Belle was blunt. “I think you’re in love.”

“Absolutely not!” Emma protested, aghast.

“You might as well accept it,” Belle advised, pragmatic as usual. “In this day and age it’s a rare thing to find someone you love, and it’s even rarer to have enough money to be able to do something about it. Most people have to marry for family considerations, you know.”

“Don’t be silly. I certainly don’t want to marry the man. He’d be absolute hell to live with. Can you imagine? He’s insufferable, overbearing, domineering—”

“And he makes you tingle.”

“The point is,” Emma said, ignoring her cousin, “that I don’t want to get married to an Englishman. And he doesn’t want to get married at all.”

The Duke of Ashbourne’s lack of interest in the matrimonial state, however, did not prevent him in the least from flirting with Emma outrageously and on every possible occasion. To be fair, Emma did her share of flirting, too, although she had to admit she wasn’t nearly as skilled at it as he was. It was becoming great sport among the ton to watch Alex and Emma spar with each other, and wagers had already begun to appear in the books of all of London’s most elite gentlemen’s clubs as to whether and when the couple would finally marry.

But if any of the young lords who had made such bets had actually taken the time to ask Emma about the situation, she could easily have informed them that wedding bells were certainly not forthcoming in the foreseeable future. First of all, she didn’t want to get married. Second of all, Alex didn’t want to get married. But the most telling clue was that Alex hadn’t even tried to kiss her once since that first night when he had stolen into her bedroom. That was what left Emma most puzzled. She suspected that it was all part of some master plan, for she was fairly certain he still desired her. Every now and then she’d catch him looking at her with a fiery gleam in his eye that made her tremble. At such times his gaze would burn hotly into her, leaving her breathless and dazed. Then after a few moments, he’d look sharply away, and the next time Emma saw his face, his cool, unflappable facade would be back in place.

Their sometimes easygoing, sometimes tense relationship continued quite peacefully in this manner until the night of the Lindworthys’ ball.

Emma never suspected that the evening wouldn’t be like every other. She was particularly excited to attend the ball because Ned had just returned from a month-long jaunt to Amsterdam with his university friends, and she had missed his companionship during his absence. The entire Blydon household was a flurry of activity as everyone prepared for the evening.

“Emma Dunster! Did you take my pearl earrings?” Belle suddenly appeared in the doorway of Emma’s room, resplendent in a low-cut gown of ice-blue silk.

Emma, who was seated at her dressing table, fussed with her hair and ignored Belle’s question as she reached for a crystal vial of perfume. “Your father will kill you when he sees that gown.”

Belle tugged at the bodice. “It’s no worse than yours.”

“Yes, but you’ll note that I’ve got a shawl on.” Emma smiled blithely.

“Which you will undoubtedly remove when we arrive at the Lindworthys’?”

“Undoubtedly.” Emma dabbed a few drops of the scent on the side of her neck.

“But I don’t have a shawl that matches this gown. Do you?”

“Only the one I’m wearing.” Emma motioned to the ivory shawl that was draped over her bare shoulders. The pale material glowed against the dark green silk gown she had donned for the evening.

“Hell and damnation!” Belle swore, a little too loudly.

“I heard that!” her mother called from her bedroom down the hall.

Belle groaned. “I swear, she must have six sets of ears, her hearing is so good.”

“I heard that, too!”

Emma laughed. “I’d be quiet now before you’re really sorry.”

Belle made a face. “About those earrings…”

“I don’t see why you think I’d take them when I’ve a perfectly good pair of my own. You probably just misplaced them.”

Belle sighed dramatically. “Well, I don’t know where—”

“Oh, there you are!” Ned’s voice called from down the hallway. He poked his head into Emma’s room. “You two look ravishing, as usual.” He eyed his sister a little more closely. “Belle, are you sure you should be out in that gown? If I crane my neck just so”—he craned his neck in demonstration—“I can see straight down to your navel.”

Belle’s mouth dropped in horror. “You cannot!” she screeched, punching her brother in the arm.

“Well, maybe not quite, but almost,” Ned grinned. “Besides, Father will never let you out of the house dressed like that.”

“Half the women in the ton are wearing gowns like this. This is a perfectly acceptable style.”

“Maybe to you and me,” Ned replied, “but not to Mother and Father.”

Belle planted her hands on her hips. “Did you come in here for a reason or were you just hoping to torture me?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you were sure that Clarissa Trent would not be attending the ball tonight.”

“It would serve you right if she did show up, you miserable excuse for a brother,” Belle snapped. “But you can relax, I’m completely certain she’s gone to the country for an extended stay.”