"Surely you will not be so cruel as to dismiss me without giving me the honor of a dance. Lady Northcote has allowed one waltz this evening, I am told, and I believe this is it."

"But, I—"

It was too late. Ashbrook was already leading her out onto the dance floor. His arm went boldly around her waist and Emily was swept up into the delightfully scandalous music of the waltz. It was a dance perfectly suited to a woman of excessive passions. Emily just wished Simon were her partner.

"You have changed, Emily."

"Not that much, Richard. Honestly, you make it sound as if I had turned into a different sort of creature altogether."

"Yes," he mused. "You have truly metamorphosed into a being of ethereal light and radiant beams, a creature who dwells on other planes, it seems."

"Richard, are you quoting yourself, by any chance?"

"A line or two from The Hero of Marliana. Have you read it?"

"No," Emily said crisply, "I have not."

Ashbrook nodded understandingly. "Too painful for you, I imagine. Do you ever think of us, Emily?"

"Rarely."

He smiled whimsically. "I think of you often, my dear. And of what I lost forever five years ago."

"I lost something, too," Emily reminded him.

"Your heart?"

"My reputation."

Ashbrook looked briefly irritated. "The incident apparently did not affect your marriage prospects. You have done very well for yourself, Emily. An earl, no less. And a very exotic and rather dangerous one, at that."

"Blade is not dangerous," she said impatiently. "I cannot imagine where everyone has gotten that impression of him."

"You, I take it, do not go in fear of your husband?"

"Of course not. I would never have married him if I had been afraid of him," she retorted.

"Why did you marry him, Emily?"

"We are twin souls who communicate on a higher plane," she explained. "We share a mystical, transcendental union."

"You and I once shared that sort of communication," Ashbrook reminded her in a meaningful tone.

"Hah! Not bloody likely. I was much younger then and did not know the true meaning or nature of a metaphysical union."

"And that is what you enjoy with your husband? Forgive me, but I find it difficult to believe Blade is capable of such refined sensibilities."

"Well, we are working on it," Emily mumbled. "It takes a while to develop perfect transcendent communication, you know."

"With us, it was instantaneous, as I recall. At least on my part."

"Is that so, my lord?" Emily lifted her chin proudly. "Then why did you presume to attack me that night at the inn, pray tell?"

Ashbrook came to an abrupt halt on the dance floor, took her wrist, and pulled her out through the open windows into the garden. There he turned and faced her.

"I did not attack you," he said brusquely. "I came to you that night because you had led me to believe our hearts were already forever joined in a nonphysical connection. I thought you were already one with me in the metaphysical realm and wished to be one with me in the physical realm, also. If we had spent the night together you would have learned the truth of a true, transcendent union."

Emily's brows drew together in a quelling frown as she recalled her wedding night. "I have heard the theory that what happens on one plane affects what happens on the other plane, Richard. I may as well tell you, I have serious doubts about the validity of that philosophy."

"Perhaps your grasp of metaphysical science is not as fully developed as it could be," Ashbrook said. "Tell me, Emily, do you still dabble in poetry?"

She hesitated. "As it happens, I am working on an epic poem at the moment."

Ashbrook was amused. "Going to give me some competition, eh?"

Emily felt herself grow pink with embarrassment. Whatever else he might be, Ashbrook was a published poet and she had never published so much as a single verse. "Hardly," she muttered.

"What are you calling this epic?"

"The Mysterious Lady."

"It sounds promising," Ashbrook allowed thoughtfully.

Emily looked up quickly, raising her quizzing glass to see his expression. "Do you really believe so?"

"Definitely." Ashbrook paused with a deliberate air. "Excellent title. Quite suited to the sort of people who buy that kind of thing. Do you know, Emily, I might be able to take a look at your work and see if it does, indeed, appear promising. If so, I would be happy to introduce you to my publisher, Whittenstall."

"Richard!" Emily was stunned by the generous offer. "Do you mean it?"

"But, of course." Ashbrook smiled with a negligent confidence. "A word from me would certainly help to get Whittenstall's attention, I believe."

"Richard, it would be so very kind of you. I cannot believe this is happening. I shall have to get back to work on The Mysterious Lady immediately. I have been thinking of adding a ghost and a secret passageway to the story. What do you think?"

"Ghosts and secret passageways are always very popular. I have used them myself on occasion."

"I have not as yet allowed anyone else to read The Mysterious Lady. It needs some work before you see it." Emily reminded herself of all the changes, additions, and corrections she wanted to make on the poem. "But I shall start at once. Richard, this is so exciting. I cannot tell you how much your offer means to me. To undertake to introduce me to your own publisher. It is beyond anything."

"It seems little enough to do for an old friend."

"I do not know how to thank you, Richard."

He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "There is no need to thank me. But if you feel the necessity, you may do so by joining a small literary salon I attend on Thursday afternoons."

Emily was thrilled. "A real London literary salon? I would so enjoy that. I have missed my Thursday afternoon meetings of the literary society of Little Dippington." A pang of uneasiness assailed her. "But do you think your literary friends will want me there? They are probably much more widely read than I am and ever so much more sophisticated. I shall probably appear very rustic to them."

"Not at all," Ashbrook murmured. "I assure you Lady Turnbull and my other friends will welcome you. They will no doubt find you quite… charming."

Emily sighed happily. "It is almost too much to contemplate. My first important ball, an introduction to a literary salon, and an opportunity to have a real publisher look at my writing. Town life is certainly a great deal more exciting than life in the country."

"Yes," Ashbrook said. "It certainly is. And as a married woman," he added softly, "you will find you have a great deal more freedom here in London than you ever did as a spinster buried in Hampshire. The only rule in town, my dear, is to be discreet."

"Yes, yes, of course." Emily was totally unconcerned with the problem of discretion simply because she was not planning any indiscretions, least of all with this man who had once so casually ruined her. No woman who was married to a man like Blade could possibly be interested in a shallow creature such as Ashbrook.

Emily frowned thoughtfully. "Richard, do you really believe my title is a good one? I am not averse to altering it if you think it would make my work more interesting to a publisher."

"We shall discuss it after I have had occasion to read your poem," Ashbrook said, gazing over her head into the brilliantly lit ballroom. "And now, speaking of discretion, I believe we should return to the ball."

"You are quite right. Celeste will wonder what has happened to me."

Emily turned cheerfully to walk back through the open windows, her mind churning with ideas for The Mysterious Lady. She raised her glass for a quick glance around the room and nearly collided with her husband, who materialized like a large boulder out of nowhere.