The following day

The Peacock Terrace

Willa had made up her mind that she would treat Lord Alaric with exactly the same courteous attention she paid all the other men at the party. No more, no less.

That would be the same attention she paid to men who were entirely ineligible for marriage.

Like married men. Or toothless ones, if any such had made their intentions clear.

Lord Alaric was married to his fame and his readers and his explorations. That was a good way to think of him. Off limits.

Regretfully, she seemed to have a susceptibility to warm blue eyes. He merely looked at her and she felt it all over her body, like a promise of breathless pleasure and wild, unsteady feelings.

No sensible person married for those reasons.

Lavinia had danced with him twice the previous night and reported that he turned the wrong direction once and entertained her with tales of dancing around bonfires. The three times he’d approached Willa, she had managed to claim either a previous engagement or an impromptu trip to the ladies’ retiring chamber.

Whenever they were in the same room, she felt his presence like the rumble of a carriage that came too close to the walkway, bringing with it a stiff breeze and a sense of danger.

But she couldn’t spend the whole month running away from the man like a frightened rabbit. It wasn’t ladylike. It wasn’t Willa-like.

Lavinia popped her head in at her bedchamber door. “I can scarcely believe I’m saying this, but for once you are late and I am not! It’s time for tea. The gentlemen will be rioting, wondering where you are.”

“Pish,” Willa said. “Far more likely, they’re pining for you. After all, The Ladies’ Own Memorandum-Book declared that blonde hair is the most desirable.”

Lavinia giggled. “Your dark eyebrows emphasize your eyes, which are—allow me to remind you—the cornflower blue of Venus’s own.”

“No one knows the eye color of a mythological goddess,” Willa said, slipping past Lavinia into the corridor. “More to the point, why would Lord Noorland think that a poem would warm me to his suit? He doesn’t know me at all. Didn’t he call your eyes ‘pansies’?”

“He should have given you a blue-eyed kitten, instead of a poem about your blue eyes. Remember how much you longed for a cat when you first came to live with us?”

Willa’s smile faded. The memory of the year when she’d come to live with Lavinia, after her beloved parents died, was not a happy one.

“I always thought that Mother should have let you have a cat,” Lavinia said, as they made their way down the stairs.

“No need. I couldn’t have taken it to school.” After the death of Willa’s parents, the girls had been dispatched to a select seminary in Queen Square. Lady Gray’s generosity toward her ward did not extend to having children or felines underfoot.

“I know Mother doesn’t care for animals in the house, but she should have made an exception for you,” Lavinia said, pursuing her own train of thought. “But you never asked again. Why not?”

There was a very practical answer to that question: a nine-year-old orphan needs a substitute mother more than a pet. Willa had made a rapid study of Lady Gray and turned herself into the perfect daughter.

Somewhat ironically, the same attributes that had pleased Lady Gray led to Willa’s success on the marriage market ten years later. It was astonishing how quickly a man expressed devotion if a lady was happy to speak of his interests, whether the intricacies of heraldry, or the nesting habits of herons.

“I’ll have a dog or cat someday,” Willa said. “More to the point, I feel the same way about my suitors as your mother does about cats.”

“All your suitors?” Lavinia said with a twinkle, as they entered the library. “Including Lord Alaric?”

“Is he hurting your feelings?” Willa asked, catching her hand to bring her to a halt. “I can order him to stay away from me. I certainly have no interest in marrying a man of such notoriety.”

“It’s terribly unfair,” Lavinia said cheerfully. “Just think of the years when I adored Lord Wilde, while you scoffed at him. I used to imagine him walking into the room and falling straight into love with me. Instead, I was late to tea, and he saw you instead.”

Willa bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be silly,” her friend said, breaking into laughter. “If I had been on time, he still wouldn’t have given me a second glance. More importantly, I don’t feel the slightest bit faint-headed around him, whereas I used to feel swoony just by glancing at his image on my wall.”

“You loved him with great devotion,” Willa said.

“Yes, but my devotion evaporated with alarming rapidity. I’m a little worried that I’ll end up a hard-headed old maid, living in a cottage with four cats and no husband.”

Willa grinned. “I have the same fears. Might we share a summer cottage on the Isle of Wight as well?”

