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“I figured as much, my lord,” Dawes said, nodding his head dolefully.

“The only thing for it is for me to go to Nottingham to head him off. I’ll explain the situation to him and urge him to return home. Failing that, at least he’ll not bellow and call undue attention to his niece.”

He rose from the chair and grabbed his hat from the table.

“Whatever you do, don’t tell Miss Shreveton who purchased the bay, not even if she asks directly.

Lie,” he said bluntly. He fixed his hat on his head at a rakish angle, then swung wide the office door, taking the steps down at a near run and burst forth into the narrow lane below in a highly uncharacteristic rapid gait.

“Stefton! Ho, there, man!”

The Marquis stopped in midstride, turning to see the Earl of Soothcoor hailing him. The grim expression on his face relaxed a bit as he waited for the man to catch up with him. “What brings you to this part of town?” The two men continued walking towards Pall Mall.

“Been to Tatt’s to see Berner’s breakdowns.” The Earl made a face. “Faugh! Can’t see how he came to buy the team in the first place. I’ve never seen a more awkward-gaited, ill-matched pair.”

The Marquis laughed thinly. “He didn’t. He won them at cards off Thackery. He certainly won’t get for them what the bet was worth.”

The Earl sneered. “I’ve always thought Thackery doesn’t know what honor means.”

“Berner was a fool, and I’ve no sympathy for fools. He should never have accepted the bet without knowing the pair.”

Soothcoor nodded agreement, then changed the subject. “And what were you doing at Burke’s? Trying to buy horses or employees?”

Stefton laughed shortly, remembering his conversation with Catherine on trying to hire employees away from Sir Eugene.

“Neither. I was learning,” he said, a crooked smile twisting his lips.

He was contemplative for a moment, then he halted and looked at Soothcoor.

“I have to go out of town for a few days.”

“And?”

A brief frown pulled at Stefton’s lips. “Keep an eye on Miss Shreveton for me,” he said.

The Earl whistled softly. “So that’s the way the wind blows.”

“Spare me your suppositions,” Stefton said with a touch of asperity. “You know nothing of the kind.”

Soothcoor’s eyebrows rose, his dark eyes protruding slightly. “As bad as that, is it?” He shook his head dolefully.

Stefton ground his teeth at Soothcoor’s humor. “No, it is not,” he said, wondering why he felt a sudden pain in his head. “Just do as I ask. There is more to Miss Shreveton than any in London know,” he said cryptically.

Soothcoor looked speculatively at the Marquis. Stefton had a faraway contemplative look in his silvered eyes that caused them to glitter more than was their wont. He shook his head at Stefton’s strange behavior but promised he’d do as the Marquis asked.

“Catherine!” Lady Harth called, opening the door to her niece’s room without knocking. “A note has just been delivered for you,” she said severely as if chastising Catherine for the occurrence. She held out the missive written on ivory-colored paper and addressed with a bold hand.

“Thank you, Aunt Alicia.” Catherine took the note and turned back toward her dressing table.

“Well? Who is it from?”

“Aunt Alicia!” Catherine exclaimed, effrontery warring with amusement at her aunt’s inordinate curiosity.

“I will not have any of you girls receiving strange notes from unknown persons. It’s unseemly,” her aunt retorted self-righteously, though Catherine thought she detected two bright spots of color high on her cheekbones proclaiming a twinge of embarrassment.

“I see,” Catherine responded slowly, her lips pursing to refrain from smiling. She broke open the wax seal and spread open the note.

Miss Shreveton,

I regret to inform you I shall be unable to join you for our daily ride. I have discovered urgent business out of town that necessitates my immediate departure from the metropolis. I do not know when I shall return, but I trust Captain Chilberlain will be delighted to carry on in my absence.

Your obedient servant,

Stefton

A cold lump settled in the pit of Catherine’s stomach. “It’s from the Marquis of Stefton!” she said with brittle brightness. “He merely writes to inform me he has been called out of the city and will not be able to ride until his return.”

Lady Harth sniffed. “You do not seem unduly disappointed by the news,” she said waspishly, dissatisfied with the note’s prosaic contents.

Catherine manufactured a careless shrug and casually tossed the letter on the dressing table. “As you noted, the Marquis has been fulfilling an obligation to my uncle.” She laughed. “It is not as if we have any form of understanding, is it?”

