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She choked back a sob. "He would have liked to, but I had already refused to consider several proposals and I suppose he was getting rather desperate to have me safely wed.

You may think me naught but a scheming mercenary, yet I saw no choice but to obey my family's wishes.

" Her voice steadied. "I had at least vowed that I would never accept anyone for whom I could not feel a real regard.

I thought with that as a basis, I could be a good wife to you. "

She started to twist the end of her gown's sash between her fingers.

"But then we came to Scotland. When I saw Charles, whom I never thought to lay eyes on again, I realized that none of the things I had been taught to hold dear— money, fancy gowns, lavish balls, imposing homes, and armies of servants— were half so important as spending my life with someone I truly love. "

Adrian continued to stare at her nervous fumblings for several seconds, then his lips quirked upward.

"Bravo!"

"Y-you are not angry?" She looked up in some amazement. "I had thought that you might feel a blow to your pride, even though I sensed there would be no blow to your heart."

"No! I'm delighted for you." Indeed, he suddenly felt nearly giddy with emotion. "Truly I am. Lud, you have more courage and bottom than most men! You deserve to be happy. Really happy. I wish you all the best."

Honoria threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Adrian, you are truly the most wonderful of men," she sobbed, the tears now flowing with abandon.

He gave a low chuckle. "Better have a care, my dear. I might lose my heart yet."

She smiled, dabbing at her cheek with the silk handkerchief he had thrust into her fingers.

"You know, you might consider simply crying off," he continued. "Ladies are allowed to, you know. Perhaps I could help convince your parents to accept Ferguson's suit, and you would be able to have a proper wedding, if that is what you would like."

Honoria shook her head resolutely. "It is most thoughtful of you, Adrian, but Father would never agree.

No, Charles and I have no choice but to carry on with our plan.

I am so sorry, for I know that it will cause you embarrassment.

" She lifted her tear-stained face. "B-but I should like to think that we might remain friends. "

Friend rather than bride —Adrian suddenly realized that was exactly how he would prefer to think of Lady Honoria Dunster.

He gave her a quick hug, ending with a light kiss to her cheek. "You may count on it, my dear. And please don’t fret. After all the peccadilloes of my own parents, a touch more scandal attached to the Linsley name will hardly signify."

He squeezed her hand. " I shall survive.

I shall also have a little talk with your parents and convince them that a scandal will hardly reflect well on them in London.

Together we should be able to quash the worst of the rumors, so that you and Ferguson do not suffer unduly from your decision.

You'll see—it will all work out for the best."

"Thank you, Adrian."

"Thank you ," he murmured under his breath.

Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he turned their steps back toward the main house. "I hope that Miss Edwards will not be, well, too hurt by your Mr. Ferguson's sudden defection. It appears they have a certain rapport that the young lady might see as something deeper than mere friendship."

Honoria gave him a rather odd look. "I don't think you need worry about that. I am quite sure that Charlie is not the gentleman for whom Miss Edwards has a developed a tendre."

"Oh." Adrian mulled over her words for the next few steps. He found himself strangely relieved that the young lady's heart did not appear in danger of being broken by the young professor, yet Honoria's words were not quite the complete reassurance he would have liked.

If Miss Edwards did not feel any romantic inclination for her friend Charlie, then who the devil had won her heart?

From their vantage point on the raised terrace, Derrien and Ferguson could just manage a glimpse of the shadowed couple by the fountain.

"What's happening?" asked the young professor in a nervous whisper. "You don't think the viscount is the sort of man to... strike her in a fit of rage, do you?"

Derrien ventured a peek through the tall rose bushes and caught sight of Honoria throwing her arms around Adrian's neck. "It appears that you need not worry about that." She hesitated for a fraction. "In fact, neither of them seems angry in the least."

Her observation caused him to abandon all pretense of detachment, and he rushed over so that he might take a look as well.

"Ahhhem." He choked down a strangled cough. "Well, it looks as though Nora was right, and Marquand is not going to kick up a dust over the news."

Derrien said nothing as she watched the viscount return the embrace of his intended bride—his former intended bride, she reminded herself—then touch a caress to Honoria's cheek. The gesture made her heart give a lurch.

What a fool she had been! She had dared to imagine that the viscount was not really in love with the beautiful young English lady, just because she wished it to be so. It was not only absurd but hopelessly na?ve. She had clearly misunderstood his words on the golf course.

She had only to look at what was right before her very eyes!

Derrien forced her gaze back to the couple, feeling a sudden stab of jealousy at seeing Honoria still in the viscount’s arms. She assumed that he was trying to change her mind with another gentle caress and a declaration of undying affection.

But even if he didn’t convince her to give up Ferguson, his own heart would no doubt always be in thrall to such a paragon of perfection.

She blinked, surprised to feel the sting of tears against her lids. The state of Marquand's heart should be of no concern to her, she reminded herself. She need only worry about such things as the strength of his arms or the stamina of his legs.

"You are a lucky fellow, Charlie, to be so sure of your lady's feelings—and your own," she said in a tight voice, stepping back abruptly from the screen of roses. "Good luck on the morrow. I wish you all the happiness in the world." Giving a quick peck to his cheek, she turned and made to leave.

His head jerked around. "Wait! You aren't really abandoning me to face them by myself?"

"I'm certainly not needed here." Her eyes pressed closed once more, just for an instant. "And I'm afraid something in the night air has given rise to a nasty headache, so if you'll excuse me, I think I shall ask Aunt Claire to take me home."

"But—"

Leaving him no time to finish his pleading, she hurried off.

Ferguson was still puzzling over her odd behavior when Honoria and Adiran appeared at the edge of the terrace and came up the steps. As he shuffled in awkward embarrassment, the viscount reached out and gave him a firm handshake.

"Congratulations, Ferguson. I hope that you realize what a truly fortunate man you are."

Before he could answer, Honoria stepped around to his side and slid her hand in his.

"Charlie," she said, looking up at him with face aglow. "Adrian has been most noble about all of this, and wishes us nothing but happiness."

He stammered a thanks while returning her rapturous smile.

"Is not Miss Edwards here with you?" inquired Adrian after a moment, searching among the potted roses for any sign of her. "I thought I might offer to escort her into supper so that you two might have a bit more privacy."

"You needn't bother, sir. Derry said the evening chill was making her feel a trifle ill, so she's gone home." Loath to admit that they had indulged in a bit of spying, Ferguson omitted any mention of what they both had observed down by the fountain.

Adrian’s brow furrowed. "Ill? She didn't seem at all ill—" His words suddenly cut off. " What did you just call her?"

Ferguson looked confused. "You mean Derry? Why, it's just an old childhood nickname that her good friends still use at times."

He felt his mouth twist in a wry smile. Lud, what devilishly odd evening! The night air must be affecting his own head as well, to have him imagining, even for an instant, that there was any connection...

No. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible.

He cleared his throat, hiding his disappointment at finding her gone by carefully straightening the folds of his cravat.

"Well, it is a shame that Miss Edwards—or Derry, or whatever she prefers to be called—has succumbed to some malady.

I have the feeling that it is not often that she allows anything, most especially a mere megrim, to get the better of her. "