During the remainder of the picnic and the fortnight that followed it, Clara played the role she’d agreed upon. At every social function to which she and Rex were both invited, she greeted his attentions with the polite tolerance she’d promised, but nothing more.

As for Rex, he became the quintessential gentlemanly suitor, interested but not too interested. He sent his next two columns to her office through the post, for as he explained on one of the rare occasions when they could manage a private word, if he came to her office every Thursday on Lady Truelove’s behalf, the members of her staff were sure to suspect the truth. And though he occasionally called on her at the duke’s house, with Carlotta hovering as a proper chaperone should, slipping her a letter of any sort would have been impossible.

His interest in her was duly noted by society, as was her indifference to him, and not only did it give the gossip columnists a great deal of amusement at his expense, it also succeeded in drawing the notice of other men, just as he’d predicted it would.

Clara, who hadn’t really believed him on that score, was rather taken aback when several young men, as well as the members of their families, began calling on her. Unprepared, she found it hard to manage the newfound attention, but she resisted the urge to withdraw back into her shy shell.

She did her best to apply the advice Rex had given the Devastated Debutante to her own situation, and she was amazed to discover that though she might not be as beautiful as her sister, she did have certain powers of attraction. And though she stammered her way awkwardly through quite a few conversations, she soon learned the art of making fun of her own stammering tongue. In every conversation, she strove to set aside her self-consciousness, and she worked hard to make every person she spoke with feel at ease in her company. Slowly, gradually, she grew more comfortable with attention, began to relax, and gained a measure of confidence that she’d never possessed before. For the first time since she entered society, she began to truly enjoy herself.

But it was in early June, at her second ball of the season, when Clara realized just how much society’s view of her had changed. She’d barely greeted her hosts and entered the ballroom before one of the many young men she’d met during the past two weeks approached her and asked for his name to be placed on her dance card. He’d barely departed before there was another, and then another, and within fifteen minutes her dance card was nearly full.

“Heavens, Clara,” Sarah said, laughing. “You are the belle of the ball this evening.”

Astonished, pleased, and more than a little bemused, Clara glanced over the names on the card attached to her wrist. “It must be the dress,” she said, making her friends laugh even though she’d only been half joking.

“If it is the dress,” Angela put in, “then I definitely deserve some credit.”

“You?” Sarah made a sound of derision. “I’m the one who advised her to pick the rose-pink silk at Vivienne because pink’s her best color.”

“Yes,” Angela responded at once, “but I’m the one who advised her to lower the neckline.”

“Only because we read in in Lady Truelove.”

As her sisters-in-law debated the issue, Clara glanced down, dubious. Low neckline or no, she doubted her less-than-impressive bust was the reason for her recent social success, and when she looked up again, she knew it for a fact, because standing only a few feet away was the real reason.

He was watching her, his face grave, hands in the trouser pockets of his evening suit and one shoulder propped against a marble column. Windblown, rakish, a modern Adonis come to earth, and her breath caught in her throat.

Perceiving her gaze on him, Rex straightened away from the column and came toward her. “Good evening, ladies,” he greeted with a bow. “I’d have stepped forward sooner, but I was waiting for the crowd to clear. I thought I might be trampled.”

Stifled giggles from her companions greeted this declaration, and then, somehow, Angela and Sarah were gone, and she and Galbraith were alone.

“I hope I didn’t wait too long to ask to be added to your dance card?” he said. “You’ve been surrounded ever since you arrived, penciling in name after name.”

“I have, haven’t I?” She laughed. “Heavens. How astonishing.”

“Very,” he agreed, his mouth curving at one corner. “Who’d ever have predicted such a thing?”

She made a face at him. “You were right,” she conceded. “Is that why you came over here? To gloat?”

“Not at all. I told you why I came.” He nodded, to the card dangling from her wrist. “Unless I’m too late?”

“I have a few places left.” She caught up her dance card and glanced over it. “I still have the Roger de Coverley, two quadrilles, a mazurka—”

“Not a mazurka,” he cut in. “Those are dangerous.”

The memory of their conversation the first time they’d danced together made her smile, and when she looked up, she found that he was smiling, too. “And do you have nefarious intentions?” she asked, putting on a frown of mock disapproval.

“Always.” It was a rake’s answer, careless and glib, and for some reason, it hurt.

