Four weeks into this most public courtship, Lucinda began appearing at parties with her suitors in tow. Now it was impossible to keep them separated, and she was only able to keep to her schedule by allowing one of them to escort her home each evening.

The carriage rides back to Traleigh Square were passionate. Cooped within the closed coach with the duke, the marquess, or Lord Bertram, Lucinda had no choice but to yield to their overtures. She did so coyly, sighing deeply when she was kissed, murmuring as her bosom was fondled hotly by eager hands. The marquess surprised her one night, getting his hand beneath her gown and its petticoats to frig her quite enthusiastically until she came. Then, despite his portly figure, he managed to kneel before her and, sticking his head beneath her gown, licked and sucked at her until she came again. Lucinda did not hold back or demur. She enjoyed the release he gave her and told him so.

"When we are wed, my dear," the marquess assured her, "I shall give you even greater pleasure."

It was obvious he could not keep his little triumph to himself. Several days later on their journey home from a delightful evening of card playing, the duke directed his coachman to drive through the park. In the darkness of the carriage, he lifted her voluminous skirts, then putting her, spread-legged, upon his lap, fucked her with vigor even as he tongued her nipples. Afterward he praised her excitement as quite stimulating to him and, handing her out of the vehicle, escorted her to her door, kissing her hand chastely.

It was obvious now that Lord Bertram would certainly accost her next, and he did not disappoint. This time in the darkened carriage she was set down on her knees before her swane and instructed to suck his cock until it was dry. She did so, and was praised by the gentleman for her stellar performance. "The Master has trained you admirably," he declared.

To spare herself any more of these evening onslaughts from her suitors, Lucinda began inviting them to dinner. In her din-ing room, surrounded by the servants, they could not assault her. But she could not always remain at home as it was very necessary she be seen in public with them.

She took to devising ways of avoiding their lust. One evening she insisted they all accompany her home. Another evening she cried off with the headache and remained home. A third she grew ill early on in the evening and, loudly insisting her escort remain at the gambling tables, went home alone. And all the while she smiled, and twinkled, and flirted with each of them until each was convinced he would be the winner of her hand.

The banns having been read the required number of times, Polly and John were married on a Monday morning by a local vicar. Lucinda had given them both the day off. She stood as one of their witnesses, afterward walking back to Traleigh Square with two footmen in attendance, leaving the newly-weds to themselves for the day. Her household was all agog with her generosity and her kindness to the two servants.

"She's a real lady," the cook said that evening in the servants' hall. "We're lucky, we are!"

Several days before the Whitley ball, John told his mistress that the Earl of Stanton had arrived at Lord Bowen's house. They would be at the musicale at Lord Carstairs' this evening. Now was her chance to see what he really looked like, Lucinda thought happily. She had missed him, and she had missed his passion. She dressed carefully that evening, her gown in the latest fashionable hue, a flame color called "Burnt Opera House." With her pale skin and her rich, dark chestnut hair, she was quite striking.

Her escort that evening was the marquess. As he was not the brightest of fellows, she was able to ask him in innocent tones, "Who is the Earl of Stanton, Hamlet dearest? I hear he breeds wonderful horses, and I am thinking of purchasing a mare for myself. My footman, John, said he is staying at Lord Bowen's."

The Marquess of Hargrave looked about the salon. "Stan-ton up from the country? I don't think he's been to London in ten years. A bit of a recluse, but you're right, darling girl, he breeds good horseflesh. Ahh, there he is, next to Bowen, with that lovely piece of fluff hanging on his every word. Lady Grayson is said to be very generous with her favors. Elderly husband, y'know. Would you like to be introduced, Lucinda?"

"Not really," Lucinda said, sounding bored. "I am not ready yet to buy, and when I am, perhaps it is my husband who will gift me with a mare." She smiled up at him meaningfully and tapped his arm archly with her ivory fan, even as her lashes brushed her cheek. Then after a few minutes she asked him to allow her to sit quietly in the rear of the salon as she was feeling faint.

"Can I get you anything, Lucinda?" he fretted.

"Perhaps a bit of champagne," she told him weakly, and he hurried off. Lucinda scanned the room swiftly, and then she saw him again. She was utterly astounded. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life. His face was angular and sculpted. His cheekbones high, his chin a square. She hadn't noticed when he was masked how square his chin really was. He had a long, elegant nose. His eyebrows were thick and as black as his wavy hair. The forehead high. The seductive mouth she well remembered, but without his mask he was an entirely different man. All his features came together magnificently. What on earth had John meant by saying he was nice-looking. Lucian Phillips, the Earl of Stanton, was a God! They were going to have the most beautiful children.

"Here is your champagne," the marquess said, returning.

She waved him away. "Take me home, Hamlet," she told him. "I am much too ill to remain. My temples are throbbing, and Master Bach's music will only make it worse, I fear."

They made their apologies to Lord and Lady Carstairs. Their hostess remarked pithily once they had departed, "I wonder if she's really got the headache or is simply eager to get into bed with her marquess. Like everyone else in London, I can barely wait for the Whitley ball to learn whom she has chosen."

"The betting at White's is phenomenal," Lord Carstairs told his spouse. "It's two to one on the marquess, and even money on Rexford. Bertram is the long shot at ten to one. She's a fine-looking woman, and whoever she picks, she'll bring him a nice fortune. Harrington left her everything. If I'd known how plump in the pockets he was, I'd have let him court our Livinia."