“I have the distinct impression you won’t be with me,” Lavinia said.

She drew Willa through the tall doors leading from the library to the Peacock Terrace, a wide expanse of flagstones abutting the castle’s south face and stretching out across the lawn. It was one of those days when the sky was clear and blue, with just a few ragged clouds.

“They look like swans floating across a lake,” Lavinia said, pointing.

Willa looked up, but to her the clouds resembled crabs or spies scuttling for cover—which was such a ridiculous thought that she didn’t voice it. She didn’t believe in flights of the imagination.

“Forget the swans,” Lavinia added, “where are the peacocks?”

Indeed, there wasn’t a peahen to be seen on the wide lawn. They were joining perhaps a dozen ladies and as many gentlemen, standing or seated at small garden tables scattered around the terrace. The ladies’ gowns gleamed with rich colors, spangles, and embroidery, and their wigs were tinted with colored powder and adorned with plumes. Willa’s imagination stubbornly presented her with another comparison to the animal world.

“There’s no need for peacocks,” she said softly to Lavinia. “Just look at all the parrots gathered for tea.”

Lord Alaric was nowhere to be seen. All the better, Willa told herself.

Lady Knowe presided over an enormous silver teapot, from which two liveried footmen ferried teacups to the guests.

She looked up as they arrived. “Darling girls! I’ve been wondering where you were. Willa, that is a lovely gown.”

Over breakfast that morning, Lady Knowe had declared that “miss” was one of the most objectionable words in the English language, and that she meant to address Diana, Willa, and Lavinia by their given names.

Willa gave her a wide smile. “Thank you! I am particularly happy to hear that, because Lavinia thought I should add blonde lace to the bodice, and I disagreed.”

“Your taste is exquisite, dear Lavinia, but in this instance you were mistaken,” Lady Knowe pronounced. “Blonde lace reminds me of morose wives of penurious pedants.”

Like many of Lady Knowe’s pronouncements, this had no obvious logic, and was left unchallenged.

“I wish to introduce you to Mr. Parth Sterling, who is as dear to me as one of my own nephews,” Lady Knowe said, rising. “Parth!”

“Aunt Knowe.” A deep voice answered the call.

Mr. Sterling’s jaw was strong; his nose was aristocratic; his hair was thoroughly powdered. He was attired like a perfect gentleman.

And yet he had the look of a pirate. Or a smuggler.

It was his skin, Willa thought, as Lady Knowe made an introduction. His cheeks had a sun-warmed hue that she associated with seamen or field laborers. It was remarkably …

The thought trailed off because the gentleman was bowing before her with the graceful elegance expected of an aristocrat.

Not a pirate, then.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. Beside her, Lavinia dropped into a curtsy that was just slightly deeper than Willa’s, because they’d realized long ago that gentlemen were slavishly grateful for a glimpse of Lavinia’s bosom.

Mr. Sterling kept his eyes on Lavinia’s chin.

“Parth, do escort these young ladies over to those chairs at the edge where they can see Fitzy,” Lady Knowe ordered. “We have only one peacock,” she explained to Willa and Lavinia. “It’s better for Fitzy, since he fancies himself as the cock of the walk.”

Lord Peters lunged from his chair to escort Lavinia, so Mr. Sterling offered Willa his arm.

“I don’t believe we met during the Season,” Willa said as they strolled the short distance to the other end of the terrace. Behind them, Lavinia was asking Lord Peters whether he had tame peafowl at his country house.

“I attend no such events. I do not count myself a gentleman or, at least, not one who belongs in polite society,” Mr. Sterling said. “I grew up as a ward of the duke; my father was governor of Madras and sent me back to England as an infant.”

Willa was conscious of a deep feeling of surprise. She was extremely good at identifying a stranger’s pedigree. Mr. Sterling’s attire alone would have placed him in the gentry, if not the nobility.

It wasn’t a matter of silk breeches; it was the way he wore them.

“Do your parents live in India still?” she asked, curling her fingers around his arm. It was strong and muscled.

Easily as muscled as Lord Alaric’s, she thought with a touch of rebellion. This absurd … affinity that she felt for the adventurer had to be stamped out. Ruthlessly eradicated.

