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Never put yourself at the mercy of a man, Lily.

Lily had never dreamt her imagination could be as much enemy as friend.

A tap sounded at the door; it could only be Mrs. Plunkett.

“Miss Masters, you are invited to join Mr. Cole and Lord Kilmartin for dinner,” the housekeeper told her. “Miss Alice will eat with the staff in the kitchen. I shall take her.”

Alice now took Mrs. Plunkett’s hand as naturally as if it were Lily’s, and Lily fought a little surge of jealousy toward the housekeeper.
Unworthy of me
, she thought. Alice
knew
their stay here was only temporary, yet Lily feared she was becoming too accustomed to the wonder that was Aster Park, and would grieve for it when they left. And witnessing Alice’s grief would be painful.

Eighteen more pounds, and she could be herself again. Her days, her life, would be her own once more, full of risk and danger, but her own, and blissfully simple and straightforward.

Though she might just regret not getting a look at herself in greens and blues and golds.

“Thank you, Mrs. Plunkett.” Lily wasn’t sure whether she should curtsy to the housekeeper or not, but she did it anyway. Surely Mrs. Plunkett deserved a curtsy for enduring Mr. Cole all these years.

“Perhaps the first thing you must understand, Miss Masters,” Gideon told Lily gently when her chair was pushed up to the table, “is that food in the
ton
is obscenely plentiful. You can heap your plate and clean it, and heap your plate and clean it… and still there will be more. A hostess is judged upon the quality of her table, and will do her best to make sure her guests stagger away from it twice as big as they were before they sat down.”

Lily’s expression flickered from disbelief to wonder to defensiveness as he spoke, and her cheeks went a little pink and her chin rose to its usual defiant angle as full understanding dawned: he was telling her she should not dive into her plate like a gull upon a fish.

Gideon couldn’t bear to watch her discomfort; no one should feel ashamed for having been hungry much of the time. He hurriedly continued.

“And though in many circumstances it makes sense to eat as quickly as possible, in the
ton
eating is considered a leisure activity; an opportunity to make pleasant conversation with your neighbor at the table. In fact, as absurd as this sounds, it is considered good form to leave a little on your plate.”

Lily silently took this in, fidgeting a little with the snowy napkin folded at her setting; he watched the hectic color fade from her cheeks as her pride settled back into place. No doubt she was silently ascribing this behavior to the general peculiarities of the
ton
.

Kilmartin was regarding Gideon with faint interest, too. “Never quite thought of it that way, Gideon.”

“I have,” Gideon remarked shortly. “Now, Miss Masters, the fashion in the
ton
is to serve yourself from the platters on the table. On occasion, the servants will do the honors, as they do here at Aster Park. There is no way of knowing how many dinner parties we will actually attend, but no doubt there will be at least one attended or hosted by Lady Constance Clary. And odds are you will be exposed to a good many kinds of rich food.”

Lily glanced up suddenly and smiled impishly. “That doesn’t sound like much of a hardship.”

His mind turned to pottage. Those sudden smiles of hers were as dangerous as flying cannonballs.

“Perhaps Miss Masters should practice serving herself, then?” Kilmartin suggested into the dumb silence that followed.

Gideon cleared his throat. “Very well, then. We shall begin with the meat. Allow yourself a slice or two at a time, Miss Masters,” he guided, “and employ leisurely movements.”

The table was set with numerous gleaming dishes, and Lily reached—or more accurately, lunged—for the silver serving fork resting on the platter of sliced roast of beef.

Gideon stifled a sigh.
Fast
seemed Lily’s sole speed; she wasn’t without grace, but her grace was like that of a hummingbird; all economy and purpose of movement. Honed through picking pockets and fleeing, no doubt.

“Slowly, Miss Masters, as you reach… and don’t dangle your sleeve through the candle, as it is considered bad form to go up in flames at a dinner party.”

She giggled. An enchanting, genuine, entirely unexpected sound. And suddenly Gideon wanted to make her do it again, and then again, the way one wanted to hear a lovely piece of music over and over. “You remind me a little of Dodge, Miss Masters,” he teased.

“Dodge?”

