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Alice frowned. “But we don’t want
everyone
to stay with us. Not Mrs. Smythe.”

“Oh, of course not. We shall be very discriminating.”

“Perhaps McBride,” Alice suggested magnanimously.

“Certainly McBride,” Lily agreed. “And the house was surrounded by green lawns as far as the eye can see, and trees and fountains were everywhere, and swans and peacocks, too.”

“Tell me again about the peacocks.”

“They are great shiny birds, with long proud feathers like this.” Lily fanned her hand out behind her bottom and wiggled it, to make Alice giggle. “Like the birds in our book.”

“Can we eat them?” Alice asked bloodthirstily.

“No, our cupboards will be so full of beef and cheese that we would never dream of eating a peacock.”

“Oh my,” Alice breathed.

And there’s a prince, “ Lily added suddenly.

“A prince?” Alice was fascinated. “There’s never been a prince before.”

Because I’ve never seen a man quite like this before
. “Yes, a very tall prince, with broad shoulders, and… thick straight dark brows like this.” Lily placed her fingers across her own fine brows. “And cheeks like… like this.” She sucked in her own cheeks to illustrate high slopes and elegant hollows. “And a bold nose. Rather saves him from being too pretty. And hair like fire.”

“His hair is on fire?” Alice was alarmed.

“No, goose. His hair is very dark, but it shines in the sun like… lit coal. His eyes are dark, and he has very fine clothes. And a firm grip,” she added, a touch resentfully.

“A firm grip?” Alice was puzzled. “Is he handsome?”

Lily hesitated, remembering those dark eyes fringed by lashes so thick she’d been tempted to reach up and brush her finger across them. Staring down at her in cold, confident fury, clearly a man unafraid of much of anything, particularly her. But then, in the space of a breath, his gaze had become… something else. Interest? Wonder? She’d felt the change as physically as his fingers closed around her wrist; she’d felt in the very center of her, a shock of heat, like lamplight blooming.

Right before she’d kneed him in the cods.

She smiled a little; it had been a terrible thing to do to a man. But it wasn’t as though he’d given her much of a choice.

“Well, yes. Very handsome,” she admitted.

“All right,” Alice conceded begrudgingly. “He can live with us, too. And do Mama and Papa live in a house like that in Heaven, Lily?” Alice’s blue eyes were beginning to mist over with sleepiness.

Lily thought about this. No doubt there was a place for handsome wastrels who married the orphan daughters of curates, drank up their money, and then died, leaving their wives and daughters penniless in St. Giles. She just wasn’t sure heaven was it When Papa died, Mama had given up caring about much of anything, so it fell to Lily to put food on the table and keep the roof over their head. She had tried applying to shops, to great houses: none would have her. So she’d stolen her first watch fob. Desperation had blunted her fear, and success had given her courage, and courage had made her bolder. When she discovered she was
good
at relieving gentlemen of small shiny things, a certain amount of pride began to shine through the shame of it, and she began to revel in her own resourcefulness. There was great satisfaction in knowing she was keeping her family together.

If Mama had guessed how Lily had gone about it, she’d never said a word.

But Lily had other memories, too, memories her sister was too young to share: of safer and more comfortable homes, of soft laughter between her parents, of playing simple tunes on a pianoforte that had later vanished along with the house and everything in it. Of seashore trips. Of shoes.

Lily looked down into Alice’s wide blue eyes, so like Mama’s.
What will become of us
? was a thought she rarely entertained;
there is only today
was the refrain that comforted her.

“Yes, Mama and Papa live in a house like that in Heaven,” she told her sister softly.

“That little pickpocket got you right in the… in the…
baubles.”

Gideon pulled his gaze away from Lady Gilchrist’s ballroom to look askance at Kilmartin. “I was
there
, Laurie. I see no need to reminisce.”

“What was she after? Your watch?”

“My great-grandfather’s
gold
watch.” The jarring clarity of the girl’s eyes haunted him—such a remarkable color. And he’d read outrage in them, too, as well as panic, as though his attempt to prevent her from helping herself to his one cherished family heirloom had been sheer effrontery on his part. He’d walked gingerly for hours after. He shook his head wryly.
Women
. A cruel, confusing species to be sure.