“No,” Mr. Sterling said. “They both died of a fever when I was a boy. I have no memory of either of them.”

“I am very sorry. I, too, was orphaned. My parents died when I was nine,” Willa said sympathetically.

“I sometimes think it’s not the tragedy it might seem to others, to grow up without parents,” Mr. Sterling said. “It left me free to construct my own ideas about life. Although you knew your parents, which changes the situation entirely.”

“I do miss them,” she admitted. “Still, it forced me to be far more observant than I might have been. To fashion my own ideas, as you said.”

They reached the small table Lady Knowe had pointed out. Lord Peters assisted Lavinia, and Mr. Sterling pulled out a chair for Willa. “Having been given no further instructions, I shall claim the seat beside you, Miss Ffynche, unless you wish to reserve it for someone.”

There was an odd inflection to his voice, as if the implied question had more consequence than a cup of tea on a summer afternoon. “I would be very happy for you to join me,” she replied, smiling up at him. And then, when he was seated: “Since you are not in society, Mr. Sterling, may I assume that you are occupied with more than morning calls?”

A footman placed a tea tray before them, with silver spoons shaped like peacock feathers and a bowl of sugar.

“I have a number of interests,” he replied. “The tea before you traveled from China in one of my ships.”

Lavinia promptly leaned over the nearest cup and sniffed. “Pekoe!” she exclaimed, straightening and smiling.

Mr. Sterling appeared unmoved by her dimples. “You are correct, Miss Gray.”

“Do you import silks as well as tea?” Willa asked. “Porcelain? You must have excellent relations with the Hong merchants.”

A corner of Mr. Sterling’s mouth curled up.

“Don’t ruin things by being patronizing,” Willa exclaimed. The Hongs were the only Chinese merchants licensed to trade with foreigners; it was hardly a state secret. “The newspapers talk of the Hongs whenever China is mentioned.”

“I do beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to seem patronizing.”

“Men rarely do,” she said, a bit crossly. “They simply can’t help it, if a woman shows the slightest knowledge of something other than fans and slippers.”

“In that case, I apologize for my sex,” Mr. Sterling said. “We’re an absurd lot of fools, and as you likely know, Miss Ffynche, we become even more inarticulate in the presence of a beautiful young lady.”

It was a deft compliment, so she smiled at him. “Have you made the trip to China yourself?”

Mr. Sterling laughed as he glanced over her head. “I seem to be seated beside one of the few English ladies who knows nothing of your books, Alaric.”

Willa turned and saw, somewhat to her dismay, that Lord Alaric had joined their group and was taking the seat on her other side. Even worse, he edged his chair so close to hers that she could smell a spicy male scent, a wildly expensive eau de cologne.

No, Lord Alaric would never wear scent.

The scent was just him. Or him and soap.

“I haven’t yet read Lord Alaric’s books, but I fully intend to,” she said, as the footman put a cup of tea before him. She took a sip of hers, hoping for a clear head. It was unusual to feel out of her depth … but she felt it.

She and Lavinia had ruled the ton during the Season by acting precisely as they had discerned gentlemen wished them to: as young ladies with spirit but docility, spice yet innocence.

They had shaped this plan around the desires of boys. Lord Alaric and Mr. Sterling were men.

She looked past Mr. Sterling and saw the same awareness in Lavinia’s eyes. But whereas Willa felt like retreating upstairs and making up some new rules, Lavinia waggled her eyebrows with madcap bravado.

“Our voyage was the subject of Alaric’s first book,” Mr. Sterling was saying now.

“I understand it takes a year to reach China,” Lord Peters said, with languid disapproval. “Seems like a rotten loss of time, if you’ll forgive the impertinence. Though I suppose some might feel the profit was worth it.”

Lavinia gave him a narrow-eyed look that turned his cheeks faintly pink. She had strong feelings about impoliteness.

“It did take nearly a year to reach China,” Mr. Sterling said indifferently. He couldn’t have made it more clear that he considered Lord Peters an impudent puppy.

