Henry did not talk during the first minute of the dance. At first, she was intent on counting steps. Her brow creased in concentration. Then she became very much aware of the close proximity of her partner, his body heat reaching out to flush her cheeks and interfere with her breathing. She did not like the feeling at all. It made her feel little and fragile and not at all in command of the situation.

She came back to full reality when, during a turn, she got her legs tangled together and Eversleigh had to haul her hard against his chest. She trod hard on one of his feet.

"Oh, dear," she said, thrusting herself away from him with ungainly haste, "I should have told you that I don't waltz very well, shouldn't I? Did I hurt your foot?"

"It was a different one from the last time," he replied gallantly, "so it evens the score."

"I used to hate dancing lessons," Henry confided. "Papa had a dancing master come down to Roedean to teach us. I tried desperately hard to forget the classes and go out riding, but I couldn't always avoid them. I learned the others tolerably well, but I never could learn the waltz. I think it was because Mr. Reese used to eat garlic and he had clammy hands. I could feel them right through my dress. Just like a fish. Although," she added reflectively, they were always hot, not cold."

The gleam that Henry had noticed earlier had returned to the duke's eyes. "You put me in fear and trembling, ma'am," he said. I am endeavoring to recall whether my cook served me any garlic tonight. I assure you he will be dismissed tomorrow morning if he did."

"Oh, I can tell you that he could not have," Henry said earnestly, staring wide-eyed into those disturbingly half-closed eyes. She was puzzled to see the gleam deepen.

"Miss Tallant," he said, shall we converse on safer and more genteel topics? How are you enjoying your first ball? Do you feel all the excitement of being a new debutante?"

"Stuff!" she said. "I think it all a colossal waste of time and money."

"Indeed!" His manner seemed distant. His eyebrows rose arrogantly.

"Yes, is it not utterly foolish for so many supposedly sensible people to mince around a dance floor holding on to complete strangers and talking on topics that neither is really interested in and that do not signify anyway?"

"I am devastated to know that my company bores you so much, ma'am," he said stiffly.

"Oh, I don't mean you, silly. I am convinced you feel the same way I do, only you do not like to say so. I just loved the way you looked everyone over with your quizzing glass when you first came in, as if you could hardly believe the world held so much foolishness. I wish I might have the nerve to do the same."

"I would not advise it, ma'am,"he said, a slight quaver in his voice, "not, at least, until you are an elderly dowager and can carry off the eccentricity." Henry could feel his shoulder shaking slightly beneath her hand, but as she looked inquiringly up into his face, the music stopped.

Eversleigh released her and held out his arm for her hand. "Come, Miss Tallant," he said, I shall return you safely to your sister-in-law. Sir Peter Tallant is your brother, I presume?"

"Oh, yes," she confirmed carelessly, "but really I have no wish to go near Marian. She will surely prose on about something I am doing wrong. I'll wager she noticed me stumble during the waltz and will berate me for my clumsiness."

"Nevertheless, ma'am, I shall return you to your chaperone," Eversleigh said firmly, and Henry indignantly discovered that she had no choice in the matter.

Marian was all aflutter when Eversleigh returned Henry to her side, bowed, and wished her a good evening. She fell into a deep curtsy, so that Henry was fearful that her nose might brush the floor.

The duke walked unhurriedly away. He stopped to talk briefly to a man who was standing close to the doorway.

Sir Wilfred Denning was grinning. "Are you giving up already, Marius?" he asked. "Indeed, it is not much of a crop this year, is it?"

"Ah, but I still have two weeks left, do I not, Wilfred?" the duke replied softly. "It is not safe to count your winnings before they are in your pocket, dear boy."

And the Duke of Eversleigh continued on his way through the doorway to the intense chagrin of many females who had daughters or other relatives to marry off. The younger ladies, on the whole, breathed a sigh of relief.

Oliver Cranshawe, soliciting the hand of Suzanne Broughton for the next dance, smiled with dazzling charm. "I do believe the danger has been averted for this occasion," he said. "That little fright he just danced with seems to have driven him completely from the field."

Suzanne's smile was somewhat forced. Eversleigh had riot deigned even to acknowledge her presence; he had not claimed the promised dance.

Henry's popularity was definitely on the upward swing. She was besieged with prospective partners for the rest of the evening, and was led in to supper by no less a personage than Viscount Marley, a widower, who was known to be on the lookout for a new wife and who did not need to hold out for an heiress.

Chapter 4

By four o'clock the following afternoon, Henry's head felt rather as if it were spinning on her shoulders. The lateness of the night before and the eventfulness of this day had been an exhausting combination.

When she was finally in bed the night before, she had not slept immediately. She had gone over and over in her mind the meeting with the Duke of Eversleigh. She had very obviously ruined any slim chance she might have had of bringing him to the point. And she had recognized as soon as she met him that the chance was indeed slim. Henry was a girl of some intelligence. She recognized a superior intellect and a more powerful will when she met them. It was just that she had never met either until she had deliberately run against the hard wall of Eversleigh's body the night before. Even so, she berated herself, she might have charmed him had she sighed and fluttered her eyelashes as she had seen other girls doing, or impressed him with witty but ladylike conversation.

But what had she done? She had prattled in most unladylike fashion, mentioning bosoms and admitting to considering balls a ridiculous pastime. And she had tripped all over him-twice! She remembered that gleam she had noticed in his eyes. It was surely disgust that he had been feeling. After he had returned her to Marian, he had not only refrained from asking her to dance with him again, he had left altogether. He had been about to escape when she first ran into him, she was sure. His meeting with her had not served to change his mind.

