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"Thorn in your side?" suggested the viscount. "No doubt I am proving a good deal more troublesome than the drunken fools you are used to fleecing."

"Just what are you implying?" snarled the other man.

"Why, only that this time, the cards you have dealt to yourself may not prove as lucky as usual." He stepped around to the other side of the pergola and offered his arm to Derrien. "Miss Edwards, perhaps I might escort you to a part of the garden that would be more to your liking?"

She flashed him a grateful smile. "Yes, I find this spot is not at all to my taste."

Eyes narrowed in anger, the marquess watched them walk away. "Ha! You haven't a prayer's chance in Hell of coming up aces," he muttered to himself. But the furrowing of his brow showed that a seed of doubt had been planted.

"Are you quite sure, Nora?" Ferguson's eyes flooded with worry. "If he tells your mother, there is no telling what extreme measures she might take in order to keep you away from me."

"Oh, I have no doubts that she would be well capable of ordering me trussed up and carted back to London in a locked carriage if it would do any good, but like you, Charlie, I am no longer a green adolescent, afraid to stand up for myself.

I am of age and I cannot be forced into wedlock, no matter what my parents may desire.

This time I shall inform them in no uncertain terms that my mind is made up—that is, if it comes to that.

" She drew in a deep breath. "But I believe Lord Marquand is too much of a gentleman to betray us. "

Ferguson looked unconvinced. "A lover scorned is not going to be inclined to be overly magnanimous, my dear. Especially as he is losing not only a lovely bride, but also a rather large dowry. And word has it that he could well use the blunt."

"I hadn't thought of that." She bit her lip, "Still, I have made up my mind, Charlie. For the sake of my own honor, I cannot leave without telling him to his face. It would be cowardly and he deserves better."

He sighed. "You must do what your conscience dictates, Nora, but—" The rest of his words turned into a warning cough as another couple approached.

"A splendid evening, is it not, Ferguson?"

"Yes. Splendid."

"And you, Lady Honoria. You are enjoying your visit to Scotland?"

She fixed the local magistrate and his wife with a brilliant smile. "I couldn't be more pleased with how things have turned out." Her lips twitched slightly as she stole a glance at Ferguson. "Not at all what I expected."

"Yes." The man looked a trifle confused by her words but gave a knowing nod. "Of course. Scotland is, er, like that."

Ferguson coughed again, this time to hide a smile. "I believe I have kept you away from Lord Marquand far too long, Lady Honoria. Shall we go look for him?”

"Oh, as to that, I saw His Lordship not five minutes ago,” said the magistrate. “Sitting by Cupid's fountain with Miss Edwards."

"Ah, thank you." Ferguson offered his arm to Honoria and led her toward a path bordered by a low hedge of clipped yews.

As soon as they were out of earshot, he added, "I see I owe my friend Miss Edwards yet another debt of gratitude.

Though I asked for her help just that once at the picnic, she has since taken it upon herself to keep Marquand occupied, even though she cannot abide the fellow, so that I might have an easier time finding some private moments with you. "

Before Honoria could answer, they turned a corner and the circular marble fountain came into view. "Here is your opportunity, my dear. I hope you are not making a terrible mistake."

Her hand tightened on his sleeve. "So do I, Charlie," she whispered. "But it must be done."

Adrian was so intent on showing his sketches to Derrien that he didn't hear the crunch of gravel until the approaching couple was nearly upon him. On seeing his intended bride and the young professor, he shot to his feet, spilling the papers in his lap onto the ground.

Hell's teeth. A stab of disappointment that cut through him on realizing that his private chat with Derrien was at an end. He had not nearly finished pointing out all the nuances of his suggested plan.

Still, he carefully masked his feelings with a tight smile as he bent to retrieve the papers. "Ah, there you are, Honoria."

"I was wondering where you had gone off to, sir," she said softly. Her eyes went from Derrien's barely disguised scowl to the drawings. "But perhaps I am interrupting?—"

Ferguson kept her from retreating a step.

"No, no. That is, I was merely showing Miss Edwards an... an idea or two. For a garden." He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another, then gave himself a mental kick for behaving like a guilty schoolboy. "Forgive me, my dear," he went on. "I must have lost track of the time."

"Adrian..."