“Oh, hello!” Miss Eliza Kennet, who had debuted with them, dashed up to their table and began bobbing curtsies. “I’m so happy to see you, Lord Alaric! And Lavinia and Willa!” Her hair was so thickly powdered that white dust lay on her shoulders like snow on two fence posts.

“Good afternoon, Miss Kennet,” Lord Alaric said. “May I introduce Mr. Sterling?”

The girl’s eyes paused on Mr. Sterling’s face, just long enough to register that she didn’t know him, and went straight back to Lord Alaric. “I’ve seen Wilde in Love twice! You are my favorite author,” Eliza gushed. “You and Shakespeare. You are both geniuses! But you are more intriguing.”

Lord Alaric gave her a brief smile. “I didn’t write the play in question, so Shakespeare has nothing to worry about from my side.”

“Given the choice of a dead author or a live one,” Lavinia said, her husky voice taking on a laughing undertone, “I must say that I agree with Miss Kennet.”

“My dear,” Lady Knowe said, appearing behind Miss Kennet, “you mustn’t rearrange my tea party; I shall be quite cross if you do.” Without further ado, she took her elbow and towed the young lady away.

Willa turned to Mr. Sterling. “Did you dock in Canton?”

At his startled look, Lavinia burst into laughter. “You remind me of one of the teachers at our seminary, when Willa would confound him by knowing more about cotton plants or coal mines than he did.”

“I merely read the newspaper,” Willa said firmly. “There is nothing extraordinary in that.”

“Yes, but you remember what you read,” Lavinia retorted.

Willa could feel Lord Alaric’s gaze on her. It gave her a thrill, one that she didn’t trust. There was something heady about his attention, and not only because so many ladies longed for it.

He wasn’t a sedate man, she told herself. Furthermore, he didn’t have a widow’s peak, which had been one of her girlhood requirements for a husband.

Now that seemed like a remarkably frivolous consideration.

“Do tell us what happened when you reached Canton, Mr. Sterling,” she said hastily.

“We showed ourselves to be the two young fools we were,” he answered.

“I’m sure you weren’t fools,” Lavinia protested.

“We were cork-brained, but in our defense, we were not yet nineteen,” Mr. Sterling said.

“We fully expected to be invited to meet the emperor,” Lord Alaric said, sitting back in his chair as a footman offered a plate of cucumber sandwiches. “Imagine our surprise when it was made clear to us that, from the point of view of His Imperial Majesty, the son of an English duke is no better and no worse than a dock boy.”

“We finally bribed a local governor to invite us to his house,” Mr. Sterling put in. “We were given a cup of tea and told to go back home.”

“That tea,” Lord Alaric said meditatively, “was pekoe.” He raised his teacup to Willa. “Precisely what you have in front of you, Miss Ffynche.”

“We made up our mind to travel to the mountains where pekoe was cultivated, but because we stood a head taller than the local men,” Mr. Sterling said, picking up the tale, “we couldn’t disguise ourselves.”

Lavinia laughed. “I remember this part of the book.”

“The only thing to do was to become people whom everyone avoided.”

“Beggars afflicted by leprosy?” Willa suggested.

“Good guess. No, night-soil men,” Mr. Sterling said. “Worst job in the world, but perfect for interlopers like ourselves.”

“You become foul-smelling Trojan horses,” Willa said, laughing.

Mr. Sterling’s face was naturally stern in repose, which made his smile unexpectedly endearing.

“Trolling around with a wagon so people could throw excrement out their windows meant that no one gave us a second glance,” Lord Alaric said, giving his friend a sharp glance. “All the work is done at night. And we had an excellent excuse to keep scarves wound around our faces.”

Willa smiled again at that image—and then realized that Lord Alaric’s eyes had moved to her mouth. She abruptly straightened her lips.

He made a sound deep in his throat, so low that only she could hear it. Willa drew in an unsteady breath. She felt as if he had caressed her, given her a lingering kiss—and all he’d done was gaze at her lips.

That sizzling heat she felt low in her belly? It was merely because he was unreasonably handsome, she told herself. Any woman would feel it.

“We wandered around China for three or four months,” Mr. Sterling was saying, “making our way from village to village at night, reeking to high heaven.”

