Why had he then proceeded to pledge himself to winning his side of the nonexistent wager? Only to prove to them both that he could?

No doubt.

Did he want her in love with him, though? Of course he did not. The very thought alarmed him. It would be embarrassing for him and possibly painful for her. For all his sins, he had never set out deliberately to hurt anyone. Though he had almost done just that on their first encounter, of course.

Was that what had made him stop?

Damnation! What was it about the woman?

But he knew the answer. Of all the females he had ever known, she was the only one who had ever been able to hold her own with him verbally. He could still remember that masterly setdown she had given him at Vauxhall when she must surely have been just about expiring from shock and humiliation. She had kept pace with him earlier this evening too.

And you underestimate me! You are about as likely to persuade me to love you, Lord Montford, as I am to persuade you to love me.

Ah, yes, that was what had done it.

The woman was irresistible.

He still did not want her in love with him, though, did he?

But he did want her to admit… oh, that she was infatuated with him, perhaps.

He was attracted to Katherine Huxtable, an admission that surprised him since he never allowed himself to be attracted to any female he had no hope of bedding. What would be the point, after all, since he was certainly not looking for a leg shackle? He was attracted to Miss Huxtable, though-a strange fact when he remembered how assiduously he had avoided even thinking of her for the last three years. Was it as long ago as three? She had said it was, and women were usually good at such details.

Odd to think that he might have had her with the greatest ease three years ago. Would he still want her this year if he had had her then? Of course, this year it would not be nearly so easy. For one thing, she would now know what he was up to. For another, she was older and wiser. She was no green girl, she had said earlier. And he believed her.

It was unlikely that she could ever be persuaded to admit that she loved him-or even that she was infatuated with him. As far as he was concerned, they were one and the same thing anyway. But of course, she would be too stubborn to admit either.

He had suggested an unwinnable wager.

A quite irresistible one, in fact.

Which perhaps explained why his thoughts had strayed to Charlotte’s birthday and the idea of giving her a party on a far grander scale than he had hitherto intended.

He lay awake for a while longer, plotting and planning and yawning.

It would be diabolical, he decided just before falling off to sleep. But he would not be taking away from her even one iota of her power to tell him that he had lost his wager, would he? She could say no even before that question arose, in fact, and put an end to the wager before it started.

Like a soggy firework.

She would not say no. He would see to it that she did not.

He had a wager to win, by Jove, and he never lost a wager. Not even that once. Not really.


“I have been thinking, Char,” Jasper said at breakfast the morning after Lady Parmeter’s ball, “about your birthday.”

She glanced up from her plate.

“Have you, Jasper?” she asked rather warily.

She looked very different from Rachel and him. She was golden-haired, hazel-eyed, small, and dainty. And she seemed to have grown overnight from a girl into a young lady-one who was already turning heads on Bond Street and in Hyde Park. Male heads, by thunder. He had caught a few young bucks at it one morning and had stared them into bumbling confusion without even having to resort to the use of his quizzing glass. If he had to crack a few heads together, he would not hesitate to do it.

She was seventeen, for the love of God.

Charlotte was also shy, modest, eager, impulsive, occasionally given to excited chatter-a bewildering mix of contradictory characteristics, in fact.

“I have been thinking,” he said again now, “that it might be a good idea to have more than just neighbors at Cedarhurst for your birthday. A few of the new acquaintances you have made in town might perhaps be persuaded to join you there for a week or two. You will turn eighteen only once, after all. Why not have a full-blown house party for the occasion?”

She had made some acquaintances even though she had attended no ton parties. She was not the only young person languishing in London under the stricture of being slightly too young to attend any real social events.

She leaned slightly toward him across the table, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining.

“Oh, Jasper, I would like it of all things,” she said. “Might I ask Miss Clement and the Misses Dubois? Even perhaps Lady Marianne Willis?”

“I can think of no objection to any one of them,” he said, trying to recall who their parents were-friends of his mother’s, probably, or friends of friends. Her companion would have made sure that all were thoroughly respectable. “What do you think, Miss Daniels?”

“Miss Clement and the elder Miss Dubois have already made their come-out,” she said, “and so will be valuable friends for Charlotte to have next year-though rumor has it that Miss Dubois is about to be betrothed. Miss Hortense Dubois and Lady Marianne will be making their come-out with Charlotte next spring. I think the idea of a house party a splendid one, my lord. It would be a good idea to invite some young gentlemen too, perhaps, and possibly a few slightly older guests who are more established in society.”

Jasper nodded his agreement. She had taken the words out of his mouth.

“But what gentlemen will we invite?” Charlotte asked, leaning back in her chair. “And what older people? I know hardly anyone. It is most frustrating to be seventeen and more than ten months and yet-”

Her brother held up a staying hand.

“You and Miss Daniels may discuss the guest list between the two of you,” he said. “I have other things to do this morning. Miss Daniels is to have the afternoon off to call upon the Reverend Bellow’s sister, is she not? It would be a pity for you to be confined alone to the house on such a fine, warm day, Char. I will come home for luncheon and then take you out with me, shall I?”