“The solicitor who dogs me. Little man, quick as a sparrow. Foists these cases upon me that I cannot refuse to—”

Gideon stopped. What was he
doing
? Certainly he’d never discussed Mr. Dodge with Constance; he could easily imagine her confusion if he were to bring the subject up:
Why does Gideon want to bore me
?

But Lily was waiting, her head tilted in curiosity. “What does he look like, Mr. Dodge?”

Gideon hesitated. It was seductive, the interest he saw in her eyes. He was certain Lily Masters saw a world populated with characters, and Mr. Dodge was most certainly a character. He surrendered to the urge to talk about him. “Little chap, bald, the brightest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. He looks like a pigeon, too, round on top and twiggy on the bottom.”

Lily laughed, pleased with the vivid description; her eyes had gone a little abstracted, as though she were forming a picture of Mr. Dodge in her mind. And suddenly this mundane part of Gideon’s world took on color and light.

“And why do I remind you of him?” she asked.

“Oh, I suppose because he’s a quick devil. Moves like you do. I never can dodge him, you see; he always manages to catch up to me.”

“So his name is perfect for him!” Lily looked pleased by this.

“I suppose so.”

They smiled at each other, easy smiles, momentarily engrossed in the simple story.

“Like my parents,” Kilmartin remarked idly.

“What’s that, Laurie?” Gideon turned his smile toward his friend.

“The two of you rather reminded me of my parents just then. Father would talk about business, Mother would ask questions, they’d laugh… quite nice, really.” He sounded wistful.

Gideon’s smile froze in place, and he stared at Kilmartin mutely, uncertain as to why he should feel…

Caught.

“Roast beef, Gideon?” Laurie asked mildly. He pushed the platter toward him.

Alice was snoring softly next to her, her grubby little doll clutched in her arms. But Lily could not sleep. She was a little too full of roast beef, a little too tired of being required to move sedately, and the silence of the house enclosed her like a great bell jar.

Perhaps she could light a candle and read?

What she really wanted to do was run, expend her bottled energy. She was unaccustomed to confinement; it chafed at her, banked her restlessness. She smiled a little, picturing how the servants would react if they were to discover Miss Lily Masters, Lord Kilmartin’s cousin from Sussex, racing through the hallways in her big dressing gown. Would an actual emotion register on Mrs. Plunkett’s face?

She slipped out of bed, wrapped herself in her borrowed night robe, and lit a candle. Cupping the flame with one hand, she turned the chamber doorknob, slipped out, and padded silently and swiftly up the stairs to the library, the marble sending little rivers of chill up her legs through her bare feet.

She peered in; a fire was burning low there, throwing soft light and odd, uneven shadows about the room. Surely this was wrong; surely a servant should have doused the fire by now? She hesitated in the doorway, listening. She heard nothing, so she took a step in.

She saw him then. His long body filled a chair, his legs casually spread, his hands cupping a small red book; he seemed absorbed in it. In a nod to comfort, his shirt was open a button or two at the neck; dark hair curled intriguingly up out of it. The firelight burnished his skin, deepened the hollows of his cheeks, revealed red glints in his lashes, much like the ones hiding in his hair.

Even in repose, there was something taut and expectant, perpetually vigilant, about Gideon Cole. It made Lily want to murmur to him, the way you might to a restive animal. A rain of awareness washed her senses almost raw.
How could anyone or anything be so beautiful
?

And then Gideon glanced up and saw her. He went utterly still.

Their eyes held for an almost absurd length of time, but strangely, it was not the least bit awkward; his face, in fact, reflected the same gentle mystification she felt.

And then, as if shaking himself from a dream, Gideon began to rise to his feet.

“Miss Masters—”

“Oh, please do not stand, Mr. Cole,” she stammered. “I am sorry to disturb you. I’ll just go back to my—”

“No,” Gideon said quickly. “That is to say, don’t go, Miss Masters. That is to say, you
needn’t
go.”

Lily paused. If she didn’t know better, she would have said that Gideon Cole was
flustered
.

He sat down again and closed the book he was reading, turning it over in his lap. “There’s very little of any value in this library, Miss Masters. You might perhaps try my uncle’s study. There’s some gold plate lying about, I believe.”

