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T orchlight glimmered off the young lady’s artfully arranged wheaten curls, setting them aglow with sparks of burnished gold.

"You look lovely beyond words, my dear," said the gentleman by her side.

A whisper of evening breeze loosened one of the strands just enough for it to fall across her cheek. As she reached up to brush it back in place, he caught her hand.

"No, leave it exactly as it is," he added. "Have you any idea how many hours one of the Tulips of the ton spends in front of the looking glass trying to achieve such casual perfection?"

Lady Honoria Dunster permitted herself a ghost of a smile.

"Indeed, milord, I am not sure whether I have just been complimented or castigated. I should hope I’m not as vain as one of those insufferable gentlemen who sport canary yellow waistcoats and insist on spouting that shocking Lord Byron's poetry in a lady's ear. "

Adrian Linsley, Viscount Marquand and heir to the Chittenden earldom, gave a dry chuckle. "I’m greatly relieved to hear that you haven’t succumbed to Byron’s wildly emotional notions of romance. Please tell me that means I shall not be expected to memorize such drivel in order to win your regard."

"I should hope I have more sense than that."

"Much, much more. And as to the nature of my comment..."

His words trailed off as he guided her around a leafy bush heavy with tuber roses.

The music drifting out from the open french doors grew fainter with each step along the graveled path and, after one more turn, he drew her to a halt beside a large fountain decorated with two marble nymphs astride a dolphin.

For a moment his attention remained riveted on the polished sculpture. "All wrong," he muttered to himself. "The style is much too formal, the scale too big?—"

"What was that, milord?"

"Er, nothing." Adrian wrenched his eyes back to the perfectly proportioned porcelain beauty at his side and cleared his throat. “As I was saying, I would hope that you know exactly which sentiment I intended," he continued, his voice taking on a husky intensity.

Lady Honoria blushed.

"I would also hope that you will begin to call me ‘Adrian’ rather than ‘milord’, given the reason I have asked you to accompany me on this stroll in the garden."

The tinge of color on her cheeks deepened.

Adrian watched her turn slightly, her long lashes dropping in demure response to his words. A faint smile played on his lips as their flutter betrayed a hint of maidenly nerves.

It was exactly the reaction to be expected from a paragon of propriety, and he was gratified that he had not been mistaken in his choice.

"Honoria, I have already spoken to your father and received his permission to pay my addresses to you."

"Yes, he told me." Her reply was hardly more than a whisper.

"I trust that such a proposal meets with your approval as well?"

"You do me a great honor, sir—Adrian, that is. To be singled out as the future Countess of Chittenden is beyond all expectation." She drew a deep breath. "Father is delighted, of course."

The corners of Adrian's lips twitched upward. "Is that a yes?"

There was enough of a hesitation to cause the trace of humor to disappear. "You must forgive me if such a declaration is unwelcome to you. I had thought?—"

"No!" She looked up, though her eyes did not quite meet his. "T-that is, I do not... I mean, I only wish to assure myself that you..." Her words trailed off in a whisper of confusion.

The viscount drew in a measured breath. "Assure yourself that I’m not prone to drinking myself into a stupor each night? Or likely to squander your dowry in one night of reckless gambling? Or flaunt one scandalous affair after another before the entire ton ?"

Her face was now scarlet. "Oh sir—A-Adrian?—"

"No, no, you’re quite right to ask. Given my family's scandalous reputation, you’ve every reason to be concerned.

” His jaw tightened. “But as I’ve told your father, I’m not cut from the same cloth as my parents.

You need not fear any excess of emotions from me.

I will be an exemplary husband—I swear on my honor. "

"I do not doubt it." A flicker of embarrassment—or perhaps some deeper emotion—lit in Lady Honoria's sapphire eyes as they finally locked with his gaze.

But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the usual cool hue of blue.

"I -I just wanted to hear from your own lips an assurance that our marriage will be all that it should be. "

"Well, you have it. A paragon of perfection deserves no less." He raised her hand and brushed a kiss to the delicate kidskin glove covering her wrist. "So, will you be my wife, Honoria?"

"Y-Yes. Of course."

Adrian felt a frisson of... satisfaction.