He returned his eyes to the ballroom, where a chandelier poured soft light down upon rows of dancers in the throes of a reel. Reels embarrassed Gideon; all that clapping and twirling ill-suited the dignity of someone several inches over six feet tall. When he could do so without causing great offense, he waited them out. Constance, however, appeared to be enjoying this reel inordinately.

Perhaps because she was partnered with Lord Jarvis.

Lord Jarvis, who
already
had a title and a fortune and wasn’t exactly a gargoyle.

Jarvis was a decent enough fellow, Gideon conceded reluctantly. Blond. Affable. On the whole, completely inoffensive. Apart, that is, from his interest in Constance.

Kilmartin followed Gideon’s morose gaze. “‘Constance, ’” he mused. “An ironic name, when you think about it. She doesn’t seem terribly ‘constant’ now, does she?”

“Are you
trying
to cheer me up, Laurie? If so, I wish you would stop.”

Kilmartin shook his head sympathetically, and they returned to watching the dancers in silence.

“What does Constance see in him?” Gideon asked finally.

“
Besides
the money and title and all that property?”

Gideon slowly turned an amazed expression toward his friend.

“Oh, sorry, old man,” Kilmartin added hurriedly. “I suppose that wasn’t terribly helpful, either.”

Gideon lifted one eyebrow in confirmation and resumed his Constance vigil. “At least I am dancing all but two waltzes with her this evening.”

Kilmartin sighed. “Gideon, as your friend, I feel obliged to tell you your conversation lacks something these days. Or rather, it lacks
everything
but two things: work and Constance. You used to
be fun.”

“Fun?” The notion surprised Gideon. “I was never
fun. ‘”

“You
were,”
Kilmartin disagreed firmly. “The time you put the lizard in Cunnington’s bed—remember that? The morning you hid everyone’s boots? The mule races? Or— my favorite—the night of the opera dancers?”

Ah, the night of the opera dancers
. Gideon recalled a good deal of champagne and giggling, followed by a frisky chase around a settee and a very satisfying conclusion
atop
the settee. He smiled to himself, a slow, sweetly sinful smile that sent fans and eyelashes fluttering all over the ballroom.

Kilmartin was right:
Work and Constance
. His Master Plan
had
begun to feel a bit like an endless, steep marble staircase.

But at the very top Constance glowed like a compass star.

What the bloody hell was Jarvis saying to make her laugh so merrily just now? How amusing could a reel possibly
be
?

“I do take your point, Laurie. But…
look
at her.”

Kilmartin dutifully looked at Constance. As usual, her dress was in the first stare of fashion: pale and floaty and slightly daring, held up at the shoulders by two mere wisps of fabric. Tall, bright of hair and fair of skin, she dominated the room the way the sun dominated the sky.

Gideon often felt like Icarus when he looked at Constance.

“I don’t care what you say, Gideon, she rather frightens
me”
was Kilmartin’s subdued-sounding verdict. “She’s so… so… very…” He stalled like a cart mired in mud.

“My point
precisely”
Gideon completed with relish.

Finally, Constance’s bright head dipped in an elegant curtsy, and Lord Jarvis led her from the floor, his face flushed with pride and exertion; heads turned to watch them. And as Jarvis made his bow and drifted away, three young women appeared and attached themselves to Constance. The handmaidens, Gideon and Kilmartin secretly called them. They orbited Constance like moons, as though they couldn’t help it, as though their natures required it.

Kilmartin took two steps away from Gideon to find Lady Anne Clapham, but then he paused and turned, his expression thoughtful. “Do you know what Constance needs, Gideon? A rival. Someone exotic, someone just different enough from her to throw her off her game. That ought to tip the balance in your favor.”

Gideon gave a short humorless laugh. “Pity such a creature does not exist.”

When it was time for the waltz, Gideon steered Constance (or was steered
by
Constance—it was often difficult to discern the difference) about the ballroom floor like a great golden galleon, conscious of and pleased by all the eyes watching them. They were well matched; he knew it pleased Constance as much as it pleased him.

