He had come empty-handed today, and there was no rehearsed speech rattling around in his brain. And no ardor accelerating his heartbeat.

The door opened behind him and closed again even as he turned. He was relieved to recognize her, though she looked somewhat different. She was dressed in dark blue today. Her hair was styled more simply and looked thicker and glossier. Candlelight had not unduly flattered her. She must be one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Not to mention voluptuous – he had not exaggerated /that/ fact in his memory.

She also looked calm and self-possessed. And … intelligent. Her eyes looked him over steadily and unhurriedly. Perhaps, like him, she had been afraid that she might not even recognize him today.

He bowed formally. She did not curtsy in return. She inclined her head instead. "Miss Huxtable," he said. "Lord Sheringford." "I do apologize," he said, "for the very public reaction to our encounter last evening." "On the contrary," she said, "it is I who must apologize to you, my lord. If I had been looking where I was going, I would not have run into you. And if I had not told Major Dew in the park the day before yesterday that I was betrothed and then been embarrassed last evening to discover that the Marquess of Allingham was already engaged to marry someone else, I would not have presented /you/ as my betrothed. It was all very foolish and very out of character for me. But that latter fact is beside the point. I have caused you embarrassment and I am sorry." He had been surprised last evening by her candor. He was surprised again today. He had expected that she would heap blame upon him. "There will be no further embarrassment for either of us," he said, "when a formal announcement of our engagement appears in tomorrow's papers." She moved farther into the room and seated herself on a chair by the fireplace. She indicated one on the other side. "Do sit down," she said. "You are under no moral obligation whatsoever to offer for me today, you know. It would be absurd for either of us to feel forced into marrying by a little idle gossip. We have done nothing wrong or even indiscreet. We danced and talked in a crowded ballroom, as did everyone else who was there. Both activities are the very point of a ball. There really has been nothing resembling scandal, has there?

Gossip is simply that – empty talk that is quickly replaced by some other.

Everyone will forget within a week." "But Miss Huxtable – " She held up a hand to stop him from continuing. "However," she said, "I do remember your telling me that your need to marry without delay is a rather desperate one. It is this fact, I suppose, that has brought you here this afternoon." "I hope," he said, "I would have come anyway." "I would have had Stephen assure you that your gallantry was appreciated but quite unnecessary," she said. "I would have had him send you on your way to freedom with my thanks. But freedom is not what you will face if I send you away, is it?" "There is always freedom," he said, "unless, I suppose, one is actually incarcerated. I could seek employment." "But you would prefer to marry," she said. "Why is that?" She was actually /interviewing/ him. This encounter was not proceeding at all as he had expected. "I suppose," he said, "because I would prefer to live the life of a landed gentleman to which I am accustomed." "Poverty is not a pleasant thing," she said. "We were always poor until Stephen inherited the earldom. We were not unhappy. Indeed, we were often very happy indeed. But we had never known wealth or the security of a large home and farms and a sizable income. Now that we /do/ know it, I do not doubt we would find it extremely difficult to go back. You have never known poverty, I suppose. Are you afraid of it?" He leaned back in his chair and cocked one eyebrow. "I am not really afraid of anything, Miss Huxtable," he said.

There was indeed very little left to fear. The worst had happened to him already. And somehow he would manage no matter what happened – or did not happen – during the next two weeks. All sorts of little boys, after all, were raised quite adequately by men who had to work for a living. "You would be a foolish man if that were the truth," she said. "But I do not believe it is. I believe you are simply a liar. You are in good company, however. Men will admit to almost any shortcoming before they will admit to feeling fear. It is considered weak and unmanly." "Miss Huxtable," he said, "I have Woodbine Park in Warwickshire to offer you if you marry me. It is a sizable home in spacious, well-kept grounds. And its income, though no vast fortune, is more than comfortable. I have future prospects of far greater splendor. I am the Marquess of Claverbrook's heir, and he has properties dotted all over England. He is vastly wealthy." "And is this /all/ you have to offer, Lord Sheringford?" she asked after regarding him in silence for several moments.

He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. What else /was/ there? She was not imagining, was she, that he had fallen violently in love with her last evening and had his heart to lay at her feet? "I cannot offer an unsullied name," he said. "I am afraid I earned a notoriety that will not quickly die – if it ever does." "That is true," she agreed. "But the past cannot be changed. Only the future is at least partially in our control. Are you sorry for what you did?" He felt a spurt of anger. Was she about to read him a sermon? "No," he said curtly. "You would do it again, then?" she asked. "Yes," he said. "Without hesitation." "It must be good," she said so quietly that he almost did not hear the words, "to be loved that dearly." He opened his mouth to reply and closed it yet again. "What will you do," she asked him, "if I reject you today?" He almost hoped she would. He did not find her … comfortable.

He shrugged. "Resume the hunt," he said. "I still have almost two weeks." "Thirteen days, to be exact," she said. "An eternity." "Yes." "But this time," she said, "you will carry the unpleasantness of today's gossip with you into the courtship, as well as your notoriety. Your chosen bride and her family will believe that you have jilted me too." "Perhaps." He would not glare. It would suggest that she was getting under his skin. He fixed her with a stare that many people found intimidating.

When trying to recall her face earlier, he had assumed that with her dark hair she must have brown eyes. They were actually a startling blue – and they did not waver from his. "Why should I marry you?" she asked him. "Give me reasons, Lord Sheringford. Not the financial details. I knew of those even before stepping in here. I am not swayed by such considerations. I no longer have to fear poverty even if I never marry and live to be a hundred. Why should I marry you? With what persuasions did you arm yourself before you came here?" If he had arrived in that ballroom two minutes before or after he actually had, he thought, there would have been no collision and no dance and no conversation in an alcove. He would have picked out some pathetic-looking girl who would have been only too delighted to marry him. Indeed, he had already picked out such a girl a moment before the collision, had he not? He would not be sitting here now being interrogated by a woman he suspected he might easily come to dislike quite intensely.

He stopped himself from drumming his fingertips on the arm of his chair. "You are not a young woman," he said. "How old /are/ you?" "Thirty," she said. "You think I am desperate for a husband, then? You did not expect that any great persuasion would be necessary?" He stared at her for a few moments. "You would have to be blind to be desperate," he said. "Since you are not, you must know how beautiful you are. You must also realize how sexually appealing you are, though I do not suppose you use just those words in your genteel mind. We both know that I do not represent your last chance, Miss Huxtable. But you have been shaken during the past few days by the reappearance of a former lover. /Was/ he a lover, by the way? Or was he merely a man you loved?" For the first time she flushed. She did not look away from him, though. "He was – " she said before stopping abruptly. "You are impertinent." Ah – interesting! "You went to last evening's ball," he said, "expecting that Allingham would offer you marriage. You were ready to accept him even though you do not love him." "How do you know I do not?" she asked him. "You were not distraught," he said.