He waited.

"Might Miss Edwards allow me to steal you away for a moment?"

Derrien reached up and plucked the plans from his hands. "Of course. Lord Marquand had already been more than kind in taking the time to scribble a few pointers for me."

He had to restrain the urge to tuck the errant curl of hair behind her ear.

"Derrien, perhaps you would care to walk up to the terrace before it becomes too dark," offered Ferguson quickly. "The view down to the marble Folly is particularly pretty at this time of the evening."

She stuffed the sketches into her reticule and got to her feet. "By all means, Charlie."

Charlie , thought Adrian with some irritation. Were they on such friendly terms that she always called him Charlie? And who had given the impertinent fellow the right to use her given name? Or take her arm in such an intimate way as they strolled away.

It was a moment or two before he remembered he was not alone. "Er, would you care to be taken inside, my dear? The breeze appears to freshening."

"No. Actually I prefer to stay here, My Lo—Adrian. There is a matter of some importance that I wish to discuss with you."

He forced his eyes away from the receding figures. "Why, of course," he said, trying to sound as if she had his full attention.

She hesitated.

"Yes?" he encouraged.

"This... is very difficult, milord."

He couldn't help but notice how her eyes sought to avoid his.

Good Lord, had he really wished for such a bride, he thought with a surge of regret, one who was so wooden that she couldn't unbend enough to say his given name?

Honoria's head was bent, her blond tresses knotted in an artful arrangement that called to mind Rafael’s recent comment by Rafael.

Not a hair out of place .

Suddenly, all he could picture was an unruly mass of wheaten curls, dancing free of any hairpin or other constraint—and all his simmering frustrations finally boiled over.

"Oh, for God's sake, Honoria, tell me what's wrong! We used to be able to talk to each other with a modicum of honesty, even if there was little passion between us."

Her eyes fly up. "But Mama has always said that gentlemen do not want?—"

"The devil take it! Your Mama has no clue as to what a man might want from a lady!

She is a bitter, withered stick, with not an ounce of sap left in her.

Don't let her drain the life from you as well.

Now out with it!" He tried to temper the heat of his words with a grim smile. "After all, how bad can it be?"

She tried to smile as well, though her lips were quivering. "Actually, I doubt it can be any worse."

It took several moments for her to go on. "I feel you have a right to be told to your face, for you are an honorable, n-nice man, milord—Adrian."

A tear spilled down her cheek, however her chin held firm. "But I... I don't love you. I love Charles Ferguson. We are going to elope tomorrow and be married by nightfall. I should like to ask that you don't alert my mother as to our plans, but even if you do, I shall contrive to break away."

"Ferguson?" Stunned, he could only stare at her in blank disbelief. Of all the possible reasons for her odd behavior since his proposal, this was certainly not one that had ever crossed his mind.

He supposed he ought to be experiencing some sense of outrage or betrayal, but instead, he found himself wondering whether Miss Edwards knew, and whether she would be disappointed in her friend Charlie's sudden change of heart.

Honoria's shoulders had stiffened, as if in expectation of an onslaught of anger. When he said nothing more, she relaxed slightly and ventured a nod.

"Ferguson," he repeated softly. "Well, I see I have been quite a fool about a number of things—most especially in thinking that there was little passion burning inside you, my dear.

" He managed a wry grimace. "I must admit, the man looks to be a rather ordinary fellow, but to have captured your heart in so short a time?—"

"My heart has been his since I was sixteen," she whispered.

Adrian fell silent, his brow knitting in confusion. "But?—"

"You have a right to hear the whole story, sir. After all, you were very nearly sold damaged goods." She swallowed hard. "Charles was engaged as my brother's tutor after his studies were finished at Cambridge.”

A lengthy explanation followed, including all the unvarnished details of the first, failed flight to the north.

"So you see, since you made your formal declaration, I have been torn with guilt.

I felt you had to be told the truth, and yet my father and mother had drummed it into to me that it was my duty to bring you up to scratch, especially as my earlier transgression had threatened to leave them with nothing to show for the effort and expense of grooming me to attract a lofty title. "

He looked at her with real sympathy. "I know all too well what it is like to be at the mercy of your parents. I only wonder that your father didn't hold out for a Marquess or even a Duke?"