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T o Leona's amusement, during the evening, and the whole of the next day, there was a conspiracy on the part of the Deveraux family—with the help of Mr. Fitzhugh and Maria Sprockett—to keep George Sharply away from her. When she was in the same room as Sharply, one or more co-conspirators endeavored to engage him in conversation. At dinner, she and Sharply were seated at opposite ends of the table, shielded from direct sight and discussion by a large silver epergne that appeared—quite inexplicably—as the table’s centerpiece.

Through it all, Deveraux tried to catch Leona’s eyes, his asking forgiveness. She ignored him.

With a heady feminine recklessness previously unknown to her, she decided that Deveraux still needed to be punished.

A little. Though she now felt she understood his motivation, he needed to learn the difference between a steel gauntlet and a velvet glove.

He wasn’t in the army any longer. Orders given in the military were obeyed, or else the punishments meted out were severe, sometimes permanent.

That was not the case in family life. Or with friends. Or lovers.

Or lovers. The thought sent shock waves ricocheting through her body. Her knees felt weak, her breasts tingled, and a gnawing hunger grew low in her stomach. Scandalous! Her cheeks pinked in embarrassment.

Suddenly she couldn’t avoid him any longer—she did not want to avoid him. She decided to let him know—in whatever way necessary—that she no longer wished for pistols at ten paces.

The next evening she hesitantly lifted her eyes and met the burning intensity of his across the drawing room where they gathered before dinner. He must have seen something in her eyes, in her expression, that called to him, for almost instantly he was at her side.

“Leona.” Her name was a caress gentler than the light touch he gave her hand when he raised it to his lips. “Are you through with the punishment?” he asked whimsically, with a crooked smile.

“Punishment?” she repeated, smiling up at him. Staring into his brilliant blue eyes full of unexpected understanding, the coiling traces of another deep, heady emotion that she dare not name rose in her. She couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help her smile widening to a silly grin.

“Witch,” he growled, but without heat. “I do owe you an apology which I’ve been waiting to extend this last day and a half,” he drawled, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at her.

She laughed. There was a time when she’d been wary of those narrowed eyes. No longer. She invited him to sit down on the sofa with her.

Gravely thanking her, he tossed back the long tails of his coat and sat down next to her. It was a black coat, and Leona could not help but think how striking he looked in black.

“I’m sorry. I’ve made a mull of everything.”

“That’s what Chrissy told me one time,” she mused.

“The night I rescued her, she related all the schemes she’d used to escape.

None worked, so she felt she’d botched everything.

She didn’t understand, nor until recently, that it’s not a matter of what success you achieve.

It’s the fact you tried. You may have been wrong-headed and arrogant in your actions?—”

“Arrogant?” he challenged sudden laughter in his eyes.

“—but your desires, your goals, were pure,” she finished, ignoring his interruption.

He laughed aloud. “Speaking of purity of goals, don’t you think Fitzhugh is holding up nobly this evening?” he asked, canting his head in Fitzhugh’s direction.

Fitzhugh was standing by the fireplace, one hand gripping the mantel, as he stood in conversation with George Sharply.

“Why? Because he’s keeping my brother-in-law at bay?”

“Yes. Notice how his brows are pulled slightly together? That’s not concentration; that’s exasperation!”

She laughed. “I’ll wager he’s in the ring tonight to ensure freedom tomorrow!”

Deveraux pulled on his chin. “Yes, tomorrow may be difficult. I’d hoped to secure a couple of dances with you, but I do not know if it would be wise to leave Sharply unattended among the other guests.

He is a loud-mouthed, blustering fool. All in all, the man is common. Why did your sister marry him?”

Leona studied Sharply, thinking. She saw him track her sister’s movements and then order her to sit down near him.

Rosalie did as he asked, not the least perturbed at his manner or request. “Do you know,” she said slowly, “I’ve never been able to understand it before.

But I think I may have a glimmer now.” She shook her head.

An expression of dawning wonderment transfused her face.

“It is rather obvious—or at least, should have been to me, for I suffered the same childhood she did.”

Deveraux crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a quizzical, doubtful look.

She laughed and impulsively reached over to squeeze his hand.