“You don’t consider books of value, Mr. Cole?”

“Some of them, yes.” He paused, regarding her thoughtfully. “You enjoy stories very much, don’t you, Miss Masters? Reading them, telling them?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“Well, very likely because they are amusing, Mr. Cole.”

Gideon regarded her silently for a moment. “Do you know why
I
read stories?” His words were gently ironic. As though her answer had disappointed him. “
I
read them to escape the sordid, everyday difficulties of my life. To make it more… bearable.”

Lily gave a shocked little intake of breath, and her face went swiftly hot. Was he
mocking
her?

When she spoke again, her voice was cold and formal, signaling her intent to take command of their conversation. It shook a little, however, and she cursed herself and him for it. “Mr. Cole, now that I am here, I would like to speak to you about Alice.”

“Alice is delightful.”

“Yes, she is. You arranged for her to have a doll.”

“Are you jealous, Miss Masters? Would you like one, too?”

“Very amusing, Mr. Cole. I grant that it was kind of you to think of Alice. But she may become accustomed to such luxuries, and as you know, her life in St. Giles does not allow for them.”

Again he studied her quietly with those unfathomable eyes; she grew apprehensive. And his next words, gentle though they sounded, stripped yet another layer from her.

“Does the issue lie, Miss Masters, in the fact that
you
cannot give her those things?”

Lily’s breathing quickened with something akin to panic.
He’s probably a bloody good barrister
.

“We were happy, Mr. Cole,” she hissed. “Alice and I were doing quite well before you and your bloody thirty pounds.”

“Oh, yes.
Quite
well,” he repeated cynically. “What if something befell you in your ‘daily rounds, ’ Miss Masters? What if I hadn’t happened along when I did? What of Alice? Do you
care
?”

It was as though he had landed his fist in her gut. But before she could give vent to her fury, he surprised her.

“I apologize, Miss Masters.” His voice carried a soft self-rebuke, and his hand went up to rub his brow absently, as though he wished he could erase the thoughts that had led to his words. ‘Truly. That was unworthy of me. I know how deeply you care for your sister. In fact, you should be congratulated on how well she has turned out. I just… I just want you to see that you should give some thought to your future. Not everyone who catches you will pay thirty pounds to free you. “

It was not condescension, precisely, but Lily found it infuriating nevertheless.

“The future, Mr. Cole? You can plan all you like, but
no one
can truly prepare for the future. Not even you.
Despite
your desperate measures and your Master Plan and your bloody thirty pounds. “

His expression changed then, his features tightened; her words had struck home. His lovely long fingers restlessly plucked at the arm of the chair.

“And why,” she added, near tears, which infuriated her further, “do
you
care?”

A log, nearly devoured by flame, tipped into the lowering fire. Lily’s bare feet once again felt the chill of the floor; she absently chafed one against the other.

And the silence stretched.

Gideon shifted restless in his chair, took in a deep steadying breath, released it. “I’m not sure why I care, Miss Masters,” he admitted softly. He sounded genuinely puzzled. “But I do.”

And then he smiled. It really wasn’t much more than a rueful, self-mocking lift of the corner of his mouth, but there was a hint of vulnerability in it. And God help her, that smile spiraled right around Lily’s heart and tugged it nearly clean out of her chest.

Her anger evaporated. Lily studied him, and he met her gaze evenly; her heart tripped. Something was taking shape between them; it was like hovering on the threshold of a dark room, in that moment before your eyes adjust and the outlines of things become clear. She was afraid to say anything more, to step any farther into that room, for fear of crashing clumsily into something.

I could walk into his eyes
, she thought.
Happily disappear right into them
.

Gideon cleared his throat, as though he wanted to speak before she could say anything. “What sort of book were you after, Miss Masters? Perhaps I can direct you to it.”

“Oh!” His solicitousness on the heels of her thoughts made her blush. “Would that be… would that be all right?”

“‘Tis a library, after all.” He sounded faintly amused. “Are you fond of novels? Or perhaps of…” He faltered almost imperceptibly. “Of… of poetry?”

Odd
. It was as though he feared he was making some sort of prurient suggestion.