Yes, circumstances no less impossible and unsolvable than those between her and the man she could not stop thinking about.

In an effort to banish thoughts of that which she could not have, Julianne sought to change the subject back to her séance idea of catching the robber. "Certainly if one is going to be haunted by a ghost, Maxwell is the sort to have-"

"Oh, I agree," interjected Emily. "Much preferable to the ghost that haunts my aunt Agatha's Surrey estate. His name is Gregory. According to Aunt Agatha, he's old, paunchy, suffers from the gout, and is wholly unpleasant."

"What makes your aunt believe she has a ghost?" Sarah asked in a dubious tone, pushing her spectacles higher on her nose.

"She's seen him," Emily responded. "And heard him. He groans a great deal. She calls him Gregory the Groaner."

"But how could she hear him?" Julianne asked. "Your aunt Agatha, although a dear lady, is deaf as a tree stump."

"Apparently Gregory flits about in the corridors, complaining of his aches and pains loudly enough for even Aunt Agatha to hear."

"Have you seen Gregory?" asked Carolyn.

Emily shook her head. "No, but I did hear some odd groaning sounds the last time I visited."

"Hearing groaning sounds, seeing ghosts, that's one of the things I wanted to discuss," Julianne said. "Based on our book selection, I think we should conduct a séance, similar to the one Lady Elaine held. Only instead of trying to conjure a lover, we'll attempt to summon this Mayfair ghost."

Emily's eyes sparkled with interest. "Ah, yes, you mentioned that earlier, then we went off on a tangent. An excellent suggestion. Of course we won't be successful, but it should prove an interesting diversion. When and where do you suggest?"

"I host it tomorrow evening," Julianne said. "Could you all come?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Emily said without hesitation. "Who knows what sort of ghost might be summoned or secrets revealed in the dark?"

"I wouldn't miss it either," said Sarah. "Of course, convincing Matthew to allow me out of his sight for an entire evening will present a challenge. He thinks that because I'm expecting I've turned into delicate spun glass-although I can't deny that his constant attention is flattering and quite, um, titillating." She turned to Carolyn. "I imagine your bridegroom won't be anxious to spend an evening without you."

"Hopefully not." An impish grin touched the corners of Carolyn's mouth. "But I'm certain Daniel and Matthew won't object to spending a few hours together at their club. It will be good for them to miss us."

A wave of pent-up emotions washed over Julianne, and she looked down. The gloomy shadows swallowing her feet in the dimly lit room seemed the personification of the future looming before her.

"You're both so fortunate to have husbands who love you so much," she whispered, unable to keep the hitch of wistfulness from her voice.

"Are you all right, Julianne?"

Carolyn's question, along with her gentle touch on Julianne's sleeve, pulled her gaze upward. "I'm fine," she said, offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Emily frowned. "I don't believe you. You seem out of sorts. And preoccupied."

I am. By the same thing that has haunted me for weeks… thoughts of something, someone, I can never have.

Yet she couldn't admit the truth, not even to her closest friends. They'd be shocked and warn her to turn her romantic inclinations toward someone suitable. Advice anyone would give an earl's daughter harboring an impossible fascination for a man whose circumstances were so far removed from her own.

"Has your mother said something to upset you?" asked Sarah.

Julianne grasped onto the excuse and shot her conscience an inward frown. After all, when didn't her formidable mother say something upsetting? Indeed, she'd done so only a few hours ago, and on a topic she could discuss with her friends. And one that brought reality back with a thump.

"Actually, yes," Julianne admitted. "I overheard her and Father talking earlier this evening about their plans for my future. Apparently the Duke of Eastling expressed interest in me."

"The Duke of Eastling?" repeated Emily, her expression reflecting the same wide-eyed dismay Julianne felt at the name. "But he's… so… so… not young."

"He's only just turned forty," Carolyn said.

"Which is only several years younger than my father," Emily retorted. "Besides, His Grace has already been married. And what did he do? Dragged his wife off to Cornwall, that's what. Which is no doubt where he'd want to drag Julianne as well." She turned distressed eyes toward Julianne. "Heavens, you cannot live in Cornwall. We'd never see you!"

"His wife died," Julianne said, "a year and a half ago. He's ready to remarry."

"I thought something like this might be in the wind when I saw your mother speaking to him just before he asked you to waltz," Sarah said.

"As did I," Carolyn agreed. "He's very eligible. And rich. And handsome."

"Yes," Julianne agreed. Indeed, most women found the duke, with his blond hair and light blue eyes, very attractive. But to Julianne, his good looks didn't matter. Not when he exuded the same icy, remote, uncompromising demeanor she'd been subjected to her entire life from her father. A shudder ran through her at the thought, and her father's stern voice seemed to echo in her ears, the mantra she'd heard countless times: The only thing a worthless daughter can do is marry to the advantage of her family. She longed for warmth and passion. Not chilly politeness and indifference.

"You are one of the loveliest, most sought-after young women in the ton," Carolyn said in a soothing tone, giving her hand a squeeze. "Your father will be entertaining many offers for you. I noted you shared a dance with Lord Haverly. He's a decent gentleman."

"And as exciting as beige spots on a beige wall," Julianne said with a sigh. "He bears the same expression whether he's ecstatic or livid. Indeed, the only way to tell which one he might be is if he's forthcoming enough to say, 'I'm ecstatic' or 'I'm livid.' He spoke of nothing but the new cutaway jacket he just purchased. He waxed poetic about every stitch. I thought I would doze off during our waltz. Besides which, he's bald."