“We managed to find the tea groves,” Lord Alaric interjected. “Pekoe is a form of Bohea tea, which is mixed with small white flowers until their perfume infuses the leaves. In comparison to our scent at the time,” he added with a rueful twist of his lips, “the tea was delightful.”

“I can imagine,” Lavinia said, gurgling with laughter.

“When we returned to Canton, we filled the hold of our ship with pekoe and cloud tea, which I will brew for you one day,” he said, looking directly at Willa. She had the sense that he was leaning forward, though he hadn’t moved a muscle.

“I doubt we shall have time for that,” she said, picking up a cucumber sandwich.

Just then the resident peacock crossed the lawn toward them. He was the most magnificent bird Willa had ever seen, even with his long train furled. His throat was bright cobalt blue and his feathery crown was equally dazzling.

“How beautiful he is!” Lavinia exclaimed. “Is there any way to entice him to fan out his tail?”

“Peacocks show their tails to attract a mate,” Mr. Sterling drawled, glancing at Lavinia as if to suggest that she had something in common with a peacock.

Willa swallowed a grin. One could say Lavinia’s bosom was akin to a peacock’s tail, but with the sexes reversed. She wasn’t wearing the blue dress, but her bodice was quite revealing.

“I’ve offended you again,” came the voice of a beguiling devil in her ear. “I didn’t mean to do so. I’m making a hash of what can and cannot be said in polite society. Do you mind if I call you Willa, by the way?”

“Yes,” she said flatly.

“You could call me Alaric.”

“No, thank you.”

“I find formality tedious.”

“I find boredom indicates a lack of application,” Willa replied, keeping her voice steady, though she felt as if she were trembling all over. “Life is always interesting, if you pay attention.”

“I am not at all bored at the moment,” he said.

His gaze burned right down Willa’s spine and she felt color rising in her cheeks. “That is beside the point,” she managed.

“You didn’t mean to imply that men and women should carry out flirtations in order to avoid boredom?”

Lavinia clearly found Mr. Sterling irritating; she’d hopped up from her chair and accepted some grain from a footman. Now she was bent over the balustrade, trying to bribe Fitzy into spreading his tail.

“No, I do not,” Willa said. “Society is interesting, because people are interesting. There is always more to learn. Conclusions to be drawn, rightly or wrongly.”

They watched as Lord Peters joined Lavinia. “I’m not sure there’s anything very riveting about Peters,” Lord Alaric said in a low voice. “Is that an example of Miss Gray’s spread plumage, by the way?”

Willa frowned. “That is not only improper, but downright rude,” she whispered. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“That,” Alaric responded, unconcerned by her rebuke. He nudged her with his elbow.

Lavinia was leaning toward Fitzy, who was regarding her with a beady eye, but showed no inclination to spread his tail.

Willa looked back at Alaric, mystified.

“Look at Parth,” he said.

Mr. Parth Sterling had showed no sign of being charmed by Lavinia—rather the opposite. But now he was staring at her as she leaned over the rail. The small side panniers she wore under her gown merely enhanced her already generous curves.

As they watched, Lord Peters laughingly put his hands around her waist, presumably to keep her from toppling over the parapet.

Mr. Sterling made a rough sound, snatched up a cucumber sandwich, and got to his feet.

“Is a cucumber sandwich a more effective bribe than grain?” Willa asked Lord Alaric, unable to stop amusement from sounding in her voice.

“Fitzy loves cucumbers. But more to the point, the peacock responds to other males, even the human variety.”

Sure enough, as soon as Mr. Sterling moved to the edge of the terrace and barked, “Fitzy!” the peacock made a burring sound, shook himself, and fanned out his tail in a spectacular display of purple and green feathers.

Then he stalked to and fro, obviously daring Mr. Sterling to show some plumage of his own.

Instead Mr. Sterling tossed the sandwich toward the bird, said something to Lavinia, and returned to his seat.

“Thank you!” Willa said. “His tail is quite remarkable.”

Mr. Sterling shrugged. “Fitzy is decorative, for all he’s an irascible fellow.” He gave her that quick, rare smile of his. “May I be so bold as to guess that you and Miss Gray are very high society, indeed? She just gave me a look that would have done a queen proud.”

