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In an instant, however, he caught himself and his words cut off abruptly.

"Oh, damnation—never mind. You may possess a modicum of experience out here on the golf links, lad, but you have precious little understanding of the real world.

Things are not quite so black and white as you seem to imagine. "

"W-what do you mean?"

Adrian had come up alongside his ball and merely held out his hand for a club. "The middle spoon or the long iron?" he demanded, his tone making clear that he had no intention of answering her question.

She took a second to gauge the wind and the distance. "Definitely the spoon."

"Would that all of life's choices could be made with such surety, brat," he muttered. “Perhaps one day you will understand what I mean."

Choices, choices , Adrian thought to himself later that evening.

They were still bedeviling him. Should he add a low stone wall on either side of the graveled path in order to accentuate the perspective of his proposed design?

Or use a more natural bed of perennials to soften the straight line?

His pencil hovered over the sketch of the classical summerhouse as he sought another sheet of paper.

"Still at work? It's nearly midnight." Rafael placed a glass of brandy on the edge of the desk, then took a long sip of his own drink.

Adrian looked up and massaged at his temples. "Is it?" He leaned back in his chair and picked up the spirits with a nod of thanks. "Well, there's little choice on it, Rafe. I really must have these preliminary ideas finished by the time we return to Town."

Rafael regarded the dark circles under his friend's eyes. "Can't your assistant take care of some of the work?"

"The fellow is fine when it comes to overseeing one of my designs, but as to any real creativity, well..." His words trailed off. "No, I'm afraid I have no one to look to but myself."

"Have a care, Adrian. It is a Herculean task you are setting for yourself."

"Not at all. I am only attempting two impossible tasks.” He smiled grimly.

“I would have to accomplish ten more in order to match the heroics of our mythical friend.

" He threaded a hand through his dark locks.

"Besides, I have no choice, Rafe. I simply cannot afford to lose either Woolsey Hall or my business. "

Rafael stirred up some flames in the banked fire, then took a seat by the hearth. "How goes the golf?"

"I think I’m making some progress." The viscount's lips twitched upward. "No less formidable a critic than my young caddie has informed me that my skills have improved enough that there is a ghost of a chance of victory, if I can manage to do as he says."

"Well, I hope for your sake that he is right.

" Rafael drained his glass while surreptitiously regarding the fine lines of strain etched on his friend's face.

"At least tomorrow you shall be forced to take a break from both your concerns.

Don't forget we are promised to be part of a picnic to view the old abbey near Anstruther.

Perhaps a pleasant day spent in the company of the lovely Lady Honoria will help smooth the worry from your brow. "

It was odd, thought Adrian, but the picture that immediately came to mind was of a pair of flashing blue eyes and a pert, freckled nose rather than the pale visage of his fiancée.

Somehow he doubted that any outing which included the feisty Miss Edwards was going to be very helpful in improving his state of mind, especially after this morning.

So why did he find himself looking forward to it?

His eyes fell on the slim volume of essays he had dug out of his trunk of books.

Along with a sharp tongue and prickly personality, she possessed an admirable intellect, all the more so because of the censure and ridicule she must have faced in developing it.

He knew all too well what it was like to persevere in the teeth of adversity, so despite her opinion of him, he meant to see she received the promised essays.

He knew she would respond to the ideas with the passion and intensity that they deserved.

He wondered what else might stir such feelings in her. Would her eyes flare with heat if his lips pressed down upon?—

"...indulge in such dreaming?" finished Rafael.

His head jerked up in embarrassment and a hot flush rose to his cheeks. "Er, what was that?"

"I said, how long are you going to stay up trying to dream up some new design for a Greek Temple or whatever else you are envisioning for the Duke's gardens?" Rafael eyed him quizzically. "If I were you, I would get some sleep, Adrian. You are acting deucedly strange."

"I shall be along shortly," he mumbled.

Strange? That didn't begin to explain the half of what he was feeling.

Derrien tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet, thinking not for the first time of how much she preferred men's clothing to the constraining garments required of females.

"That's a most attractive color on you, my dear," said Mrs. Kildare, smiling at her from the facing seat of baronet's carriage. "It brings out the blue of your eyes, doesn't it Mr. Ferguson?"

The young professor regarded her scowling face with a show of great deliberation. "Indeed." He gave a sly wink that only she could see. "Though right now I believe I see a hint of some other, warmer hue in them."

She restrained the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

The older lady fell back into conversation with the portly professor sitting by her other side, giving Ferguson a chance to pursue a more private talk with Derrien. "What has put the proverbial bee in your lovely bonnet?" he inquired with a smile.

"Oh, do give off, Charlie," she muttered.

She squirmed yet again against the squabs.

"Whoever invented these horrid things must have a great dislike of females.

As if we don't wish to see what's around us!

Why, I can hardly look out the window without forever bumping the cursed brim against the glass. "

He chuckled. "Nevertheless, you look enchanting."

"Ha!" She brushed impatiently at an errant ringlet on her cheek. "More likely I look ready to bite someone's head off at being forced by my aunt to be a part of this little excursion."

"Not mine, I hope!" He gave a mock sigh. "Alas, I should have thought the prospect of my scintillating wit and charming company would have sparked a greater enthusiasm."

She grinned despite her sour mood. Over the past several years, the two of them had become good friends through their mutual acquaintances at the University.

He was one of the few men who actually seemed interested in the opinion of a mere female, and always encouraged her to speak her mind.

As it happened, they agreed on more than a few things, and those on which they differed gave rise to any number of lively discussions.

A closeness had developed between them, but one akin to the camaraderie of siblings rather than one of any romantic overtones.

