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I n shocked silence, the company watched Lady Elsbeth crumple to the floor. No one moved. Stunned, they looked from Lady Elsbeth to the recent arrival and back to Lady Elsbeth. No one moved until he moved. He ran to her side and carefully lifted her. She groaned softly, her eyelids fluttering.

Like hungry fish, the other guests clustered about him, the women offering advice or wringing hands, the men demanding he hand his precious burden to one of them.

Scowling, he shouldered them aside and carried Lady Elsbeth to one of the now-vacant settees.

He laid her down, carefully smoothing the length of her gown, demurely covering her.

He bent over her a moment longer, staring at her, his time-ravaged visage an immobile mask.

He stood up and turned to glare at the Earl of Royce.

“Damn your eyes, Royce,” he said softly, his pale blue eyes starkly shining in his tanned face.

Lady Elsbeth whimpered softly and stirred. The man she called Black Jack looked down at her, then abruptly stepped away, his place taken by other guests in a closed circle about her.

Jane grabbed Lord Royce’s arm. "What do you mean by bringing him here?” she demanded, her voice a harsh whisper. "Look what you’ve done to Elsbeth! Even though you may lack sensibilities, other people have them. How could you bring a man with his reputation here?”

Royce looked at her coldly. "You are too much a creature of gossip.”

A bright red swept up Jane’s neck. "I beg your pardon!” she gasped.

“Try being a woman of facts rather than fairy tales,” he drawled, his lip curling derisively. He shook her hand from his arm and turned, walking away.

“John?” murmured Lady Elsbeth. She struggled to sit up, batting away the many helpful hands that demanded she lie still. She swung her feet to the floor. Jane, forgetting her argument with Lord Royce, rushed to her aunt’s side.

“Elsbeth, please, lie still. Let me ring for sal volatile .”

Lady Elsbeth frowned and shook her head. She tried to look about the room. "Where is he? Was I dreaming?”

“No dear, I’m sorry to say you weren’t. But I’ll ask him to please leave.” Jane straightened, turning away from her aunt.

“No!” Lady Elsbeth grabbed Jane’s arm, pulling herself to her feet. "I must see him. I must apologize.”

“Apologize?”

But Lady Elsbeth did not answer. Her eyes sought and found him standing apart in a shadowed corner of the room. "My Lord Conisbrough? John?” she said hesitantly, walking slowly toward him.

The man watched her approach with suspicion like a wild animal watches the approach of another.

A tumultuous smile formed on her lips, then grew more confident, as did her posture and demeanor. Behind her, a murmur rose among the guests like the buzzing of bees on the blackberry hedges.

“My Lord Conisbrough,” she repeated, this time more confidently. "I owe you an apology.”

“You are wrong, Madame,” his deep voice rasped. "You owe me nothing. I should never have allowed myself to be talked into coming here uninvited. Allow me the opportunity to make my apologies and remove my sorry person from your presence.”

“I am not a Madame and have never been one. In my callow youth, I foolishly allowed that opportunity to pass me by.”

Lord Conisbrough raised one eyebrow and lifted his chin slightly but did not respond.

“And I am not implying I wish to apologize for fainting in that deplorable manner. Though perhaps I should to the rest of our guests. Very bad ton, you know.”

Lord Conisbrough’s lips twitched.

“No,” she continued conversationally, “my apology is one that is fifteen years overdue.”

A look of pain twisted his features. Like a striking snake, his hand clamped about her wrist. "No, not now, Lady Elsbeth. Not here,” he whispered. He shook his head as if to clear it of unwanted memories. "Maybe never," he said, dropping her wrist. He turned his head away.

Unruffled, though a sad smile lurked in her eyes, Elsbeth nodded.

"I understand,” she said softly. Her voice became cheerier.

"I am a complete featherbrain! Where are my manners this evening? There are many here you don’t know.

Let me introduce you.” She slid her arm under his and turned, leading him back to the astonished and wildly-speculating company.

Lady Elsbeth introduced the Marquis of Conisbrough to everyone as if he were an old friend.

More than one eyebrow rose at her manner, but the company was too well-bred to show curiosity.

They accepted him in the way Lady Elsbeth wished.

For his part, the marquis lost that wary look, replacing it with one of sardonic amusement.