She returned her attention to her dance card. “I have one waltz left, too, if . . .” She paused, her voice suddenly failing as she thought of being in his arms again. It was only a dance, in full view of everyone, not an intimate embrace on a settee, but that distinction didn’t seem to matter, for at the thought of it, heat flooded her body and all her newfound poise started dissolving. Her gloved fingers tightened around the pencil and card as that old familiar shyness pressed her chest, but she made herself to finish what she’d intended to say. “I have one w . . . waltz left . . . if . . . if you w . . . want it.”

He didn’t answer, and when she looked up, his faint smile was gone, but his eyes were as blue as the sea. “I want it, Clara.”

She inhaled sharply as her heart slammed against her ribs with painful force, and she looked away again. She reached for the little pencil tied to her wrist, but when she glanced over her card to find the place to put his name, she couldn’t help being amazed anew at how few lines were blank.

“It is astonishing, you know,” she confessed softly, staring down at the list of penciled names. “At least to me. I’ve never had a dance card before.” She looked up with a laugh. “Never needed one before.”

He didn’t laugh with her.

“It’s because of you, you know,” she blurted out, nodding to the card in her fingers. “All this.”

His mouth tightened. “No, it isn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Every rose blooms at some point, Clara. I just happened to be here when it happened to you.”

He spoke again before she could reply. “Best put my name down,” he advised. “Otherwise, you might forget, and if some other chap steals my waltz, I shall demand pistols at dawn.”

He bowed and walked away, and as she watched his broad-shouldered frame meld into the crowd, she knew he was wrong. She was only blooming now because of him, because of what she saw in his eyes when he looked at her, and what she heard in his voice when he said her name, and what she’d felt that glorious afternoon when he kissed her. He had awakened things in her that she’d never felt in her life, things she’d never known existed. If she was the rose, he was the sun and spring rain that had lifted her out of a lifetime of winter.

Maybe that, she thought, was what rakes were for.

In Clara’s case, a rake’s kiss might have inspired her to bloom like a rose, but only an hour later, she discovered that not every rose was the same.

Having just made use of the lavatory, she was still in the water closet, adjusting her skirts, when she heard the outer door open and two women came into the ladies’ withdrawing room, one of them clearly in great distress.

“I can’t believe he’s here,” she sobbed. “Oh, Nan, it was awful.”

“Now, now, everything will be all right. Just sit down here and catch your breath.” There was a pause as the door was closed. “Seeing him must have been a terrible shock.”

“It was! I haven’t seen him, you know, since I broke things off, and I felt as if I’d been struck by an omnibus.”

Clara bit her lip, acutely aware that this was the second time in a month she’d been privy to a confidential conversation. Deciding it was best if she exited and made her presence known to the other two women as quickly as possible, she finished settling her skirts, but when she turned to open the door of the water closet, the woman called Nan spoke again, stopping Clara in her tracks.

“But what is Lionel even doing here?”

Clara froze, hand on the doorknob.

“I don’t know,” the first woman sobbed. “And given that he’s made no effort to speak to me, I shouldn’t even care why. But I do care,” she added on another sob.

The woman called Nan gave a cry of sympathy. “Oh, Dina, my dear.”

At the sound of that name, Clara’s hand fell away from the doorknob, and she stayed right where she was, listening for all she was worth.

“This is a charity ball,” Dina said with tearful indignation. “Lionel never attends public balls. How dare he come here?”

“He’s such a cad. Handkerchief?”

“Thank you.” Dina sniffed. “I suppose it’s just one of those cruel twists of fate.”

“Or perhaps he knew you’d be here. As you said, he never comes to these charity affairs, and you are on the committee.”

“Do you think he may have come to make up our quarrel?” There was so much hope in Dina’s voice that Clara’s heart twisted with renewed compassion.

“It’s possible. But of course, it may also be that it’s sheer coincidence. Not everyone bothers to read the list of sponsors before purchasing vouchers. And anyway . . .” She hesitated, then said, “Don’t be offended, darling, if I ask this question, but do you really want him back? I mean, you were the one to break things off.”

“Oh, he deserved it! When he gave me that ridiculous speech, it was so much like Lady Truelove’s column, it was uncanny.”

Not really, Clara thought with a grimace.

“Why, I felt as if Lady Truelove was almost talking to me,” Dina continued, “instead of to that other poor girl. I knew just what Lionel was trying to do, the scoundrel.”

“Well, I think you were quite right to call his bluff.”

