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His thoughts tumbled clumsily over one another.

Albion wanted to lose himself in Diana’s expressive eyes, to forget everything else but to take her in his arms for a tumble.

He imagined his hand around her slim waist as he guided her to the bedchamber and the many delights they could partake of therein.

His claws retracted, and a low growl in his throat erupted. Lascivious thoughts clamored for release.

“Cat got your tongue, my lord?” Diana tapped him lightly on his forearm with the base of her fan.

“If you cannot compose some impromptu ode in my honor, we should walk the grounds. You might offer to remove your tail coat so I won’t ruin my shoes should we encounter a puddle of mud from the recent rain. ”

“I should think you a more equitable-minded woman,” he said, regaining his composure. “You have adorned yourself in blue and buff. Are those not the colors of the Whigs? Your American cousins might prefer a bit of red and white with the royal blue.”

“Much as I admire our American brethren, I am still an Englishwoman.” She smiled and snapped the fan open with her left hand, revealing exquisitely painted figures of a lord and lady in Georgian garb.

Ladies’ fans and their many communicative tricks fascinated him, for the Hidden Realm had nothing of the sort.

Her eyes, visible over the fan’s lace trim, regarded him with intriguing intensity.

“As such, I shall strive to be amusing. Is that not how an English woman behaves when in the presence of a comely gent?”

Her gaze shifted to the tapestry overhanging the gazebo on the other side of the round garden, a mirrored match to that hanging from Lady Bellingham’s domed ceiling inside, depicting a maiden in the robe of a past era and the unicorn she was taming.

“Keen that. I saw the like at Harding Howell and Company.”

Albion lowered his voice. “My brother said something similar when we were here last. He thinks it a ruse to make Lady Bellingham’s family line seem more ancient.”

“Your brother is a clever fellow. And speaking of, where is His Grace?” She looked about once more. “I thought I saw him with Countess Jessup. He regarded her most fondly if I might be so bold. Like a gentleman in love, I should say.”

Albion returned her smile. He’d a fleeting idea that a double wedding with the two Orcan brothers betrothed to human women would be pleasing.

That was all stuff and nonsense, of course.

Diana could not have been more explicit about refusing his proposal.

He could hardly read such a future into the simple act of acknowledging he existed.

Lady Diana Stewart was stunning and vivacious, but he recognized an undercurrent today because he had felt it in himself almost constantly since he’d arrived in London. She was putting on a show for his benefit. Not mean-spirited, but false nonetheless. Diana’s manner suggested a performance.

“You seem shy today, Lord Albion. How astounding after you crafted a most extraordinary card for me.” Diana closed her fan slowly and tapped it with her finger.

“And here I slipped away with the express intent of thanking you. I would not like to think my Valentine was but one of many that you sent out to the ladies of London. One hears things, you know. Why, I imagine several women’s hearts are breaking merely by way of catching a glimpse of you in the company of another. ”

“You are the only lady to whom I directed such a card.” His voice trembled. Deuces if she didn’t make him nervous.

She gazed down at her delicate silk slippers. Albion had a sudden urge to bow low before her and plant a kiss on each of the dainty blue rosettes adorning them.

When Diana looked up again and licked her lips, this simple yet exquisite gesture shot sparks of fire through him.

“You’ve a talent for art. Has anyone told you as much?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, madam.” He allowed his eyes to sparkle. Diana had prudently rejected his proposal. But they might enjoy some agreeable mischief in one another’s company.

“I hope you consider my words more than mere flattery, Lord Albion. I have mulled over our conversation at the Wayfarer’s Respite.”

His arms swung around, and his hands met behind his back. “Lady Diana.” Albion squeezed his hands into fists to steady himself. “You told me you appreciated plain talk. Pray tell. What is on your mind?”

Despite the recklessness of his proposal, he would not retract the offer. Blast it all. He didn’t want to retract it. But he had no further tolerance for games. If Diana wished to revisit that discussion, she would have to say so.

Initially, Diana intended to extend this conversation before arriving at its underlying purpose. Then again, patience had never been one of her virtues. She refolded her fan. If he wanted her to speak plainly, she would honor the request.

“I now see how precarious our reputations stand. Not just mine but my sister Lillian’s. I could leave London if need be, but then Lillian would be left to suffer.”

“You suffer as well.” Albion wasn’t grave, exactly, but cautious.

“I have taken time to reconsider my response to your proposal. On reflection, I find my position unsustainable. Which I could bear if it did not hurt my sister. She deserves none of it.”

“Your misfortune makes me worthy?”

Diana bit her lip, wishing she could withdraw that last comment. “Let me try again.”

She inclined her head toward the bench. When they sat, her gown brushed the fine woolen cloth of his tailored pantaloons, fashionably close fitting. She had a sense of the powerful muscles of his thighs and calves. Her breath momentarily caught in her throat.

“You know, as do I, the freedoms women have once married,” he said, the reverberation in his baritone most pleasing. “Is that part of the appeal?”

