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" G ood day, Lord Marquand," she said with a forced brightness. Having never been formally introduced to the viscount's companion, Derrien knew he would be obliged to stop and perform the required social niceties.

He turned slowly and she thought she noted a flicker of some emotion in his grey-green eyes, though what it was she couldn't make out. Most likely annoyance, she thought with an inward grimace.

She could hardly blame him, but for the sake of her friend she plunged ahead. "A delightful day for a stroll, is it not?" Without waiting for a reply, she held out her hand. "I don't believe I have had the pleasure of being introduced to your companion, sir—not formally, that is."

Whatever previous emotion had flashed across Adrian's features was now replaced by an expression of faint amusement. "Then allow me," he replied with exaggerated politeness. "Honoria, may I present Miss Edwards." There was a fraction of a pause. "Miss Edwards, Lady Honoria Dunster."

Honoria's glove grazed against Derrien's. "Delighted, Miss Edwards," she murmured.

"I believe you have met my companion, Mr. Ferguson?"

That the lady's eyes studiously avoided any contact with those of Ferguson as she managed a quick nod was not lost on Derrien, though she also noted that the viscount seemed not to notice anything amiss.

There was some deep mystery here—she was sure of it!

And the thought of her good friend falling into a dangerous abyss from which he could not extricate himself caused her throat to constrict with concern.

Yet she had given her promise to help, and until Ferguson had a chance to explain, she felt she had no choice but to proceed as planned.

"And you, Lord Marquand," she continued in the same overbrittle voice. "Have the two of you gentlemen met?”

"No, we have not." The viscount interrupted her speech by inclining a slight bow in Ferguson's direction. "Marquand."

"Charles Ferguson, milord."

Derrien was glad to note that his voice was firm, and that his return bow was no more pronounced than that of the English lord.

Having performed the necessary chore of introductions, the viscount looked impatient to be on his way, but Derrien sidled forward to effectively block his path. "I was wondering, milord, if I might a brief word with you.”

His brows arched up in surprise.

"Ah, Charles, I'm sure Lady Honoria has not seen the view of the sea from the walkway in front of the transept," she added quickly, shooting him a pointed glance. "You know it is considered the best vantage point for, er, spotting the rare white kestrel that, er, nests in the nearby cliffs."

"Yes, the white kestrel," he repeated faintly. "Er, quite right. I should be delighted, that is, if the lady would care to accompany me, and His Lordship has no objection." He cleared his throat and offered his arm to Honoria.

If possible, her face became even paler, but she placed her hand on his sleeve.

The viscount raised no objection. He stepped aside, and indicated that the couple should pass. Once they had disappeared around the corner of the ancient church, he turned back to Derrien and fixed her with a quizzical stare.

"Well, Miss Edwards? I must admit, I am waiting with bated breath to hear whatever it is you wish to tell me. It must be of great importance, indeed, for you to seek out my company of your own accord."

Ferguson made no attempt to speak until they were well away from the others, and even then, he had to clear his throat several times before any words would come out.

"You have grown even more beautiful over the years, Nora." His mouth quirked into a tentative smile. "I think of you often. More often than I care to admit, as I'm sure that you hardly remember a poor tutor who?—"

Her eyes flew up to meet his, alight with a spark of emotion that the viscount would not have recognized. Although her answering words came out in barely more than a whisper, they were no less intense. "How can you think that I have forgotten you, Charlie, even for a day!"

Glancing around to make sure they were unobserved, Ferguson pulled her into the shadows of an archway and brought his lips down upon hers in a passionate embrace.

Honoria returned his kisses with equal ardor, until finally, regaining some measure of discretion, she pushed away gently from his chest. "Oh, Charlie, we must not allow this to happen.”

"The devil we mustn't!" He tipped her chin up so that she could not hide her face from him beneath the cover of her bonnet. "Just tell me one thing. Do you love him?"

The answer was more than evident in her expression of longing. "You need ask?" she replied, the corners of her mouth trembling. After a moment she added, "But my feelings have nothing to do with it. You know I have precious little choice in the matter."

