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He turned to stare out over the sea, where a rising breeze had kicked up a froth of whitecaps, and his expression twisted into one of weary cynicism.

"Understand what? That my father is a wastrel and has risked the family estate on the turn of a card, leaving me with the task of salvaging the whole sordid affair?”

A sigh. “I doubt a young miss like you, raised in a warm and loving family, would understand that sort of obsession.

Just as you wouldn't have any idea what it is like to live with the uncertainty of whether there was enough blunt for food or whether your father was going to beat you while in a drunken stupor.

Or your mother abandon you for months on end in a cold, drafty house with naught but an elderly?—"

He caught himself and a dull flush spread over his cheeks.

His eyes closed for an instant, accentuating the fine line of worry etched at their corners, before he spoke again.

"Now it is I who have let my tongue run where it should not," he said quietly.

"I don't know what has come over me of late.

I am not usually prone to behaving as if I were a hysterical schoolgirl.

I've never spoken to anyone but Rafe about such things. "

For the second time in as many days, Derrien was forced to hang her head in shame.

If the viscount's revelations had even a grain of truth to them, she was guilty of a gross injustice in judging him so harshly.

Not that she doubted any of his words. She had caught a glimpse of his inner pain in his eyes before he regained his usual icy composure.

She opened her mouth to speak but words seemed to elude her. No explanation seemed adequate to express the tangle of her confused emotions.

He slowly forced his gaze back to meet hers. "I pray you will do me the favor of forgetting this little scene. Your apology, though unnecessary, is accepted." He reached out his arm. "Shall I escort you back to your friend?”

His gesture caused her to step forward and lay a hand on his arm. "I always imagined a titled gentleman would have a perfect life."

The viscount gave a grimace of self-mockery. "No, Miss Edwards. More likely it is you who have had the perfect upbringing, with doting mother and father, and now an aunt who?—"

"I never knew my father," she blurted out, not quite sure why she was moved to make such an intimate revelation to him, of all people, when she had never been able to discuss such painful truths with even her closest friends.

"I'm sorry." There was a slight hesitation. "I take it he passed away when you were very young?"

She shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant, sir.

I never knew who he was. Other than he was a titled English gentleman, an officer posted for a short time in Edinburgh.

" The toe of her half boot scuffed at the ground.

"And one who felt free to indulge in the sorts of amusements men of his rank and fortune feel they are entitled to.” She paused to control the tremor in her voice.

"Like gambling, carousing and seducing innocent young ladies." There was a flicker of sympathy in the viscount's eyes. "I see."

Derrien somehow knew that he did.

"Well, that certainly explains your aversion to me."

"No!" Her glove tightened on the sleeve of his fine melton wool coat. "That is, I admit I wanted to feel that way at first. But the more I have come to know you, sir, the more I see it is not always right to make such sweeping assumptions.”

He interrupted with a short chuckle. "That's quite generous of you, Miss Edwards, but I would hardly say that you have come to know me all that well. After all, we have not spent very much time in each other's company."

Ha, she thought with an inward grimace. More than you imagine! However, she kept that particular revelation to herself.

"I'm afraid you would soon discover I have more than my share of faults," he continued. "I can be all the things you dislike—arrogant, short-tempered, moody.”

"Oh, I'm well aware of that."

His brows drew together in question.

"I mean, all of us have the sort of faults you speak of.

" She swallowed hard, then went on in a halting voice.

"But in truth, it is I who deserve your scorn, not the other way around.

" Her chin rose a fraction. "After all, you now know my dirty little secret.

One who is born on the wrong side of the blanket is hardly fit to pass judgment on anyone else. "

"We all have our dirty little secrets, Miss Edwards.

" He tucked her hand under his arm and guided their steps toward the high granite walls of the old church.

"Rest assured that yours is quite safe with me.

And you may also be sure I think no less of you for it.

I have come to realize over the years that the only people deserving of scorn are the individuals who, through their own selfishness, have caused pain and suffering for others.