“Mr. Sterling,” Willa said, “do you think that you might be romanticizing your position? You were raised by a duke, and remain best of friends with his sons. I would guess that you have a formidable estate. Could it be you are simply avoiding the reality that you would be perfectly welcome at society events?”

“I was raised to believe that rank is contingent on blood.”

“That certainly used to be the case,” Willa said, “but from what I have observed, it is less and less so each day. A fortune, together with excellent breeding and powerful friends, is a great leveler.”

“Huh,” Mr. Sterling said.

“This house party celebrates the betrothal of a future duke to a woman whose grandfather was a grocer,” Willa said, proving her point.

She glanced at Lord Alaric for support in her argument only to see faint irritation on his face. Evidently, he didn’t like it when she spoke to other men, even his childhood friend.

“I will take your idea into consideration,” Mr. Sterling said.

“Take what into consideration?” Lord Alaric asked.

“I merely told Mr. Sterling that I think he would be welcome in high society,” Willa said.

At that moment a hush fell over the party; the duke and duchess had arrived. As they stepped onto the terrace, a cluster of footmen moved among the guests, offering glasses of champagne. A chair was quickly brought, and the duchess carefully lowered herself onto it.

“The last of our guests arrived this morning, and thus we are complete,” His Grace announced. “I would like to officially open this party in honor of my son’s betrothal to Miss Diana Belgrave by offering a toast to the happiness of the betrothed couple.”

He turned to Lord Roland, who was standing beside Diana at the far end of the terrace. “In centuries past, we would have gathered to make certain that Miss Belgrave had not been kidnapped by my son. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that North had been forced to kidnap such a beautiful, intelligent woman.”

Everyone laughed, but Lavinia’s eyes met Willa’s. In view of Diana’s lack of enthusiasm for the match, that was a tactless remark.

“My father has an odd sense of humor,” Alaric said in Willa’s ear.

His Grace raised his glass. “I offer this toast to my future daughter-in-law, whom I have discovered to be a gentle, thoughtful warrior, with an impeccable flair for dress and an even more impressive skill at chess.”

“She beat him,” Alaric supplied in a low voice.

“Welcome to the family,” the duke concluded. Everyone drank.

“I should like to add my voice to His Grace’s,” Alaric said, rising.

The heads on the terrace swiveled in his direction, like poppies toward the sun.

He kept his eyes on his brother’s face. “I am very fond of a fourteenth-century Persian poet named Hafez. I’ll ask your forgiveness in advance for butchering this translation, but he says that we are all holding hands and climbing. Not loving, Hafez says, is letting go.”

Lord Roland nodded.

“So don’t let go,” Alaric said, his deep voice holding everyone captive, “because the terrain around here is far too dangerous for that.” He raised his glass. “To my future sister-in-law, whom we are honored to welcome into the family.”

“I will never let go,” his brother said into the silence, as everyone drank to the betrothed couple. Diana turned visibly pink.

Willa thought it sounded like a vow. “Are your books as eloquent as that?” she asked Lord Alaric, when he was once more seated.

The question seemed to startle him. “As the poet, Hafez? Not at all. I wouldn’t describe myself as eloquent.”

“ ‘The terrain around here is far too dangerous for that,’ ” Willa quoted. “I’m hopeless at understanding poetry, but he wasn’t talking about Persia’s mountain ranges, was he?”

He smiled at her, a smile so intimate that Willa drew in a breath. A girlish part of her soul that she hadn’t even known existed cheered.

“No,” he said. “No, the terrain he was referring to is quite different. I haven’t been there myself.”

“Ah.”

“But I hope to in the very near future.”

“Girlish” was not a strong enough word for what Willa was feeling. “Giddy” came closer. Something about that made her suddenly cold, despite the warm sunshine.

Even if Lord Alaric’s intentions were honorable—which now struck her as possible, if unlikely—she had absolutely no desire to be married to a man whose printed image was concealed in young ladies’ Bibles.

“I wish you the best of luck in your exploration of new terrains,” she said coolly. “I have no interest in journeying around the world myself, but I understand it must be quite intoxicating.”

“Yes, it seems to be,” he said, grinning. “Surprisingly so.”

The man could make anything sound suggestive.