Overhearing his host, Lord Bowen told his friend, the Earl of Stanton, "She has the town agog. She's a clever bitch, I think. She's given no indication of whom she will favor in the end. Was she fun, Lucian?"

"You know I don't discuss such matters," the Earl of Stanton said coolly. His heart had almost burst through his flowered vest when he had first seen her. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. Would she really be able to recognize him at the Whitley ball? He now regretted his decision not to reveal his face to her that last night.

The next morning flowers were delivered to Lucinda, an armful of roses and lilies. The plain card with them said simply, Robert. She tucked it in her pocket, smiling to herself as she directed a maid to find a vase for the flowers so she might arrange them for the morning room.

The day before the Whitley ball Lucinda paid an afternoon call on the Countess of Whitley, Lady Anne. Seated in the august lady's salon, she said, "I have a rather unusual favor to ask of you, madame," and then she explained. "It must, however, remain a secret until the last moment," she concluded her request.

"My dear!" the countess exclaimed. "You have a marvelous flair for the dramatic. The knowledge alone that you will have George announce your betrothal at my ball guaranteed it to be the most sought-after invitation of the autumn season. Why, even the king is coming! This, however, will have those who don't gain entry tomorrow night fleeing back to their country estates in abject shame." The Countess of Whitley chuckled richly. "Lucinda, my dear, you shall be the sucés fou of the year with this amusing coup." Then she leaned closer to her guest. "Will you tell me who it is?" she said eagerly.

"Tomorrow night," Lucinda replied, her blue eyes twinkling.

"You are such a naughty puss," the countess chortled archly.

Lucinda arrived home to find her brother and his wife had arrived from the country. Caroline was only just out of childbed, having delivered a third son, Frederick Augustus, three weeks earlier.

"George and I want you and your husband to be Freddie's godparents," Caroline said cheerfully. /

"I am certain that can be arranged," Lucinda replied. Then when her sister-in-law went upstairs to rest, she took her brother aside. "I want you to obtain a special license immediately," she told him.

"What's this?" the Bishop of Wellington demanded of her.

"Is it not plain, Georgie? I want a special license so I may be married. Don't you want me married? I thought that's what my summer was all about. To bring me to my senses so I would remarry."

"But I thought…" he began to bluster.

"I know what you thought. You thought I should announce my betrothal and then have a large society wedding," Lucinda said.

"Yes, I did," her brother replied. "After all, your first marriage to Harrington was a small and mean affair. I thought this time you would want something more grand, Luci." He actually looked disappointed, his round face downcast.

"It shall be grand, Georgie, which is why I need a special license, and lord knows I am plump enough in the pocket to afford it," she laughed. "Tomorrow night you will announce my betrothal, and then you will marry me to my intended right there at the Whitley ball. I have already spoken with Lady Anne, and she is thrilled. It seems my behavior has made her little do a huge success even before it is held. She is convinced my marrying in the midst of her ball will raise her to the rank of an unforgettable hostess. A special license allows me to marry without the bother of banns, and in any location, as long as a clergyman performs the ceremony."

"But what will your intended say? And who is your intended, Luci?" the bishop wanted to know.

"Any man who wants to marry me will do so when offered the first opportunity, Georgie. As for who he is, I have said I will not tell even you until the time comes. Be satisfied, brother. After all, you are getting what you wanted. And, I no longer shall be your responsibility shortly." She patted his arm. "You must trust me, dearest. I can hardly do anything too awful amid London's creme de la creme."

"Well," the bishop reasoned, "it will certainly be talked of for years to come, Luci. Very well, you shall have your special license, my dear. You have, after all, been a very good girl. I was worried leaving you alone here in London these past six weeks, but I am given to understand that your behavior has been exemplary. There has not been even the slightest hint of scandal."

"Thank you, Georgie," Lucinda replied, amused by his comment. "Now I must leave you. I have a final fitting on my ball gown for tomorrow night."

The bishop smiled, well pleased as she departed the salon. She had always been a minx, his younger sister, but her summer had obviously done her good. He had felt a touch of guilt putting her in the hands of The Master, but obviously it had done her no real harm. While she might still be a bit headstrong, she appeared to be far more reasonable in her attitude.

Her plans for her wedding might be a bit eccentric, but she was right when she said any man she wanted to wed would wed her given the first opportunity. Besides, Lucinda had obviously planned this event most carefully. It was best not to argue with her in this instance. All of the most important people would be there tomorrow night. It would be quite entertaining. And, once she was married, there was no going back. Lucinda would be her husband's problem.

The next day the household was very busy preparing for the ball. The ladies' gowns were checked for any last-minute problems. The skirts ironed perfectly, and the dresses hung carefully. The baths were brought after tea, and the ladies began to prepare for the evening's entertainment. The ball wouldn't begin until nine, and to be precisely on time would be unthinkable, for the hostess and her private party might not be finished dining. The guests would be arriving closer to ten.

Lucinda bathed, and then lay down to rest. Polly would, awaken her at half after eight. Lucinda's gown was, she thought, a triumph. She had insisted her modiste come to Traleigh Square and work on it so no one else would see it before the ball. The silvery pink quilted underskirt was hand-painted with delicate wild flowers. The silver overgown was embroidered with the same flowers. The neckline was low-cut and square. The bodice, finely tucked, had three silver bows decorating it. The engageants, attached to the tightly fitted sleeves, were of pale pink lace and decorated with one silver bow each. The skirts came just to her ankle, revealing her pink silk dancing shoes with their silver buckles. Her jewelry was simple. Pink diamonds in her ears and a small pearl and diamond cross about her neck.