument, they’d think she was somehow responsible for his death.

The glass in her hand felt as if it weighed as much as the nearby marble statue that stood a short distance from her. Alyssa held the crystal with both hands to keep the liquid from sloshing over the rim as her hands shook.

She’d thought she could do this. Believed she was strong enough to stand up to the wagging tongues and the vicious accusations, but she’d been wrong. Hearing the allegations hurt too much. Knowing that the people she used to consider her friends now detested her was more than she could bear. Knowing the people she and Kendrick had invited into their home had turned their backs on her gnawed away at her insides.

She lifted the glass in trembling hands and took a swallow of the tepid liquid. The expensive champagne had lost its exquisiteness. The usually bubbly liquid tasted stale and flat.

“How such a depraved person has the nerve to show her face in—” Lady Ruskins stopped mid-sentence.

Alyssa lifted her chin and found herself looking into the warm, friendly face of the Duke of Townsend.

“Lady Lindleigh. I see you thought to quench your thirst with a glass of Lord Plinkton’s excellent champagne. I had the same idea myself.” His Grace took a glass from the tray of the nearest footman. “Excellent,” he said when he’d taken a swallow. “Don’t you think?”

She forced a smile to her face. She hoped he didn’t see how the glass in her hands trembled. “Yes, Your Grace. Excellent.”

“Your Grace,” Lady Crumbcoat interrupted. “Surely you don’t intend to associate with—”

The duke’s raised hand stopped her. “Hold your viperous tongue, woman.”

The Countess of Crumbcoat gasped in affront. Her gasp was echoed by shocked huffs from Lady Ruskins and the Duchess of Waitfort. Their anger was obvious. His Grace, however, ignored them and turned. He gave the three women his back.

Alyssa heard a chorus of louder gasps. His slight hadn’t been misinterpreted.

“Have you been enjoying yourself?” His Grace asked her. He didn’t shift his knowing gaze from her face.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she lied.

“I’m glad to hear it. I feared that perhaps certain of those in attendance might have been so offensive as to make comments that were not pleasant. I know my late wife and her friends often showed a malicious lack of decorum. But then, they were known to be a viperous group that enjoyed nothing more than denigrating and defaming.”

Alyssa opened her mouth to utter a response, but she could think of nothing that was adequate.

“I truly think they are small-minded enough to believe that by belittling others they improve their own standing. Little do they know how truly petty and disgusting it makes them. They really are a nasty lot.”

Alyssa heard the chorus of gasps, followed by the rustling of skirts as the trio of vipers stormed away from them.

“I’m afraid you may have done irreparable damage to your reputation, Your Grace. That was surely not the way to ingratiate yourself to the duchess and her minions.”

Alyssa struggled to keep a smile from her face.

“Do you think their admiration is such a loss?”

Alyssa shook her head, then offered His Grace a smile that was far from relaxed.

“I came to ask you for a dance, but I’m not sure I’m in the mood to dance any longer. I think I prefer to step outside for a breath of fresh air. Would you care to join me?”

“I’d be most grateful,” Alyssa answered him, placing her hand on his extended arm. Every eye in the ballroom remained fixed on them as they made their way across the crowded room. They walked toward the open French doors, then out into the cool nighttime air.

Alyssa stayed close to His Grace. He suddenly seemed like the only safe harbor in the storm her life had become. He suddenly seemed larger than life. Someone who occupied the empty place in her heart she never intended to fill again. A heart she never planned to give to anyone again.

And Alyssa realized it was already too late.

She’d already risked her heart.

Edward stepped onto the terrace with Alyssa at his side, but didn’t stop where they were in view of the people on the other side of the open doors, or windows without drapery. Instead, he tucked her arm through the bend of his elbow and proceeded down the three steps that led to the garden. Once there, he slowly walked with her over the cobblestone path that wound around beds of flowering bushes and shrubs.

From the trembling of her body pressed against his side, it was obvious that she needed to be far away from the prying eyes and vicious tongues of their peers.

Although the lady at his side was one of the bravest women he’d ever met, facing the dragons inside had almost been her undoing. He’d crossed the room to reach her the moment he realized that Ernesta’s cronies had honed in on her. But he hadn’t managed to arrive in time to protect her from the brunt of their accusations. From the paleness of her features, it was obvious that they’d already done their damage.