“Was I?” She gave a sob. “Now that I’ve seen him again, I’m not so sure.”

“Oh, my dear!”

There was a momentary pause, probably for a comforting hug, and then Dina said, “I knew I was getting into deep waters when I told him I loved him. I never should have said it first!”

“A woman should never say it first. Have another handkerchief.”

“It just came spilling out. And when he said he loved me, too, of course I thought that settled it, and we’d marry. That’s what people are supposed to do when they love each other, isn’t it?”

Dina’s starting to feel guilty.

Rex’s words from that afternoon in her office came echoing back, and Clara wondered just how large a part guilt had played in the other woman’s decisions and actions. Perhaps more, she was forced to concede, than she had first thought.

They’ve known each other a month. Do you really think they are in any position to commit to each other for the rest of their lives?

“Well, yes,” Nan said, her voice intruding on Clara’s memories of her debate with Rex a few weeks earlier. “Getting married is the customary choice. But it’s not as if it’s required, not for the two of you. You’re a widow, so if you’re discreet, and take the proper precautions, of course, there’s no reason you can’t just pick up where you left off, is there? There are risks, of course, but you know that already—”

“But that’s just it,” Dina cut in, “I don’t want to go back to that. Oh, it was all right at first, terribly exciting, and such wicked fun. But it’s all different now. I love him.”

“Do you truly want to marry him, then?”

“I don’t know! When he said he loved me, I was sure he meant it, but after that ridiculous speech, how can I ever believe he was telling the truth? After he tried to pull the wool over my eyes, how could I ever trust him? If I hadn’t read Lady Truelove that very afternoon, I might have fallen for it, too! But Lady Trulove was right to say, ‘When a man declares his love, he should be prepared to demonstrate it by an honorable courtship.’ Oh, Nan, that’s not too much to ask, is it?”

Of course not, Clara answered silently, her sympathy for the other woman deepening, along with her sense of responsibility. Surely something could be done to make Lionel step up and behave honorably.

“Still,” Dina said, sniffing, “I doubt it matters, since it’s clear he’s not willing to do the right thing.”

“Do you want to leave?” her friend asked. “Shall I have them fetch the carriage?”

“Run away like a rabbit? Never. I’m all right now, and I have no intention of leaving just because he’s here. Let’s go back—no, wait. Do I look a fright?”

“Not too bad, but . . . here. Put on a bit of my face powder. It’s wonderful stuff. A few dabs of that, and no one will know you’ve been crying.”

The face powder must have done the trick, for a few seconds later, Dina gave a deep sigh and said, “Oh, that’s better. I feel myself again.”

“If Lionel does approach you, what will you say?”

“If he’s not willing to court me in an honorable fashion, there’s nothing to say.”

That sound observation was punctuated by a decisive slam of the door. Clara waited a few moments, but when she heard nothing further, she emerged from the water closet to find herself alone in the withdrawing room, except for the maid in attendance.

Clara paused before one of the pink marble washstands, considering the situation as she washed her hands. The conversation of the other two women made it clear Dina was still in love with Lionel, and that what she wanted was demonstrable proof he could be trusted with her heart and her future before she decided to marry him. Rex had admitted that Lionel loved Dina, but that he just wasn’t sure they knew each other well enough to wed. If that was still the case, perhaps something could be done to bring these two people back together. If that was to happen, however, she and Rex would have to be the ones to make it come about, since the other two were far too proud and hurt to do it themselves. And, besides, she and Rex had been the ones responsible for tearing the two lovers apart in the first place.

A short while later, however, when Rex claimed his waltz with her, he didn’t seem to share her point of view.

“Is eavesdropping on conversations something you do with everyone?” he asked as they swirled across the ballroom floor. “Or just my friends?”

“Do be serious. She’s devastated, Rex.”

“Possibly. Or she sees that he’s out about town again, having fun, and she regrets tossing him aside.”

“Dog in the manger? I don’t think that’s it at all. I think she really is heartbroken, and bewildered that he’s not willing to do right by her.”

“Perhaps. Either way, what’s it to do with us?”

“We caused it. Yes, we,” she emphasized when one of his brows lifted in a sardonic curve. “Isn’t there something we can do?”

“I think we’ve both done enough already, don’t you?”

“We broke them apart. Can’t we reunite them?”

He shrugged. “To what end?”

“Honorable courtship, of course. And,” she added firmly as he groaned, “a view to matrimony.”