Henry admitted to herself that her chances of winning the wager were very remote indeed. From all she had heard, it seemed that Eversleigh did not frequent the social events of the ton. It seemed unlikely that she would even see him again in the coming weeks. And even if she did, it was unlikely that he would notice her. And she could not again use the device of "accidentally" colliding with him. The situation seemed hopeless.

But then, Henry admitted, perhaps this was a wager she would not mind losing. She had to confess that she had felt out of her depth with the duke. His reactions were not as open and predictable as were those of other people she knew. She had found it impossible to guess what he was thinking. And those heavy eyelids had hidden any clue that his eyes might have shown. Three times he had forced her to act according to his will: getting permission before she waltzed, curtsying to Sally Jersey, returning to Marian's side after the dance; and all three times he had accomplished his will without any hint of coercion. There had been none of the blustering of Papa or the posturing of Peter. Henry had the uncomfortable feeling that, if this man ever did offer for her, she would be drawn against her will into accepting. She had the niggling suspicion-and it kept her awake for longer than she found comfortable that she was just a teeny bit afraid of the Duke of Eversleigh.

Henry was normally an early riser. But on the morning after the ball she slept until midmorning. Even then she might not have woken if she had not become gradually aware of a commotion in the house. Doors were being opened and closed along the corridor outside her room. She could hear the voices of her sister-in-law, the housekeeper, and a maid, and-finally-of Peter. Henry hauled herself out of bed and dressed as quickly as she could, not stopping to call a maid. She dragged a brush through her tousled curls and left the room.

The center of the commotion was by this time a downstairs salon. When Henry reached the doorway, she discovered that Peter and Marian were inside, together with Miss Manford, Philip, Penelope, Brutus, the butler, the housekeeper, and a filthy, ragged little urchin, who stood in bewildered isolation in the middle of it all.

"You had no business bringing him into the house at all," Peter was scolding, "and certainly not through the front door. Do you children think we are a charitable institution?"

"But, Peter," Philip begged, "be was being beaten for stealing a roll of bread. And he only stole it because he was hungry. He has no father and his mother drinks gin all the time. We had to bring him with us."

"Poor little Tommy!" Penelope added. "We thought you might keep him here, Peter. He could help in the kitchen or stables, or you might train him to be your tiger."

"Silence, children!" their brother ordered. "Take the little beggar to the kitchen, Mrs. Lane, and give him a meal. And then drive him away, if you please. Do you understand, child? If you come back here, I shall have you taken up for loitering and thrown into jail."

Tommy appeared not to have understood a word that had been said to him. He balanced on one leg and tried to wrap the other leg around it, though his purpose in doing so was not at all clear.

"But, Peter-" Philip began.

"You two children may go to your rooms and remain there for the rest of the day," their brother interrupted. "And you can be very thankful that I do not thrash the pair of you."

"Mrs. Lane, the child!" Marian reminded the housekeeper, who did not appear to know how she was to remove the boy without contaminating herself by touching him.

Henry solved her problem. "Here, allow me!" she said indignantly, and stalked into the room, head high, eyes flashing. She stooped down, took Tommy's grubby paw, and led him from the room. "Let us see what we can find for you to eat belowstairs," she said kindly. "And we shall see if cook can spare a cloth or basket for you to take some food home with you. Do you have brothers and sisters?"

Mrs. Lane and the butler trailed out after her, and the twins ascended disconsolately to their rooms.

"Miss Manford," Sir Peter said, turning his attention to that hapless lady, "I am greatly displeased with the morning's events. Why, pray, did you take the twins walking in a part of London that is quite beneath their station?"

"They have a great curiosity, Sir Peter," she stammered. "They wished to visit a street market. But, indeed, I am very sorry…

"And it is quite beyond my comprehension why you would allow them to associate with such a ragamuffin as that child, and to bring him here!"

"I… Indeed, Sir Peter, I did suggest to them that you might not like it," Miss Manford explained helplessly, "but you know, sir, your dear father was always willing to aid the creatures and persons they brought home with them. He thought it good for them to become aware-"

"Miss Manford, he interrupted ruthlessly, I am not my father, and this is not Roedean. I recognize, ma'am, that you have been of inestimable help to my brothers and sisters in the past. For this reason I shall not dismiss you out of hand. I shall give you two months in which to find yourself a new situation. I shall ask you to remain away from the children for today. Good day, ma'am."

Poor Miss Manford was rendered almost speechless. She stammered her way from the room, hands fluttering ineptly in the air.

By the time Henry came back upstairs from the kitchen, having seen Tommy well fed with cold meat and bread and sent on his way with a well-stocked bundle, the butler was busy carrying some half-dozen bouquets of flowers into the drawing room. They were all for her from admirers of the night before. Henry chuckled with amazement. What an amusing game this was proving to be. The largest bouquet, one of deep-red roses, was from Viscount Marley, she noted. She pulled a face. The man was at least fifty and running to fat, but Marian had been all agog, seeming to feel that Henry would be a fool not to encourage his suit. Strangely enough, Marian had not taken Eversleigh seriously as a possible suitor; she was far too realistic for that. But she had been ecstatic over the favorable attention he had focused on her sister-in-law.