“Definitely not. Does he say if he will be in town for our ball?”

“No, he doesn’t mention it at all.”

“Well, if that is all . . .” Lady Harth looked discomfited. She fidgeted with the toiletries on the dressing table, her fingers inches from the note as she resisted an urge to pick it up and read it.

“Yes, Aunt Alicia, it is. No secret assignations or plans for a midnight escape to Gretna Green,” Catherine teased.

Her aunt bristled. “I should hope not!” she exclaimed, turning to leave the room, her posture stiff, eloquent in her displeasure at Catherine’s levity.

Catherine smiled and shook her head as she watched her leave.

But when the door closed, a wave of depression swamped her.

Sagging on the stool before the dressing table, she picked up the note and unfolded it again.

Upon rereading it, she searched for some trace of genuine regret in its tone.

There was none she could detect. It remained a formal and proper missive.

She sighed and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She had not realized, had never accepted the idea that she looked forward to their daily rides.

The cold lump in her stomach turned into a heavy weight pressing upon her.

She felt she had been cut adrift and left to founder in the windy seas of Society.

Though she practiced a strict formality in his presence, they shared a common sense of amusement at the foibles of their fellow man.

She laughed softly, remembering the many occasions they exchanged glances or smiles at their observations.

Riding with Susannah and Captain Chilberlain would be lonely, for those two were too involved with each other to offer company.

Perhaps she should invite the Earl of Soothcoor to join their little party?

He possessed wit and understanding and, though he wasn’t the Marquis of Stefton, he was his friend.

Catherine frowned at her melancholy reflection. She did not care, couldn’t possibly care for the arrogant, insufferable man!

With an unladylike oath, she turned away from the mirror and stood up, determined to seek out Susannah to divert her wayward, traitorous thoughts.

“Are you quite all right, cousin?” Susannah asked the following evening as they toured the assembly room at Almack’s.

Catherine gave a wan smile. “If I’m not, I should be.”

“What’s troubling you? The Marquis of Stefton?”

“I don’t know. Yes, partially, I suppose, if I must be honest.” Her face made a wry expression.

“That is a very lowering idea. I had quite thought myself immune to our so-handsome, arrogant, infuriating Marquis. To realize I am no different from the numerous ladies who fawn over him is troublesome.”

Susannah laid a sympathetic hand on her cousin’s arm. “Think though; it is you who receives a modicum of his regard, not they.”

“But that is precisely it. It is a modicum, and it is always proper.”

“Would you wish him to make improper advances?” Susannah asked with a teasing laugh.

Catherine smiled back but answered seriously. “Sometimes, I think I would. I shudder at the memory of Kirkson’s loathsome kisses, but then I wonder what Stefton’s kisses would be like in comparison. And if they could wipe the awful memories from my mind.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Precisely,” Catherine said drily, a ghost of her usual energy and wit returning.

“But it isn’t just Stefton that has me blue-deviled.

I am beginning to understand how foolish it was to embark on this masquerade.

If Aunt Alicia knew of my true worth, she would not push unfortunate stammering gentlemen my way, nor would she encourage Kirkson’s attentions over my protests.

I am quite fatigued with developing stratagems to avoid that gentleman.

I swear I will be soon considered as clumsy as our aunt if I must contrive to tear any more of my dresses just as he approaches! ”

Susannah giggled. “Especially after Lord and Lady Riece’s ball.”

Catherine looked chagrined. “Yes, that rip did go beyond the bounds of propriety. I never thought that fabric would tear so easily! It was almost up to my thigh.”

“I will admit, Cousin, it was most comical to see you walking around, clutching the side of your gown.”

“I forgot to replenish the packet of pins in my reticule. Admit it, though, it served its purpose. Under the circumstances, there was no way I could waltz with Kirkson.” They neared the refreshment table and accepted glasses of weak lemonade from a waiter, then sat in two of the chairs that lined the room.

“The other thing that makes me regret this abysmal masquerade is Mr. Dawes.”

“Your uncle’s agent?”

“Yes. I went to see him today while you were sneaking off to Gunther’s with the Captain.”

“Catherine, I never sneak!” Susannah declared hotly, though a deep red blush colored her fair cheeks.