However, it was noted that he often turned to stare at Lady Elsbeth with something akin to wonder and something else the company could not name.

In all, however, Jane was the most astonished and put out by the unexpected turn of events.

A frown hovered at the edge of her lips until dinner was announced.

The Earl of Royce adopted a smug attitude whenever Jane chanced to glance his way, which she did far too frequently for her peace of mind.

Millicent latched onto him, preening before everyone at what she saw as her personal coup.

Miss Culpepper seemed petulant, and Sir Helmsdon laughed.

No one harbored private fears that the house party would be a dull, insipid affair.

Dinner progressed more smoothly than Jane had expected.

The company was unusually convivial—perhaps because of the events before dinner.

Whatever the cause, the dining table resounded with laughter and animated conversation.

The only circumstance to mar the meal's perfection occurred as the guests found their seats in the dining room.

Owing to his position as the highest-ranking peer, Lord Royce had been placed at Lady Elsbeth’s right.

Next to him, they’d assigned Millicent Hedgeworth, and next to her Lord Royce’s guest. Lord Conisbrough, taking in the situation, calmly exchanged his place card with Royce’s.

Other than raising an eyebrow, Royce displayed no other reaction to his friend’s actions, for, in truth, Conisbrough’s rank was the higher.

Bowing to Lady Elsbeth, Lord Conisbrough took his seat and proceeded to make himself amenable to both Lady Elsbeth and Millicent.

His conversation never strayed beyond practiced social gallantries, which drew an amused smile from Elsbeth.

Jane could not hear what was said from her end of the table.

She shifted uneasily in her seat and found she could make only stilted responses to questions.

All around her, talk flowed easily. No one seemed to notice her reticence.

She knew she was behaving badly but could not seem to help herself.

She was embarrassed for having cut up Royce only to have him proved right by Elsbeth’s inexplicable behavior.

She hadn’t even known that Elsbeth and the marquis were acquainted, let alone that they had once enjoyed a close relationship!

It seemed impossible. The Marquis of Conisbrough’s reputation made Royce seem angelic in comparison.

Black ack, Elsbeth called him, as did most of society whenever his name came up in conversation.

Now in his forties, the once strikingly handsome John Trent, Marquis of Conisbrough, showed definite signs of weathering.

His wavy guinea-gold hair, laced with silver, was worn a bit longer than the fashion, one stubborn curling lock falling across his high brow in a raffish manner.

He had a tanned face, lined with years of experience.

His pale blue eyes were his most startling feature.

He reminded Jane of a pirate. He’d never married, though scores of women threw themselves at him.

More than one woman of position was said to have offered herself without promises of matrimony.

Jane remembered gossip that he’d once proposed marriage, but the woman had refused him.

For whatever reason, he’d never given another woman the same opportunity.

Could Aunt Elsbeth have been that woman?

It could not be possible. They were so different.

As different as—as a Chinaman and an Englishman!

Then what was behind this facade of friendship?

No answers swam into Jane’s beleaguered brain, only more questions and a nagging fear.

Did she listen too closely to society’s tales?

Was she a creature of gossip, as Royce suggested?

Delicately Jane shuddered, and her spirits ebbed.

She prayed not. Still, she acknowledged she knew more stories than truths, of the driftwood remains of wrecks than the vessels themselves.

She needed to sift the sands of her knowledge if she wished to turn up gold rather than pottery shards.

When she and Lady Elsbeth rose from dinner, the entire company joined them as they had no host to entertain the gentlemen over port. Though the Marquis and Lady Elsbeth parted after dinner to converse with others, Jane covertly watched him. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“And just what is it you fear?” asked a quiet, deep voice behind her.

The rumble of that voice always sent shivers through her body.

She jumped in reaction to the feeling and whirled around.

Her pride smarted and would not allow for honesty.

Her eyes flared, their green light glittering hard like faceted gems. She tossed her head up and turned away before the buttress of prideful strength gave way before his knowing glance.

A laugh now came from behind her, following, mocking, as she walked away.

What was worse, what caused the laughter to echo in her head and pulsate throughout her body, was the knowledge that she couldn’t answer the earl’s question.

She didn’t know what she feared, and so the feeling fed upon itself and grew.