They both had seemed comfortable with that.

Indeed, Derrien thought of him more in light of an older brother than anything else.

"If it were just you and the rest of our friends, I should find it a most pleasant diversion," she replied to his teasing. "But the presence of the visitors from London..." Her voice trailed off as a corner of the chipped straw bumped against the windowglass, drawing another whispered oath.

Ferguson stifled a laugh. "Derry, my dear, have a care or our English guests will think that we are the wild heathens they have been taught to expect."

"I don't give a fig what they think," she muttered.

An odd look flashed over his face, then his brows rose in mild surprise. "Have you truly taken such a dislike to them?"

"Surely you have to admit there is precious little to like—Lady Honoria appears as cold and haughty as she is beautiful, while Lord Marquand.

.. He is said to be a drunken gamester." Her voice took on a brittle edge.

"But what else would you expect from titled English aristocrats?

No doubt they will spend the afternoon peering down their noses at us country bumpkins.

If not for Aunt Claire, I would never have consented to be part of this. "

It was Ferguson's turn to stare out the window. "Perhaps you are being a bit unfair in making such a harsh judgment, Derry. You cannot have exchanged more than a few words with either of them."

She colored slightly and began to finger the book in her lap. "Perhaps." Under her breath she added, "But I doubt it."

"From you, at least, I should expect a more open mind," he continued. "Not one colored by mere prejudice or hearsay."

Her cheeks burned a bit hotter. Close as they were, Ferguson knew nothing of her family background, and his words had unwittingly struck closer to the truth than Derrien cared to admit. "Very well, Charlie, I shall try."

The carriage rolled to halt and Ferguson assisted the ladies in dismounting.

Up ahead, the three other vehicles that made up the excursion were also emptying of their passengers.

Ferguson quickly slipped his hand around Derrien's elbow and drew her to one side as the rest of the party began to pair off for the stroll out to the ruins of the abbey.

"I have a great favor to ask of you," he murmured after they had dropped back to the rear of the group.

"You know you may count on me for anything."

He cleared his throat while checking that no one else was close enough to overhear. "I would be eternally grateful if you would contrive to engage Lord Marquand's attention for some reason—any reason—so that he might be obliged to walk with you for a bit."

Another short cough. "And so I might be paired with Lady Honoria."

Derrien grimaced. "Oh Charlie, not you, too! Don't tell me you are going to make a cake of yourself by swooning over the lovely lady like some lovesick mooncalf! Only look up ahead at how every man, even those half blind with age, is ogling?—"

A warning look from Ferguson caused her words to cut off abruptly. But as soon as the approaching couple passed them, she fixed him with a black scowl. "Besides, have you forgotten she is engaged to Lord Marquand? Do you wish to end up facing a pistol at twenty paces?"

His hand tightened on her arm. "Forget it then, I shall find another way.”

"You will not," she snapped. "Of course I shall do it, but that doesn't mean I shall like it." On seeing how pale his face had become, her brow furrowed in sudden concern. "What's going on here?" she demanded in a whisper. "I know you well enough to know this is no mere?—"

"Please." His expression took on a haunted look. "Don't ask. I shall explain... when I can."

She bit her lip. "Very well."

Several other couples caught up to them, forestalling any further conversation on the matter.

Derrien managed to make the requisite small talk, but her thoughts were concentrated on her friend and his strange request. What possible reason could Ferguson have for wanting to spend some time alone with the rigid Lady Honoria?

If even he had been suddenly smitten by an infatuation for the icy young lady, he couldn’t be so foolish as to think she would pay him the least attention.

If anything, he would only end up embarrassing himself— and perhaps worse.

Knowing the viscount's physical skills, Derrien imagined he would be a crack shot.

Which meant she was going to have to keep a close eye on her friend to see that he didn't get himself into real trouble.

The weathered stone remains of the abbey were set on a high promontory overlooking the sea.

The view from the crumbling walls was magnificent, now that the early morning clouds had blown through, leaving the sky a crisp cerulean blue whose rich color was also reflected in the gentle waves breaking upon the rocky shore.

It was warm enough that even the most delicate of the ladies had no objection to exploring the grounds before partaking of the picnic.

And with such an impressive array of scholars among them, there was no risk of anyone being left unenlightened as to the abbey's significance in Scottish history.

Even now, Derrien could make out the tall form of the viscount standing beside his intended bride, head bent slightly as if spellbound by Professor Kildare's detailed account of some minor skirmish from the sixteenth century.

She jerked on Ferguson's arm, drawing their steps in the direction of the trio.

Ferguson tried to detour around one of the massive arches, but she held firm. "We must stay close to them," she whispered. "Once Walter has finished, I have no doubt that His Lordship will want to slip off for a private stroll with his lady. Then we can follow and?—"

"P-perhaps we should wait until after the picnic," stammered Ferguson. He had turned nearly as pale as Lady Honoria, and he appeared more nervous that Derrien had ever seen him.

"No," she said firmly. "Buck up your courage, Charlie. If you insist on doing this, it’s best to get it over with."

He swallowed hard but let himself be led on.

Sure enough, the moment Kildare wound up his narrative, the viscount left no room for another long-winded story to begin.

With a civil, but unmistakable indication that the history lesson was at an end, he drew Lady Honoria away and headed toward some of the smaller outbuildings, whose position on the crest of a small rise afforded a clear view out over the bay to the distant spires of St. Andrews.

Derrien had to all but drag Ferguson in the other couple's wake, but in a matter of minutes they came abreast of the other couple behind the oldest section of the original church.

Taking note of her friend's locked jaw, Derrien realized there was no choice but to take matters into her own hands.