“Would it bore you if I told you how lovely you looked tonight, Constance?” He said her name proprietarily; he wondered if she had yet allowed Jarvis to call her by her first name.

“Oh, a compliment could never bore me, Gideon.”

“But doubtless you’ve been complimented in the very same way all evening.”

“But not by
you.”
She tilted her head back and peered at him through flirtatiously lowered lashes.

Gideon knew a challenge when he heard one. “Well, perhaps, then, I can arrive at a more
original
compliment,” he teased. “Perhaps something along the lines of… your eyes are the color of the sky above the moors on a wintry evening…”

Too late he recalled that Constance had no patience for metaphor; she vastly preferred the tangible. Her angelic face hid a breathtakingly literal mind.

“Really, Gideon—‘
moors. ’
How very florid. Perhaps you could compliment my gown instead. I’m the only young lady in the
ton
to have anything like it, and it was very dear.”

“The only young lady? That
is
impressive. How did you manage it?”

Constance lowered her voice confidingly. “I bribed most of the dressmakers in the
ton
!” She gave a wicked little giggle. “And that
would
have worked a treat, but then I learned that Miss Fortescue had already ordered the dress. So I said to her, ‘Miss Fortescue, you’ve such lovely
plump
arms, that new type of sleeve would
never
suit—perhaps a puff would be more appropriate?’ I aver, Miss Fortescue will wear puffed sleeves for the rest of her life. And she canceled her order, of course.”

Gideon gazed down at her, bemused, as he so often was in her presence. Constance took her clothing very seriously. “It must be an awesome responsibility to wield such influence over the young ladies of the
ton
, Constance.” He was half jesting.

“Oh, but it is,” she said in all gravity. “But it’s also very important to
win.”

Gideon could hardly disagree, as he’d devoted almost his entire life to winning. He hadn’t yet resorted to bribing dressmakers, but who knew what measures he would take if circumstances called for it? “Well, no other young lady would carry that gown off quite so well as you. It is exquisite.”

She looked pleased enough, though Gideon had the sense that he was confirming something she already knew. He immediately fished about in his mind for more compliments, as they were, after all, the grease that kept conversation with Constance flowing smoothly, and could very well lead to other topics if he kept at it.

“How does your uncle fare, Gideon?” she asked suddenly.

The question disarmed him; he was touched. “Poorly, as usual, I’m afraid.”

She was quiet for a moment. “He’s been ill for
such
a long time. One might even begin to believe he’ll be ill… forever.”

And suddenly a cold little finger of suspicion jabbed below his heart.
Perhaps she’d like a titled husband before she’s in her dotage
. Kilmartin’s words.

“Uncle Edward may expire any moment.” Surprise made his words emerge more clipped than he had intended.

Constance seemed to brighten a little. “That is a shame. Pity, isn’t it, that he cannot enjoy his properties as they should be enjoyed? Papa has always
greatly
admired Aster Park.”

“Has he?” Gideon knew full well the marquis admired Aster Park.
Everyone
admired Aster Park, particularly Constance. He recalled strolling alongside her during her first and only visit to the estate, during a house party Kilmartin had persuaded Gideon to hold. Her conversation had been light, but she’d scrutinized the rose and statue and kitchen gardens, the lakes and fountains and labyrinths and trees, with the coolly critical eye of Wellington inspecting his regiments. And Gideon had seen the garnering covetousness in her gaze.

“But
I
always thought all those big American trees should be planted in a more orderly fashion, not in those great messy clumps. You know, I think I may yet discover a talent for horticulture, Gideon.”

Great messy clumps
? “I should not be surprised if horticulture turned out to be your great calling, Constance.”

She laughed at that. “Now you are teasing me. Tell me, did you win in court today?”

“Of course.” He smiled reassuringly.

“And did they give you a good deal of money for it?” Constance had no real understanding of the legal system, a fact that tended to work beautifully in Gideon’s favor.

“Oh, a
good
deal,” he said airily. It wasn’t precisely a lie. “In fact… I drought I’d buy the town house on Grosvenor Square. The one on the corner.”

“Oh!” Constance’s gray eyes widened. “But I thought— That is, Malco—That is, Lord Jarvis is interested in that… in that property as… as… well…”