"Not completely," said Emily. "He's just rather thin on top."

"What about Lord Penniwick?" Sarah asked. "You danced with him as well, and he's quite handsome. And he has a full head of hair."

"Yes. But unfortunately his full head of hair only comes up to my chin. He doesn't speak to me-he speaks to my bosom."

"An affliction that affects many men, I'm afraid, regardless of their height," said Carolyn.

"Yes, but there is a lasciviousness to Penniwick's expression that makes my skin crawl. Every time he looks at me, I fear he's about to lick his chops. Then drool."

"Drooling is definitely bad," Emily said, wrinkling her nose. "What about Lord Beechmore? He's extremely handsome and tall."

Julianne shrugged. "And is very well aware of his exceptional looks. I cannot see him falling in love with any woman when he is so completely enamored of himself. He's also very aloof."

"People have said you're aloof, Julianne," Emily pointed out with her usual brutal honesty, "when you're actually just shy. Perhaps the same can be said about Lord Beechmore."

"Perhaps," Julianne conceded. "But there is no mistaking his conceit."

"Don't forget Logan Jennsen," Sarah interjected. "You spoke with him as well. He's incredibly handsome, incredibly tall, and not the least bit aloof. And he's fabulously wealthy."

Julianne shook her head. "I agree Mr. Jennsen is all those things, but it doesn't matter. Father would never consider him as he's a commoner, not to mention an American."

"Lord Walston has called upon you several times," Carolyn reminded her. "He's attractive and seems quite nice."

"I suppose. But he's just so…" She searched for a word to adequately describe the viscount who was, as Carolyn said, quite nice. They'd shared a pleasant conversation, but in spite of his obvious intelligence and kindness, he hadn't lit the slightest spark of interest within her.

"Dry," she finally finished. "He's like unbuttered toast."

"Well, he's the best of the lot, so slather a bit of butter and jam on him," Emily said with a hint of impatience in her voice. "Unless…" Her eyes narrowed and filled with speculation, an expression that snaked a fissure of unease through Julianne. "You're finding fault with gentlemen who, while perhaps not perfect, are certainly acceptable-and certainly far preferable to drag-you-off-to-Cornwall Eastling. The only reason I can fathom why you would do that is because your interest lies elsewhere."

A flaming flush scorched her cheeks, and she gave a silent prayer of thanks for the dim lighting. How had their conversation floated into this perilous water?

"My interest lies in conducting a séance," she said firmly.

"I meant that your interest lies in a different man," Emily stated just as firmly. "One we haven't mentioned."

Botheration! Of course Emily, whom she'd known since childhood, would see through her diversionary tactic.

"Who is it?" Sarah asked, her face alight with curiosity.

Someone I can never, ever have. Someone who made every other gentleman mentioned pale in comparison. "No one." No one I can discuss with you. "I'm just feeling unsettled because I suspect Father will be making his decision within the next year, and all the gentlemen he's considering are so very… civil." The word seemed to burst from her, opening the floodgates to her frustrations. "I'm so tired of polite and restrained civility. I want a man who is interested in what I have to say and who will discuss more than fashion, the weather, and other trivialities with me. I don't want to merely exist-I want to live. I want passion. Feelings. Fire." Her words sounded desperate, even to her own ears, yet how could they not when desperation was all she felt?

Sarah reached out and clasped Julianne's hand. Behind her spectacles, Sarah's eyes brimmed with a combination of sympathy and concern. "As someone who is extremely fortunate to have those things you want, I completely understand your desire. You deserve that happiness-every happiness-and I dearly hope it comes your way."

"I agree," seconded Emily, and Carolyn nodded.

Tears pooled behind Julianne's eyes. For the show of compassion and loyalty. And because she knew the things she truly wanted were, by virtue of her circumstances, out of her reach.

Not wanting to dwell on such a depressing subject, Julianne said, "Thank you. Perhaps all of us hoping will insure a favorable result. As for tomorrow night, shall we say nine o'clock?"

"Perfect," Sarah agreed, while Carolyn and Emily nodded. "But now I think we'd best return to the party. Matthew is no doubt craning his neck about, looking for me, worried that something's amiss. Good heavens, by the time the baby is actually due to arrive, I fear his hair will be standing up straight on end-all of it that he hasn't yanked out-and he'll teeter on the edge of panic."

Julianne smiled briefly at the picture Sarah's words painted of her normally calm, levelheaded husband. Clearly love could make one act in very uncharacteristic ways.

Just then she heard a soft click. She turned quickly and stared at the closed door. "Did you hear that?" she asked in an undertone.

"What?" responded a trio of whispers.

"It sounded like a door being softly shut." She hurried over to the door and opened it a crack. Peeked into the corridor. And found it empty. Relieved, she drew a deep breath, and detected a hint of… something. Something elusive she couldn't place other than to know it pleased her.

She turned back to her friends. "Clearly I'm imagining things."

"Or perhaps my aunt's ghost is flitting about," Emily said with a grin. "Regardless, it's time we returned to the party."

Julianne again peeked into the corridor, and upon finding it empty, she silently motioned for her friends to follow her. They made their way back to the party, the sounds of merriment increasing as they approached, and Julianne prayed no one had noted their departure.

Chapter 2

Gideon watched Lady Julianne leave the crowded drawing room. She'd timed her exit well; no one else appeared to notice her slip away from the party. Except him. But then, he'd noticed everything she had done since the moment she'd arrived at Lord and Lady Daltry's soiree.