As he drew his betrothed a fraction closer, it occurred to him that perhaps he should feel more than mere satisfaction. But he quickly shoved such silly thoughts away. On the contrary, this was exactly the sort of match he wanted, one that was based on a rational thought rather than raw need.

Honoria was, in a word, perfect for him—a lady whose cool composure and polished behavior were as flawless as her striking looks. A pattern card of propriety. It was unthinkable that even the slightest whisper of gossip would ever sully her name.

Passion between two people be damned.

He had seen quite enough of what havoc raw emotion could wreak between two people. The truth was, he had room for only one passion in his life . . .

And it most certainly did not have anything to do with a wife.

The kiss—a fleeting touch of their lips—was over in a matter of seconds.

"I feel very fortunate, my dear."

It wasn’t a lie. He was happy that his chosen bride showed none of the giddy romantic notions that plagued a great many young ladies.

To his relief, she didn’t seem to expect that burning love was a requisite basis for marriage.

In truth, she seemed to prefer rational discourse to flowery sentiment.

Indeed, her cool demeanor was a perfect match for his own carefully controlled emotions.

What more could he possibly wish for?

"I... I shall do my best to please you, Adrian."

"You need not worry on that. We are well matched."

She essayed an answering smile, lowering her lashes so that her eyes were hidden. "Yes, so we are."

He tucked her hand back under his arm and started to retrace their steps.

"Let us return to the ballroom lest our prolonged absence set the tabbies to wagging their tongues. Besides, I believe a glass of champagne is in order so that we may raise a toast to our future happiness.” A pause.

“For we will both be very happy, I promise you that. "

His lips slack with shock, the Earl of Chittenden downed a swallow of brandy and then raised an unsteady hand to wipe away the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"The devil take it, Hertford! I was sure that I had you this time," he croaked, before taking another hurried gulp.

His gaze darted back down to the cards fanned across the green felt of the gaming table.

"How is it that you have managed to seduce even so fickle a harlot as Lady Luck herself tonight? "

With a toss of her raven tresses, the buxom lady across the table gave a trill of laughter and draped herself over Lord Hertford’s shoulder.

"Because His Lordship is so very irresistible," she answered in a throaty murmur.

She traced a finger along the line of his jaw, turning his head ever so slightly so she could nuzzle at his ear.

"And so very, very good at what he does. "

Hertford sought to unglue her curves from the front of his elegant coat, his hand lingering for a moment on the swell of one nearly bare breast before traveling down to deposit several gold guineas in the décolleté of her gown.

"Later, ma cherie ," he growled, without so much as a glance at her pouting face. "Now, go fetch another bottle for the earl."

"No!" It was more of a cry than a statement. "I'm done for it."

Hertford's ice-blue eyes narrowed for an instant before lightening in a show of contrived camaraderie "Oh come now, Chit, show a little more bottom than a schoolroom miss. Let's have one more hand."

The earl wet his lips with what was left of the amber spirits. "You've won all I have to wager," he said in a hoarse whisper, as he stared at the pile of scribbled vowels lying in front of the other man.

"Not all," replied Hertford after a moment. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "There is still Woolsey Hall, is there not? I understand it’s unentailed, so it’s yours to dispose of as you wish."

"I... I cannot!" Chittenden tugged at the already disheveled cravat around his neck as if it were tight as a hangman's noose. "Promised 'im wouldn't ever risk that," he mumbled.

Hertford said nothing but waited for his female companion to return with the brandy.

He splashed a goodly amount in the other man's glass, then refilled his own.

"You know as well as I that Lady Luck is notoriously fickle," he said smoothly.

"It wouldn't surprise me in the least if she chooses you to fondle on this next hand. "

Hope swam to the surface of Chittenden's watery eyes. "Yer right, it's about bloody time the bitch embraced me for a change."

Hertford shuffled the deck.

"But I cannot," continued the earl, trying to remain deaf to the siren song of the crackling cards. "I cannot. I cannot..." He repeated the words with increasing desperation as desire struggled against what little common sense had not been drowned by the brandy.

The glass came up once again to his lips and returned to the table empty.

Without a word, Hertford refilled it. After adding a bit to his own drink, he looked up. "What say you to the chance to win everything back in one fell swoop?"

Chittenden's jaw went slack. "How?"