“A view aspired to by no sane man, ever. And Lionel, I assure you, is quite sane. He asked for my advice to avoid matrimony, remember?”

“You could persuade him.”

“Send a man to hell before he’s even dead?” Rex quipped. “Why would I do that?”

“You said you’re not against marriage for everyone,” she reminded.

“I support it for my friends only if they are sure it’s what they want, and a month isn’t long enough for anyone to be sure.”

“It’s nearly two months now.”

“During which time, they’ve not seen each other, as your account of Dina’s conversation with her friend makes clear. And,” he added before she could reply, “even if I were willing to try bringing them back where they were, I’d have little opportunity, since—as you may have noticed—Lionel is still not speaking to me.”

“All the more reason for us to do something, then. What better way to regain his goodwill than to reunite him with the woman he loves?”

He muttered an oath, then sighed. “I assume you have a plan in mind to achieve this miracle?”

“You had a plan already, remember? Is your friend a man of discretion? If I did what you first asked me to do, if I explained to him what really happened, could he be persuaded to keep my secret?”

“Since his entire reason for being so angry with me is my supposed lack of discretion, he’s hardly the sort to tell tales himself. If you told him about Lady Truelove and asked him to keep it to himself, he wouldn’t breathe a word. But at this point, he’d never believe you. It’s known now that I’m paying you my addresses, and I’m sure he’s more convinced than ever that I gossiped to you, and that you used that gossip as fodder for the column. How could he ever be made to think otherwise?”

“By the fact that you’d never court me if I had used you so despicably?”

“There’s something in that, I suppose. But you’ll have to sound very convincing when you explain to him what really happened.”

“It’s not hard to sound convincing if one’s telling the truth.”

“It won’t all be true. For I assume you’re not going to tell him I’m writing the thing now.”

“Heavens, no. That would confirm all his worst suspicions even more strongly. I shall let it be assumed I’m still Lady Truelove. Well?” she prompted when he didn’t reply. “Will you help?”

“I’d be very glad for him to know what really happened, and even more glad if it succeeds in mending our quarrel. But as for the rest, I’m not sure it’s right to interfere.”

“Well, that’s the thing about giving advice. You are required to bear some responsibility for the consequences.”

“Coming from you,” he said dryly, “that’s rich.”

Her answering look was wry. “Why do you think I didn’t want the job of being Lady Truelove in the first place? But working to bring them together for an honorable courtship is the right thing to do.”

“Only from your point of view, and only if it stays that way. As I told you at the picnic, they’ve crossed the Rubicon. An honorable courtship, with all its constraints, would be something they’d probably find unbearable. Neither of them will be able to tolerate it now, at least not for very long. If we bring them back together, I give them a fortnight before they either capitulate to society’s rules and rush into marriage—the very thing I wanted them to avoid—or passion will out, and they’ll resume their secret assignations at discreet London hotels—a situation you have deemed dishonorable and immoral.”

“She’s heartbroken, Rex. She thought he loved her, that he’d come after her when she ended things, and that he’d do the right thing. She’s entitled to expect honorable courtship of a man who professes to love her, isn’t she?”

“Oh, good Lord.” He sighed, tilting his head back to glance at the ceiling. “Women,” he said as if talking to God, “are the very devil.”

He looked at her again. “If I agree to this, I want it understood that whatever decision they make is theirs, and the affair ceases to be any of our business. If they resume their illicit liaisons, I don’t want to hear one word from you about how he’s being dishonorable.”

She nodded, lifting her hand from his shoulder to make a crossing gesture over her heart. “Not one word, I swear. But,” she couldn’t help adding, “if they decide to get married, you’ll have to put on your best morning coat, go to the wedding, and give that speech about true love and happy marriage. You said you would, if it came to it.”

“Don’t remind me.”

She ignored that. “So, the question is, how can we maneuver Lionel into listening to me long enough for me to explain what I did?”

“That is the first bridge to cross, I agree.” He paused, and for several turns around the ballroom, they were both silent.

“There might be a way,” he said at last. “I know you’re quite the social butterfly this evening, but have you any dances left on your card?”

“One, I think.” She pulled her hand from his and flipped over the card that dangled from her left wrist. “The one directly after this. Why?”

“Because Lionel is going to ask you to dance.”

With his surprising prediction still hanging in the air, their waltz came to an end. They pulled apart and made their bows, but as Rex escorted her back to her place, she was impelled to point out the obvious flaw in his idea. “Your friend doesn’t know me. He and I have never even been introduced.”