“Freedom to do what, precisely? Something to do with politics?”

He gave a deep laugh that differed markedly from what she’d heard from him before. “Not my meaning, but a fine choice of avocation.

“At any rate, I’ve unburdened myself, and it is your turn to do so. Tell me more about why you wish to marry.”

He gathered his arms close to his chest, flattening the impeccable knot in his cravat. “Did I not previously plead my case?”

“There must be more to the matter than your mother’s insistence. Come now. Confess.”

He grazed the tips of her fingers with his, sending a luscious shiver across her shoulders.

“Do you require me to unburden myself as a condition of acceptance?”

“I would prefer it but do not require it. I am fond of you, Albion, you know that.”

“And the flirtations before?”

“I enjoy flirting with you.”

Albion was quiet for an unbearably long time, though it could not have been more than a minute. The nonsense he cultivated about his person disappeared entirely.

“Your initial impulse was to refuse me,” he said at last. “One’s first response is often correct, for it comes directly from the soul.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

“You will not change your mind again?”

Diana wondered what might happen were they alone, and neither of them needed to worry about what Society would think.

The intriguing thought made her delightfully weak.

She imagined his large hand on the small of her back as they entered a ballroom together.

And what those same hands would do in the privacy of their bedchamber, as husband and wife, and he explored the curve of her waist and parts even more intimate.

Inspired, she inclined her mouth closer to his ear, the fan’s frame subtly touching her upper lip. “You wish me to prove my commitment? Kiss me.”

“I want to kiss you,” he said in a low voice, the words unsteady. “After your previous experience, however—”

“A mistake on my part and far different from a young woman finding herself alone with her soon-to-be bridegroom. Your intentions are honorable, are they not?”

“You know they are,” he said gruffly. “Nevertheless, I’m given to believe it is improper here.”

“Not if I intend to marry you. Still, we can take care.”

A mere peck might go unnoticed, but she didn’t think Albion was the sort of fellow to settle for such. She espied a tri-paneled trellis with colorful depictions of sparrows and spring buds. She beckoned toward it with a nod of her head.

He followed her behind the trellis. Her body pulsed with an unfamiliar energy, awedby their difference in stature.

Albion’s face hovered above hers. Diana saw nothing else.

She thought of nothing else. He was so close, his chest rising and falling under his shirt.

The sheer immensity of his physical presence was dizzying.

She imagined running her hands through his thick black hair.

She didn’t quite work up the courage to do so, but she reached up to handle a strand, luxuriating in its silkiness.

He cupped his hand behind the back of her neck, the smooth leather of his glove enticing her as he pulled her mouth gently to his, just as she had imagined.

When their lips met, it was soft, warm, and delicious. She parted her lips and invited him in, dropping her fan and forgetting all that was proper and expected of her. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to draw her body nearer to his. She melted into his chest.

“As I said, marriage can be fun.” His amber eyes, thrilling up close, glowed with passion. He swept the fan up from the ground and offered it to her in the palm of his hand, chivalrous as any knight of the round table. “And romantic. Even if prudence drives our decision.”

She nodded, trying to right herself. What additional pleasures were waiting for her once they were married? She had understood that Albion would be a thoughtful husband. Now, she recognized he would excite her beyond her wildest imaginings.

When she remained silent, Albion blushed, his complexion darkening slightly. “I have overstepped. Forgive me.”

She longed for Albion’s hands around her waist, pulling her up and toward him for another kiss. A longer and deeper kiss. One that would scandalize any upstanding member of the ton .

“You didn’t overstep. Still, I would like you to speak with my father to keep things above board and all that.”

“I should have offered to do so at once.”

“Believe me, I took no offense. His ‘permission’ is only a formality.”

“And what will your mother say?”

Diana saw naught but her once socially unimpeachable mother, coldly informing her she would spend time with Aunt Penelope in Philadelphia so as to avoid bringing any further shame on the family.

“ I want to marry you, Albion. That’s what matters.”

“We shall proceed as you best see fit. But I would prefer to take a few weeks for our courtship. To keep it ‘above the board,’ as you said. A promenade or two. Introductions to one another’s families. Is that not how English Society conducts such affairs?”

His voice resonated with good humor, and she replied in the same tenor. After all, three weeks would give sufficient time to publish an announcement and for the vicar to read banns on Sundays to see if anyone voiced an objection. Not that she imagined anyone would dare do so.

“Very well. But do continue with the …” She caught her breath, not quite willing to use the word he favored for their kiss and whatever might happen between them in the future. Fun. “… romance. No matter how practical the match, a lady craves as much.”

“Why don’t we follow an Orcan custom, then? Let me know where you would like to meet, and I will be there.”

“The lady takes the lead?”

Albion cocked his head mischievously. “The lady and the gentleman take the lead. In all matters. And call me Albie. After all, we are engaged.”

“Very well, Lord Albie,” she replied. “And I am most pleased for you to call me Daisy.”