“I’m sorry, I must sound quite demented.

But I’ve just thought of a possible explanation.

When we were children Rosalie and I were ignored.

We might as well have been ghosts drifting through the house for as much attention as Father or Edmund and Charles—or even Mother for that matter—gave us.

We were unimportant. The men in the family were important.

That is where Mother put all her attention and where she had me place mine when she died. ”

She looked at Rosalie sitting quietly near Sharply.

“I think—I think possibly Rosalie married George Sharply because he doesn’t ignore her.

He pesters her, scolds her, orders her about.

But he does not ignore her. She certainly is not some invisible wraithlike creature in his house!

He cares what happens to her. He cares about what she does—oh, maybe in ways we find offensive, but he does care in his way. He gives her a sense of being.”

Not an empty husk, she added to herself. She wondered who was better off and had no answer.

Deveraux nodded. “Yes, I can see that. But I must admit that after spending time in the gentleman’s company, I understand why you can't turn the Leonard affairs over to him. In a way, he reminds me of your brother Charles. They are both selfish men.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Leona snapped, jerking her hand away as years of habit of defending her brother prompted quick words. “My brother is worth a hundred George Sharplys!”

Deveraux leaned back on the sofa, crossing his arms on his chest, and looked at her oddly.

“You’re still not free, are you? You’re still caught in your past, and because of that, you’re as thorny and prickly as a bramble patch.

You’ve accused me of trying to order your life, of being no better than Sharply.

What I want to know is, why do you continue to be blind to the fact that I’m trying to save you?

” He ran his hand through his hair, disheveling the immaculate lay of waves around his well-formed head.

“Damn it, Leona! I may have messed up things, but as you observed, I have tried! I can do no more. This one you’re going to have to puzzle out alone.

” He rose to his feet. “But I’m warning you.

If you don’t solve this puzzle, you shall continue to be alone all your life, living in that invisible spirit world your family created.

Right now, I think Rosalie was smarter. She had the guts and vision to get out.

” He stalked away, the set of his shoulders rigid.

Leona’s mouth dropped open in dumb surprise, but there was no time to ponder his words for Purboy was at the door announcing dinner. Once again, she sat at the opposite end of the table from George Sharply, and therefore from Deveraux as well.

Deveraux’s words haunted Leona. She didn’t understand how he could say she was living the invisible existence of her childhood.

That didn’t make any sense. She did not simply exist. She worked hard to organize and maintain Lion’s Gate and had many workers to obey her instructions.

She’d paid her brother’s debts and went on to rebuild the Leonard family principal by working with moneylenders, banks, and solicitors. And she was not prickly!

It had to be jealousy that spawned his words. No other reason made any sense. He was unreasonably jealous of her brother—most likely stemming from their service together. She was not the one with some realizations yet to make. He was!

Irritated, she dismissed the unfortunate situation from her mind, concentrating instead on Lucy’s ball.

From dawn on, there was such a flurry of activity, a coming and going of people, that there wasn’t the time or opportunity to further ponder Deveraux’s childish ultimatum.

She was much too busy. Chrissy wanted Leona to help convince her grandmother to allow her to wear her hair up.

Gently, Leona told the pouting child that she agreed with her grandmother.

Maria wanted Leona to talk her out of attending the ball, to talk her into it, to say her dress was all wrong, or to say her dress was perfect, all at least a dozen times each. It took all of Leona’s patience to soothe her frazzled companion’s nerves.

Rosalie came in later to plead for her husband.

It finally occurred to him that the inhabitants of Castle Marin kept him from Leona, and he very much needed to talk to her.

Leona agreed with reluctance to speak with him that night at the ball, but she would not grant him a private speech that afternoon.

Betsy Snivel caught up with her just as she went to her room to lie down for an hour before getting ready.

She begged to be allowed to dress her for the ball, bitterly exclaiming that Leona was still punishing her for thinking her a traitor.

Leona explained that she had already promised Lady Lucille that she would share her dresser's services.

“Oh, her,” Betsy said with a sniff. “She ain’t as proper as how she makes out to be, y’ know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I seen her sneakin’ out at night.”