Willa had decided long ago exactly what she wanted in a husband. She wanted a decent man who didn’t drink to excess. It would be nice if he had a fortune, but since she had inherited her father’s estate, it wasn’t necessary.

He had to be steady; to have all his teeth; and she would like him to have his own hair. She even knew what his voice would be like: quiet, and private.

Very private.

If possible, she would prefer him to look clever and pale. Not gaunt, but lean and unlikely to run to fat later in life.

Lord Alaric was not only not a private man, but everything that happened to him—and several things that hadn’t—was displayed for public consumption.

The engravings were a prime example of the problem. Whoever married him would find her likeness in the windows of printshops. A lifetime of seeing one’s face depicted in bookstalls.

Or—how ghastly!—on the stage.

With that thought in mind, Willa turned back to Mr. Sterling. Now he was a man whom she ought to consider seriously. He may think he wasn’t suited for high society owing to his parentage, but to Willa’s mind, that was an advantage. Whomever she married would be accepted everywhere; she had no worries about that.

He was extremely good looking, and seemed unencumbered by a Helena Biddle. But she had to clarify something first.

“Mr. Sterling,” she said, “am I right to think you might have some connection with Sterling Lace?”

“I am honored to think that you know of my lace,” he said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it.

A growl sounded near Willa’s ear, but when she turned to look incredulously at Lord Alaric, he smiled at her as placidly as if he were a vicar.

“Stop that,” she ordered.

“Stop what?” he asked innocently.

“That,” Willa said, less than articulately.

He snatched the hand that Mr. Sterling had just kissed. “I think you just soiled your hand.” Before she could stop him, he brought it to his lips and kissed the same spot.

“Better?” he inquired.

Willa frowned at him. “Lord Alaric, please stop.” She could feel pink rising up her neck. She glanced over his shoulder and realized that a good many of the guests was watching them. Naturally, they were watching.

They would always be watching whatever he did.

In that instant she understood exactly what was happening. The man was unused to women who didn’t collapse at his feet. A woman who remained upright?

An undiscovered country. Terra incognita.

Lord Alaric was flirting with her because he was a man who had to win. He didn’t understand that she was not—and never would be—a prize. She meant to choose her spouse after a thoughtful review, and no part of that review included being “won.”

“I am not someone who cares to be a spectacle.” She said it quietly but firmly as she drew her hand away.

His lordship turned his head to survey the terrace. Eyes fell, and a murmur of sound rose again from the tables. He scowled.

“Notoriety is a great facilitator of book sales, my lord. Of that I have no doubt.”

He opened his mouth but she lifted her hand to stop him.

“I am not a territory to be conquered for the mere sake of it. I would be grateful if you would direct your attentions elsewhere.”

His jaw flexed, but Willa held his gaze. It was essential she make this clear, because he was used to intoxicating women, and his successes had made him confident. Or arrogant. Whatever one wanted to call it.

She was as susceptible to him as any woman. But she had no intention of being conquered.

“I do not see you in that light,” Lord Alaric stated. If Willa hadn’t observed the darkening of his eyes and the way his shoulders stiffened, she might actually have believed that he was merely issuing a polite correction.

“In some sense, we are all foreign countries,” she said, not giving in. “In my analogy, your shores are frequented by ambassadors like Lady Biddle.”

His jaw tightened again.

“When I become a citizen of a foreign land, it will be one without pomp and circumstance,” she said, rising. “Without ambassadors.”

She smiled at Mr. Bouchette, sitting at the next table, and he sprang to his feet. As he eagerly asked her to accompany him on a promenade in the rose garden, she overheard Lord Alaric speaking behind her.

“She’s angling for dinks too tiny to keep,” he said to Mr. Sterling, the rest of his remark unintelligible.

She had the vague idea that a dink was a fish. Was he saying that Mr. Bouchette was too small to keep? A minnow, in fact?

Lavinia gave Willa a look that reminded her, in the nick of time, that ladies did not empty teacups over a lord’s head.

“Might you escort both of us?” Lavinia asked Mr. Bouchette, who beamed with pride.

A lady could not spill tea, but she could walk away, exaggerating the sway of her hips.

So Willa did.