"A Scot, eh? No wonder you look foreign," Sir Edward said.

Awkward moment over, they all laughed, even Troth. "My father would have turned over in his grave to know I was wed to an Englishman, but at least with a handfasting, I'll soon be free of the Sassenach."

"One could argue about the legality of handfasting if not done on Scottish soil, but it suited the circumstances," Kyle said, wishing she wasn't quite so keen on pointing out the temporary nature of their arrangement.

Sir Edward said, "No gentleman could have refused a request for aid from such a beautiful lady."

Gloomily aware that Sir Edward was single, rich, and highly eligible, Kyle said, "Would you like to attempt the dancing, my dear?"

"Thank you. I should enjoy that."

He led her onto the floor. "Did you waltz at Warfield?"

"Hardly-I was in mourning for my dead husband. But I observed the dancing closely."

She moved into waltz position, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other in his clasp. As she gave him a sultry glance, he realized how unwise it was to waltz with her. This close, long-dormant desire began to stir. Her Chinese costume didn't include gloves, and he was ridiculously conscious of the bare fingers resting within his own gloved hand.

She needed little instruction in the steps of the dance. Her observations, coupled with her natural athletic grace, enabled her to quickly learn how to follow his lead. He said, "You've a gift for this."

Her eyes glinted up through dark lashes with wicked provocation. "Waltzing is not so different from wing chun sparring."

Uneasily he recognized that she was sparring now. She was angry, not specifically at him, he guessed, or even his father. Rather, she had armored herself against a world that hadn't lived up to her wistful dreams.

He had a vivid memory of the temple cave, where they'd first made love and she'd taught him about chi. In the heart of a mountain, they had both discovered pure happiness. But ultimately, her relationship with him had cost her something precious. He could only hope that in the future she would be able to put aside the armor and find hope and trust with another man.

As they whirled across the floor, desire intensified. Damnation, he didn't need that now! He would miss her presence abominably when she was gone, and desire would only make it worse.

He'd better hope that the year and a day was over before he fully recovered his strength, because having her nearby without physical intimacy was going to be more difficult with every day that passed. Yet in the weeks they had left he would be unable to resist her company, for he would need the memories when she was gone.

He would need them desperately.

Chapter 35

Troth had expected the earl's gathering to be challenging, and it was, even with Kyle's support. The men weren't much of a problem. She cynically guessed that for many of them she represented an exotic fantasy, so naturally they were friendly, except for a few ancients who eyed her suspiciously.

The women were quite a different matter. When Kyle introduced her to a group of the most influential ladies in the county, a dozen pairs of eyes scanned her with varying degrees of curiosity and hostility. Not only was she foreign, but she'd stolen one of the most eligible men in England, and most of them probably hadn't yet heard about the handfast that meant he'd soon be available again.

Before any kind of conversation could begin, a servant came up to Kyle and murmured something. Kyle frowned, then glanced at Troth. "I'm sorry, I must leave for a few minutes. I'll be back as soon as I can."

She could feel his reluctance to leave her to the tender mercies of the local social arbiters. The first to speak was Lady Swithin, Sir Edward's widowed mother, who said in a voice of cool courtesy, "How do you find Northamptonshire, Lady Maxwell?"

Repressing a desire to say that it was easy, she'd just hired a chaise and the driver had found it for her, Troth replied, "It's very lovely, though colder than I'm used to."

One of the women said in a whisper that was presumably meant to be private, "What an odd creature! Where do you suppose Maxwell found her?"

"No place ladies like us should know about, I'm sure," was the malicious reply.

With a disapproving glance at the whisperers, Lady Swithin said, "I'm sure you'll be a most remarkable addition to society, Lady Maxwell."

The conversation ground to a halt. Then a grandly dressed lady joined the group. "Lady Swithin, introduce me to this lovely young woman," she said in a low, warm voice.

"This is Lady Maxwell, your grace." Lady Swithin glanced at Troth. "The Duchess of Candover."

The duchess's golden hair was laced with silver, and the lines around her eyes proclaimed her as well into her forties, if not older, but she was still a stunning beauty. Based on the reaction of the other women, she was the tai-tai of this particular society. Troth bowed. "I am honored, your grace."

"The honor is mine. I've always been fascinated by China. I hope you'll be willing to tell me more about it." The duchess touched Troth's sleeve. As she did, one gray-green eye closed in a definite wink. "Your gown is magnificent. I've never seen such embroidery."

The duchess's approval warmed the atmosphere. The dim blond child Kyle had been talking with earlier said artlessly, "I always thought the Chinese are yellow, but your complexion is as fair as any Englishwoman."

"Chinese come in several shades, none of them yellow," Troth explained. "My mother was from a part of China where people are very light skinned, and of course my father was Scottish."

Since the ice had been broken, several of the younger women began asking Troth about her costume, cosmetics, and the lives of Chinese women. Enhancing one's appearance was a universal female interest. She also realized that language was the key to acceptance. Since she talked like one of them, the ladies soon began to forget her unusual appearance and spoke as if she were a proper Englishwoman. Or at least a Scot.

Kyle reappeared when Troth was sipping champagne and chatting with the duchess, who was not only as welcoming as Meriel, but apparently had a colorful past of her own. Troth wondered if they'd ever have a chance to become better acquainted. Probably not, to her regret.

To Kyle, the duchess said, "You've improved the quality of Northamptonshire conversation with this young lady, Maxwell. Well done."

He gave the older woman an affectionate smile. "I thought you two would enjoy each other's company. May I take my wife away for a dance?"

"If you insist." The duchess surveyed the room. "Time I removed my husband from that group of bores and had a waltz myself." With a friendly wave, she departed.

As they began to dance, Kyle said, "Since the duchess likes you, you're well on the way to acceptance." He smiled fondly. "I fell madly in love with her when I was a schoolboy. She was very kind about my infatuation."

Troth guessed that he'd always be a little in love with the duchess; she was that sort of woman. "Is there something wrong? I saw that you left the ballroom."

"My father wanted to speak to me before he retired."

"He left his own reception?" Troth said as Kyle swung her around to avoid another couple. He really was a wonderful dancer.

"He had a flare-up of gout. It's a horribly painful inflammation of the joints, a big toe in my father's case. He's in his bedroom, swearing at his valet."

Troth felt reluctant sympathy for the earl. "My father sometimes suffered from gout. There's a simple Chinese treatment for it. Not a cure, but it might reduce the pain."