“With you, Jasper?” She beamed at him, her complaints about the frustrations of her age instantly forgotten.

“The young Earl of Merton is a friend of mine even though he has only just come down from Oxford and has not quite reached his majority,” he said. “He is a cousin of Con Huxtable’s. His sisters have recently joined him here in town. They grew up in the country as daughters of a clergyman before Merton inherited the title. They are both older than you, but their friendship would certainly do you no harm at all. They are, in fact, just the sort of slightly older, more established members of society Miss Daniels just spoke of. We will perhaps call upon them at home this afternoon. I have an acquaintance with them, and I believe you will like them.”

“Oh, Jasper,” she said. “I will look forward to it ever so much. I will be with you. I could not possibly be happier.”

Sometimes he felt uncomfortably unworthy of such unconditional worship. That was especially true today, for of course he had an ulterior motive in the planned visit-and the planned house party-despite the fact that he really did believe the Huxtable sisters would be kind to Charlotte and would not look askance at being called upon by someone so young.

“Charlotte,” Miss Daniels said, setting her napkin down beside her plate and getting to her feet, “we had better go up to your sitting room and put our heads together over this list. How many guests are there to be, Lord Montford?”

“A dozen?” he suggested. “Five dozen? As many as the rooms at Cedarhurst will hold? As many as you and Charlotte can persuade to come?”

“Carte blanche, in other words?” She smiled at him. “I believe we can make do with carte blanche, can we not, Charlotte?”

“Oh, this is going to be the best birthday ever,” Charlotte said as she followed her companion from the room. “And you are the best of brothers, Jasper, and I love you.” She hugged him about the neck and planted a noisy kiss on his brow as she passed his chair.

Before next Season was out, he thought ruefully as the door closed behind them, her thoughts were going to be stuffed full of beaux, and Jasper was going to be relegated to the role of rather dull elder brother. But those beaux had better be worthy of her, by thunder!

He hoped the Huxtable sisters would be at home this afternoon.

He drummed his fingertips on the table, pursed his lips, and stared off into the middle distance.

She still used the same soap for washing her hair. He had noticed that last evening as soon as he started to waltz with her. He had not realized before how powerful the sense of smell could be in evoking memories. Not all of them unpleasant, strangely enough.

He had better stop woolgathering, he decided, and take himself off to White’s to read the morning papers and find some congenial companionship to fill in the rest of the morning hours. He had already looked through the post and decided which invitations to accept and which to reject. He had set aside the fortnightly report from Cedarhurst to read later.

Before he could rise from the table, however, and follow his sister and Miss Daniels from the room, his butler arrived on the scene, a card on a silver platter in his hand and a look of open disapproval on his face.

“The gentleman hopes to see you immediately, my lord,” he said as Jasper took the card from the tray. “Or sooner. His exact words, m’lord.”

Jasper was given no chance to read who it was who had such an urgent need to see him. The visitor did not wait in the hall to be properly admitted. He strode into the breakfast parlor almost on the butler’s heels.

Jasper raised one eloquent eyebrow.

“Clarrie!” he said with heavy irony. He did not get to his feet. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Come in and make yourself at home. No need to stand upon ceremony here.”

Clarence Forester-Sir Clarence since the demise of his father eighteen months or so ago-hated almost more than anything else in the world to be called Clarrie. Hence Jasper had never called him anything else all their lives. He was Aunt Prunella’s beloved only son, Charlotte’s cousin, and a weasel of the first order. Jasper noted his expanding girth and thinning fair hair and florid complexion. It had been a while since he had seen the man. He was not maturing well though he could not be a day older than twenty-five.

“My dear mama and I arrived in town yesterday,” Clarence explained, eyeing an empty chair as though he thought it might collapse beneath him if he sat on it and then lowering himself onto another. “We came with all the speed we could muster as soon as we heard.”

“All the way from Kent?” Jasper asked. “Pour Sir Clarrie some coffee, if you will be so good, Horton. He looks in dire need of sustenance. Sprang your horses, did you, old boy? That was rash of you. Sprung horses have a tendency to become lame horses if they do not have very skilled hands at the ribbons.”

“Sir Clarence, that is,” Clarence said pointedly in the direction of Horton. “And bring me some porter instead.”

Jasper nodded when Horton looked his way.

“We have heard,” Clarence said, leaning back while his glass of porter was being set down in front of him, “though I am sure you will correct me if we heard wrongly as we surely must have done, Jasper. We have heard that you have brought Cousin Charlotte to London.”

Jasper looked politely at him.

“All of which goes to prove,” he said agreeably, “that your ears are in fine working order, Clarrie. Were you worried about them?”

“She is here, then?” Clarence asked.

“Body and soul,” Jasper agreed. “Mind too, I daresay. Charlotte is nobody’s genius, but Miss Daniels has educated her as well as she is able, and she is an admirable woman. They have even visited a few token galleries and museums together since coming here. I have been vastly impressed.”

Clarence drew an audible breath and swelled alarmingly. There was a thin mustache of porter on his upper lip. It made him look slightly rakish.