Josiah was a man of his word—they arrived at Lady Bellwhite’s town house at precisely ten o’clock in the evening. The street was already crowded with carriages, the noise and the music from the elegant little mansion spilled out into the streets, and Annelise groaned at the thought of another crowd. At least there’d be suitors, she told herself, already less than enamored of this particular visit.

      And she was right. By the time they reached the ballroom they’d passed by three rather weedy young men, four elderly widowers, an earl with a weak heart and a bad reputation, and a bevy of other possible contenders for Hetty’s delicate hand. And no Christian Montcalm, to Annelise’s relief.

      At the last minute Annelise had donned one of her discarded lace caps. It flapped down around her face, and while it was irritating, at least it gave her a dubious sense of protection. A woman in a lace cap was proclaiming that she was beyond the age of marriage and that the only gentleman importunate enough to ask her to dance was Mr. Chipple.

      He was easy enough to dissuade and Annelise settled back in her corner amidst the chaperons and widows, gossiping pleasantly as she sipped the glass of punch Mr. Chipple had thoughtfully provided before disappearing in the direction of the card tables.

      She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the man. Chipple looked relieved when she refused his offer of a dance, but the delivery of the punch was a courtesy that was a bit too marked. If he started getting romantic notions she would have to abandon Hetty to her fate after all.

      But then, half the women there seemed to have a great interest in the bluff Josiah. As Lady Prentice had said, money would perfume the stink of the shop quite effectively, and there were any number of widowed ladies casting curious eyes in Chipple’s direction. He seemed unaware of it, but once the ladies knew that Annelise was a part of his household, at least for the time being, she was besieged with questions.

      Annelise nodded and murmured agreement and passed on whatever encouraging information she could think of. Yes, she’d answered numerous times, he was a most devoted father. Yes, his house by Green Park was quite large. No, he’d been widowed for a great many years, she believed, and had yet to choose a new wife. Yes, perhaps London was just the place for both Chipples to form new attachments. Shipping, was it? Not as bad as it could be. Really, shipping was quite a respectable trade, if one must have a trade, and he did carry himself quite well, didn’t he?

      There were at least half a dozen women there, no more than ten years older than she was, who would love to provide Josiah a new wife. He might even marry a title himself, though of course he wouldn’t benefit financially from it. But he could say, “my wife, Lady Ermintrude,” with great pride.

      Clearly she needed to match make for the both of them. His gratitude should be boundless if he managed to secure his own happiness, as well, and perhaps she might end up with that tiny cottage and a genteel income to call her own after all. Anything was possible.

      “You haven’t seen Christian Montcalm, have you?”

      The conversation wasn’t addressed to her, and she pretended to ignore it, but the sound of his name had her immediate attention.

      “You think he’d dare show his face here?” another voice replied. “Surely not after that escapade with Lord Morton’s wife!”

      “Morton has taken her to the continent until the scandal dies down,” the first woman said. “As for Montcalm, he sold his soul to the devil years ago. This latest scandal will make little difference, I expect.”

      “No, indeed,” said the second woman, fanning herself vigorously. “We can only be thankful he is unlikely to try to show his face here tonight. If he does I think I might be tempted to give him the cut direct.”

      The first woman laughed. “No, you wouldn’t, Lavinia. All he’d have to do is smile at you and you’d be at his feet. You should never have gotten involved with him in the first place. It was more than five years ago and you’ve yet to look at another man.”

      Annelise could stand it no longer. She turned to glance at the women. She recognized Lavinia Worthington. She was the same age as Annelise’s older sister, but she’d aged far better. She was widowed several years ago, if she remembered correctly, and hadn’t yet doffed her widows’ weeds. Maybe she had the same financial problems Annelise did. Or maybe she just knew how stunning she was in black. The diamond necklace around her elegant neck was worth a hundred black dresses.

      “I’m more than ready to look at another man. I think Mr. Chipple might suit me very well.”

      “You wouldn’t!” her companion sputtered.

      “I would,” said Lavinia. “You’re right—Christian has ruined me for anyone else. The things he does in bed are beyond sinful and so wickedly delicious that you’d want to die with pleasure. I’m not going to get that again, so I might at least settle for a comfortable amount of money.”

      “More than comfortable, if what I hear is true,” the first woman said. “But take a glance across the room if you think you can really do it.”

      Annelise turned her head, to follow their gaze, only to see Christian Montcalm, a vision in satin, holding Hetty’s hand in preparation for the next dance.

      4

      Annelise could cover a surprising amount of ground in no time at all, even weaving her way through the crowded dance floor. She was tall, but she had a certain grace, and was able to slip to the other side of the room without causing much notice, just in time to physically fling herself between Montcalm and Hetty.

      It was perhaps not the best decision, since he’d been holding Hetty’s hand in preparation for leading her out to dance, and when Annelise used her body to break them apart his arm brushed against her breasts. With any other man she would have thought it an accident. With this man, who was a known connoisseur of beauty, she wasn’t quite sure.

      She had to move fast and had always been good at thinking quickly, so at the last minute she’d grabbed young Mr. Reston by the hand, thrusting him forward. “Miss Chipple, may I introduce you to Mr. Reston? He’s a great admirer of yours, and begs the favor of this dance.”

      “I…er…that is…” Mr. Reston had turned a bright pink that didn’t go well with his spots. “I mean, I would be honored if I could have this dance, Miss Chipple.”

      “Lovely,” Annelise said cheerfully, putting Hetty’s limp hand in Reston’s gloved one and giving them a little shove toward the dance floor. “I’m certain Mr. Montcalm will understand.”

      Hetty would have lingered, but Mr. Reston finally understood his duty, and a moment later he was leading her through the paces of a