" He drew in a deep breath. "Though perhaps what they really deserve is pity. "

They walked for a bit without speaking, but it was more a thoughtful silence than an awkward one. As they approached the first of the crumbling aches, Derrien finally ventured to break it. "Lord Marquand?"

"Yes, Miss Edwards?"

"Do you think we might continue to converse about gardens?"

He smiled. "Ah, gardens. There is something very magical about them, isn't there?

They are all about life and growth. Cold and drought may cause them to lie fallow for a time, but there is always a rebirth of beauty, of color, of vibrancy.

Such constant renewal in the face of the elements gives one cause for hope, I suppose.

In any case, they rather lift the spirits. "

Adrian slipped his hand into his coat pocket. "Yes, I should like to continue our discussions." He withdrew the volume of essays and held it to her. "Perhaps next time we meet, you would care to give me your opinion on these latest ideas from Payne Knight."

"Oh!" Her eyes widened. Not only had he remembered his promise, but he had kept it, despite her nasty accusations. Her confusion was made even worse by his obvious sensitivity and eloquence.

As she now knew it was not he who was the inveterate gambler, it also struck her that perhaps neither was he a dissolute rake.

But just what was he?

The book was still in his outstretched hand. "Have you decided that Knight is not to your taste after all?"

"Oh no! It's just that—I-I don't know what to say..."

He gave a low chuckle. "Something that does not occur very often, I imagine. Why not simply say 'thank you' and put it away in your reticule."

She did, though her fingers seemed to move with disconcerting awkwardness.

He appeared to ignore her fumblings and began a pithy commentary on how well the surrounding ruins would suit the tastes of a certain landscape designer currently much in vogue.

By the time they met up with the other couple, Derrien had forgotten her embarrassment in the spirited exchange of opinions that had begun.

It was with a pinch of disappointment—and perhaps some other emotion—that she relinquished the viscount's arm to his intended bride.

On stealing another glance at the cool, composed face of the young lady, her polished features unmarred by any crease or dimple of emotion, Derrien couldn't help but puzzle on what Ferguson could possibly have wanted to discuss with the regal English beauty, and why it had demanded such urgency.

Her friend took her elbow. "I believe I saw that the baron's servants are laying out the picnic.

Allow me to escort you to a seat." Without waiting for a reply, he hastened their steps away from the slanting shadows of the crumbling nave.

Derrien had no choice but to follow along, however it took a good measure of self-control to refrain from darting one last look over her shoulder at the viscount.

Adrian forced his gaze away from the sight of the retreating figure and the way several errant blond curls had slipped free from her confining bonnet to dance in the breeze.

"I trust it was not too great an ordeal to endure the professor's company?"

Honoria stumbled slightly. "No, not at all. That is, I mean yes, he seems... a very sensible young man."

"Sensible—now that has a rather dry ring to it." He gave a low chuckle. "Was the fellow truly an insufferable bore? If so, I shall try to make sure you are not trapped in his presence?—"

"N-No!" Quickly recovering her poise, she hastened to add, "That is, he was perfectly pleasant company. You needn't pay it any mind." She kept her eyes averted from his face. "And you, sir? I hope Miss Edwards was not a nuisance? She looks to be a very headstrong young lady."

"She wished to inquire about a matter concerning gardens." He wondered why it was that a slight flush was creeping to his cheeks.

"How odd."

He bit back a sharp retort. "I have a passing interest in the subject, you know. In fact, one might say I have a modicum of knowledge concerning such things."

"Oh, yes. I suppose you have mentioned that on occasion," she replied absently. Her tone was distant, as if her thoughts were as far away as the gulls winging out to follow a distant fishing boat. "I imagine that most gentlemen of property do."

"Woolsey Hall has some of the most beautiful gardens in England," he continued, seeing if he might raise a spark of interest in her. "I mean to see what improvements I might add to such magnificent designs."

"Mmmm."

The sound failed to convey even a hint of enthusiasm, causing the viscount to frown in consternation. Had she always exhibited such a flatness of emotion? Or was it only the comparison with a certain other young lady that was making the lovely Lady Honoria appear to be cut out of pasteboard?