He detested the way they’d attacked her. Knew that if Ernesta were still alive, she would have led the charge. He wondered how often his wife had done that very thing before, and he hadn’t realized it. Wondered how many other innocent females her group had intentionally belittled.

That awareness repulsed him. It made him wonder for the thousandth time how he could have failed to comprehend how evil she was.

He kept Lady Lindleigh close to his side. He wanted to protect her. Felt the need to shield her from the evil that was in the world.

There was a goodness about her, a goodness that reminded him of the kindness and decency his first wife, Rebecca, had possessed. And yet, Lady Lindleigh was completely different than Rebecca had been.

Lady Lindleigh was emotionally stronger, although perhaps that could be attributed to age. Or to experience. No one who’d gone through what she had could be any different.

Edward hated to admit it, but he was intrigued by her like he never thought he’d be captivated by a woman again. Not after Ernesta.

“You don’t have to endure this,” he said as they walked down the moonlit path.

“You mean I have the option of hiding away until Society no longer believes I murdered my husband? Or until they forget that they witnessed Kendrick and I arguing earlier that evening? Or that it was only a few hours later that he fell to his death and the world believes I was the only person at home at the time?”

“I am not suggesting that you stay in seclusion forever. Only until we discover who broke into your home that night, and who your husband fought.”

She stopped and the moonlight showered her in a halo of a thousand glittering moonbeams. Her honey-colored hair glistened in its brightness. Edward forced his hands to remain where they were and not reach out to touch her.

“I don’t have the luxury of hiding until Society forgets,” she said. “Elizabeth’s future is at stake. What chance does she have to meet someone and make a good match if Society has made her mother a pariah?”

She turned her gaze, but not before he saw the glimmer of wetness in her eyes. The pain it evidenced affected him more than he wanted. Before he could consider the ramifications of his actions, he turned her toward him, and brought her close.

She came willingly.

Edward wrapped his arms around her and held her. For several long moments, they stood locked in each other’s arms.

A myriad of emotions surged through him, from amazement, to contentment, to disbelief, to something that bordered on desire. It had been so long since he’d desired a woman. He thought perhaps he never would again.

Surely he was past wanting…no, needing a female’s companionship? Except, that’s not what his body told him.

He was convinced that Ernesta’s betrayal had destroyed his body’s cry for intimacy. Yet, the woman in his arms had awakened emotions he thought were long dead.

He lifted his chin from where it rested on the top of her head and she slowly tipped her face upward. Her gaze locked with his.

The moon was full and bright. The glimmering moonbeams bathed her features in an ethereal light. If Edward had to describe the face of an angel, he knew the heavenly being would look exactly like the woman in his arms.

Before he could consider his actions, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Their kiss wasn’t the impassioned exchange they might have shared in their youth, but a gentle contact, an introductory connection that made no demands. That required nothing further. It was simply the enjoyable melding of lips to give momentary pleasure. That was all he would allow it to be. Except…

Edward deepened his kiss. He tilted his head to gain better access to her lips, and she accepted his demand. Her lips pressed against his with an eagerness that pleased him. With a willingness that fed his desires.

He opened his mouth atop hers and she followed his lead.

He tightened his hold and brought her more firmly against him. She came freely. Her hands slid up the front of his coat, over his shoulders, and around his neck. And he deepened his kiss even more.

The passion he felt was building to an unbearable level, to a point more intense than he’d be able to control if he allowed their desire to continue. Yet, a part of him was unwilling for this experience to end. And it no doubt wouldn’t have if his mind hadn’t registered the sound of voices not far away.

The voices grew louder as the intruders came closer.

Edward ended their kiss, but he didn’t release her. He kept her in his arms because he was loath to let her go. Because she sagged against him as if her legs weren’t steady enough to hold her.

“Oh,” she sighed, and he pressed his finger to her lips to silence her. When she nodded her understanding, he hooked her arm through the bend of his elbow, and led her further down the path, away from the voices.

“We should go in,” he said as they made their circumspect way back to the house.

She nodded, then dropped her hand from his arm and stopped. He stopped, too.

“That can never happen again, Your Grace.”

He nodded. “You’re right, of course. I apologize. I apologize for my actions. You have my word that nothing like that will happen again.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Except the tone of her voice indicated she wasn’t sure she was pleased that he’d agreed never to kiss her again. Or that he’d agreed so soundly.

And when he took a moment to think about it, he was damn sure he wasn’t pleased that he’d made such a promise.

Nor was he sure he could keep his word.