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Swindon as well,” Miss Langford went on with an appreciative-sounding sigh. “He’s a great deal older than Whitfield, but I understand he’s declared his intention to set up his nursery at last. Don’t you agree, Lady Stone, that there’s something about a rake that is irresistible to young women?”
    Rye couldn’t stop himself. “Including you, Miss Langford?”
    â€œCertainly,” Miss Langford said calmly.
    â€œThen I won’t fret about him , since your attractions will no doubt keep him too fully occupied to notice any young woman I might be interested in.”
    To his regret, she refused to be drawn. “It is not I whose help you need in order to draw off the competition, my lord. The answer to your difficulty is plain.”
    It might be plain to her, Rye thought, but there was no understanding the logic of the woman. He let his gaze linger on the way her neck curved as she bent over her tapestry once more. “I must beg you to clarify.”
    â€œI recommend you consider your sister.”
    â€œSophie?” Rye said warily. “What about her?”
    â€œLady Stone has said she is beautiful. And you told me she is of a marriageable age.”
    â€œTrue enough, on both counts. She’s eighteen. But I don’t see…”
    â€œBring her out now instead of waiting till next year. If she is indeed as lovely as Lady Stone believes, she will command the full attention of every gentleman who comes near her.”
    Lady Stone began to laugh. “I see what you’re up to, miss. All the other girls, seeing every man in London jostling for position round the Beauty…”
    â€œâ€¦will naturally turn to the only male on the Marriage Market who cannot possibly be in love with Miss Ryecroft or interested in making her an offer,” Miss Langford said.
    â€œHer brother! Portia, I vow you’re a prodigy. That’s the ticket, Ryecroft. Go home right now and fetch your sister.”
    â€œMy lady…” The confession that he couldn’t stand the nonsense wasn’t going to come easy—especially not under Miss Langford’s cool, judgmental gaze.
    â€œOh, I know,” Lady Stone said with a wave of her hand. “You haven’t a town house, and it’s too late now to go looking for one to rent. All the really good addresses have been bespoken already, and the few that are left will command a king’s ransom. It doesn’t signify. Bring her to me, and Miss Ryecroft can make her debut from Grosvenor Square. Oh, Portia, my sweet—what fun we’re going to have this Season!”

Five
    Miranda thought for an instant that even the tall-case clock had paused in shock at her offer. But no, time had simply drawn out endlessly as Marcus looked at her and as her words seemed to echo in the still air of the library.
    Give me the funds to provide my daughter with her chance, and I’ll be your mistress…
    Marcus took her goblet from her hand and set it down on the small table beside the settee. He turned toward her, his fingertips warmly cupping her chin and lifting it so he could look directly into her face. His eyes were so dark that she could barely see the difference between pupil and iris and so intent that her breath caught painfully in her chest.
    Slowly, he bent closer. She could feel the heat of his skin burning away the air that separated them. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth almost tentatively, as if he expected that she would move away or protest. But she stayed still.
    His hands slid over her shoulders and eased her back against the velvet cushions of the settee. He leaned over her, nibbling at her mouth. The tip of his tongue slowly traced the lines of her lips, exploring as carefully as if he were the first to see a new continent and needed to notice and remember every instant.
    She could feel her heartbeat in her throat and in her ears. She was having trouble breathing, so