An edge of bitter cynicism cut into her tone. "My father expects a handsome return on his investment of raising a daughter. I am expected to do my duty and procure a prominent title in return for his blunt, no matter that I am... d-damaged goods."

Ferguson's hands tightened on her shoulders.

"Lord Marquand is a decent man," she continued in a near whisper. "It... it could be much worse."

A savage oath exploded from his lips. "I'm not a callow youth anymore, Nora!

When your maid gave away our plans to elope and your father caught up with us on the Great Northern Road, I should never have let him convince me that I was too raw, too poor, to ever make you happy.

I realize now what a fool I was to slink away and let you go without a fight. "

His fingers came up to caress her cheek.

"Now that chance has brought us together again, I don't intend to make the same mistake.

" He hesitated, a hint of doubt creeping into his voice.

"That is, if you would still have me. I cannot offer you a fortune or a title, but neither am I a penniless tutor anymore.

I have a good position at the University and have some prospects for further advancement.

There would be no endless rounds of balls nor closets full of expensive gowns nor a houseful of servants, but we would have a comfortable life together. "

She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sob. "None of those things matter a whit to me! All I wish is to be with you, Charlie! But what can we do? My engagement to the viscount was announced before we left London, and Mama has already picked out a date."

"When?"

"The fourth of December."

His mouth compressed in a grim line. "That is quite a long way off—much may happen to change things."

"But we are supposed to leave here to return to London in little more than a week."

"Don't worry, my love, I shall come up with something by then." He essayed a tight smile. "After all, this time we are already in Scotland."

Honoria answered him with her own brave imitation of his expression.

The faint echo of footsteps warned them that others were approaching.

"I had best take you back." He straightened his cravat and placed her hand back on his sleeve, not before giving it a quick squeeze.

"You must try to act as though nothing is amiss.

I shall contrive to be included in all the entertainments to which you are invited over the next little while, and we shall manage to steal a few moments to speak privately and decide on a plan. Do you think you can do that, Nora?"

They had begun to walk at a leisurely pace back toward the other path, taking great care to appear as no more than two casual acquaintances making polite conversation.

Honoria's chin came up and when she turned her head slightly to glance at the young professor, all trace of emotion had been wiped from her face.

"Of course I can pretend as if nothing is wrong, Charlie. After all, I have been doing it for the last four years, so another little while will hardly signify."

"Brave girl," he murmured. "My only fear is that your parents might recognize my face, despite?—"

"Father is off at a friend's shooting box and Mama—I don't think Mama ever bothered to take a proper look at her son's tutor."

He gave a mirthless chuckle. "Quite right. Well then, our little secret should be safe enough for a while." He drew in a deep breath as they came to the crest of the hill. "Keep that lovely chin up, my dear. I promise you I will find some way out of this bumblebroth."

"Well, as to that, sir..." Derrien bit her lip, frantically searching for some plausible reason as to why she had interrupted the viscount’s stroll with his intended bride.

Now that he stood there in front of her, foot tapping in impatience, she felt like a fool.

To her mortification, her cheeks began to burn, and the thought of how silly she must look caused her jaw to clench.

"I wish to apologize for my rudeness of the other day. As I told you, I have an unfortunate knack for letting my tongue run away with me."

For an instant he looked surprised, then his expression quickly changed into one of amusement. "Somehow, Miss Edwards, such contrition is not overly convincing."

"Why—"

A quirk of a smile appeared on his lips. "Because you are scowling as though that tongue of yours would rather run all the way to India than be forced to apologize to me."

"T-that's not true… Not entirely. " Her head ducked. "I am sorry for what I said. I am aware that I have no right to comment on your... personal affairs."

"No, you do not. Especially when you don't understand them," he said softly.

Derrien was taken aback by the raw emotion in his voice, so at odds with his usual cool demeanor. "But you have admitted you are here in St. Andrews because of a wager. If I am wrong in what I said, I should like to understand why."

"Understand, Miss Edwards?"