“Believe me, that is the least of our problems.”

“He’ll never ask me to dance,” she said as they paused beside Sarah and Angela. “Why would he?”

“Says the girl with the full dance card.”

“You know what I mean. I’m sure he blames me as much as he does you for what happened. Why would he ever ask me to dance?”

“To make me jealous, of course.” Rex bowed over her hand, and as he straightened, there was a look in his eyes she recognized, one that made her already-rapid heartbeat quicken even more. “And if he makes you smile, Clara, he’ll succeed.”

“Well, I’ve done what you asked.” Hetty shook her head in obvious bafflement as she joined Rex at the edge of the dance floor. “Though your reason for asking me to introduce Clara to Lionel Strange escapes me. Look what happened.” She waved a hand toward the ballroom floor. “He immediately asked her to dance.”

“Did he?”

“An event which doesn’t seem to surprise you,” Hetty murmured, staring at him. “You wanted him to dance with her? But why?” she asked when he nodded. “Why would you want that?”

“I know what I’m doing,” he assured, but Fate seemed inclined to test his declaration, for at that moment, Clara smiled at Lionel, and Rex experienced an almost primal urge to snarl, an echo of what he’d felt earlier as he’d watched London’s young Turks gathering round her asking for dances. Not wanting to be a glutton for punishment, he’d escaped to the card room after securing his own dance with her, but in this case, he was obliged to watch her dancing with another man, and though he could not deny his own jealousy, he tried not to explore it too deeply, for there was nothing he could do about it. Still, he couldn’t help being glad Lionel’s heart was already taken.

“Do you, Rex?” Hetty asked, bringing his attention back to her. “Do you know what you’re doing? Lionel Strange is one of London’s most eligible bachelors. Not much money, of course, but being an MP, he has an income. And he is rising in the Labor Party, I understand. He could be Home Secretary one day. He’s very good-looking, too. And, like Miss Deverill’s father, he comes from the middle class. Many would consider Lionel and Miss Deverill rather well-suited, in fact.”

Rex didn’t reply.

“Oh, I don’t understand you at all!” she cried. “I thought you liked this girl.”

“I do like her.” Deep inside, his dragons rumbled, reminding him how much. “But she and I are just—”

“Just friends,” she finished for him. “Yes, so you’ve said. But since you talk with her at every party, you accept invitations to events you know she will attend, and you dance with her at balls, you are giving everyone in society the impression you’re quite keen.” She looked at the dance floor, then back at him. “And yet, I have observed that she does not seem all that taken with you.”

He thought of that afternoon on the settee, of Clara’s passionate response to his kiss. Guilt rose in him, and was at once snuffed out as desire took over. He stirred, looking away.

“Ooh-la-la,” Hetty murmured, watching him. “Perhaps the shoe’s on the other foot, at last.”

He set his jaw, working to muster his dignity, but dignity was a difficult thing to find when memories of Clara’s kiss were making his body burn. “That,” he said, “is absurd.”

“Is it? Perhaps Lionel is out on the dance floor with her to plead your suit?”

Despite what he was feeling, that suggestion was almost enough to make him laugh. “Didn’t you hear what happened at Auntie’s ball? Lionel coldcocked me.”

“Oh, you two have been friends for donkeys’ years. Whatever your quarrel was about, it’s obvious you’ve made up by now. Because I can think of no other reason why you would willingly push Miss Deverill, a woman you clearly have a passion for, into the arms of a man so perfectly suited to her.”

He did not reply, and after a moment, Hetty gave a vexed sigh.

“Oh, very well, since it’s clear you’re in no mind to part with further details, I shall take myself off and go in to supper.”

Hetty walked away, and Rex returned his attention to the ballroom floor, shoving memories of that afternoon on the settee with Clara out of his mind even as he searched for her among the dancers. When he found her, he observed that Lionel was listening quite closely to what she was saying, a very good sign, indeed. And when the dance was over and he escorted her off the floor, he nodded to Rex as he passed by.

That, Rex knew, was an even more encouraging sign, but it was only as Lionel escorted Clara in to supper and she gave Rex a nod over her shoulder that he allowed himself to believe Lionel was willing to forgive and the plan had succeeded.

Not that he shared Clara’s romantic view of what success entailed, but that, he decided, was another battle for another day.