One

“Oh, Roddy, don’t you begin to be a dead bore,” drawled Lady Alicia Alston, gazing out over the great hall of Perdon Abbey with a distinctly jaundiced eye.

The Honorable Roderick Massingham, second son of the Earl of Murne, sighed and leaned an elbow on the carved oak banister of the ancient minstrel’s gallery. The one trouble with Alicia, he thought, was that she was so deuced easily bored. It took all a fellow’s time just to keep her mildly amused, and he couldn’t remember when he had last seen her really laugh. Often, struggling to hold his own against her lightning wit, he wondered if the thing was worth the effort.

Watching Alicia’s discontented profile, Roddy decided yet again that it was. Though he had known her for most of his twenty-six years, he had never become accustomed to her beauty. It struck him every time he looked at her. It was because of her mother, of course. The Duke of Morland, Alicia’s father, had startled London society by bringing home the dazzling daughter of a Swedish count as his bride, and Alicia had inherited her silver-blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and slender, willowy body that was entrancing despite her height. It would help if she weren’t so tall, though, Roddy thought. It was difficult to impress a woman who stared one straight in the eye. And Alicia was far too accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed. That was her father in her. Roddy nodded wisely to himself. Old Morland was known for his high-nosed ways. It was all very well in him, but he should have kept a tighter rein on his daughter. When she used that certain tone of voice, Roddy often caught himself doing what she commanded before he thought, and only afterward wishing that he had protested first.

But they were all that way, the group of young fashionables who surrounded the ton’s most spectacular deb. Or hardly that now, Roddy corrected himself. Alicia had been out for, what, six years? She had refused several very eligible offers. Ned Trehune was making a cake of himself, calling her “the Ice Queen” since she turned him down. And if she wouldn’t have a belted earl…Roddy sighed again. One of the throng of suitors who hung about Alicia had to win her. Was it so ridiculous to believe that it might be he? With a sinking suspicion that it was, he looked up to find Alicia watching him.

“You look just like a stuffed frog, Roddy. What is the matter?”

When she cocked her head at that angle, and lowered her eyelids just that way, Roddy thought, he always felt an inutterable fool. “Nothing’s the matter. Thinking.”

Alicia’s beautifully molded lips curved upward. “You, Roddy?”

“What are we doing this afternoon?” he answered hurriedly. “Didn’t old Perdy say something about a riding party?”

“Perdy! Why did I let him cajole me into coming here? I might have gone to Vienna to visit Papa at the Congress. But no, I listened to Perdy, who promised all sorts of new amusements. I should have known better.”

“Well, you should,” agreed Roddy. “After all, Perdy.”

They contemplated their host, Viscount Perdon, in disgusted silence for a moment.

“How is the duke?” inquired Roddy then, recalling his manners.

“Oh, you know Papa, always terribly busy.” Alicia’s tone was airy. She didn’t want Roddy inquiring too closely into her imagined trip to Vienna, for Papa would probably not have been pleased to see her there. On his increasingly rare stops in England, between diplomatic chores, he welcomed her company for as much as three days together, but at the end of that period they invariably began to irritate one another. Each was too accustomed to their own way, and entirely unaccustomed to opposition. “Did you see that chaise arrive a little while ago?” she added to change the subject.

“The fusty one with the old-fashioned boot? Yes. Prime cattle, though.”

“Who was it? Some fresh guests, I hope. I am so tired of the same faces—here, in London, in Leicestershire hunting.”

Roddy professed ignorance. “With that outmoded carriage, can’t be anyone from town.”

“Provincials? That would be unlike Perdy. But they might amuse us.”

He shrugged. “Could find Perdy and ask him.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Alicia stared into the great hall again, frowning. She was horridly bored. Her friends bored her, Perdon Abbey bored her, and the thought of another Season in London, soon to begin, bored her most of all. She had seen everything the haut ton had to offer. She had received its adulation as her due and become the undisputed leader of the younger smart set. But she was weary of that as well. From the moment of her birth, Alicia had gotten whatever she wanted, with only her mother’s premature death to mar her happiness. Now, at twenty-five, she had run out of requests. “I suppose we may as well.”

“What?” Roddy had been racking his brain for amusing ideas, and he had been just about to suggest they search out some of the others and organize a game of croquet. He felt the plan was weak, and when Alicia spoke just as she might have if he had mentioned it, he was almost afraid she had been reading his mind.

“Look for Perdy,” she replied impatiently, starting toward the stairs.

“Oh…oh, right. He’s probably in his study.”

Alicia made a derisive noise.

“Well, he can sit there, can’t he?”

“He can sit wherever he likes. But to call it a ‘study’ when Perdy hasn’t the brains of a lap dog…” She shook her head, lifting the flounced skirt of her blue morning gown to walk downstairs.

They found Viscount Perdon asleep in a red leather armchair. Its back had been turned toward the door in a pathetic attempt at concealment.

“Perdy,” said Alicia, shaking his shoulder sharply. “Wake up. It is eleven o’clock in the morning!”

With a snort, as if surfacing from the ocean depths, their host jerked upright. “Wha…oh, Alicia. Must you do that? You frightened me nearly out of my wits. It’s very bad for one’s health to wake suddenly, you know. Causes—”

“It’s even worse to sleep at midmorning.” She eyed Perdy’s plump, sandy-haired form and unbuttoned waistcoat. “After an immense breakfast.”

“Now, Alicia.” The viscount looked apprehensive.

“Perdy, why did you ask me here? To drive me mad with boredom?”

“Now, I say. Lots of people to amuse you. Roddy.” Perdy indicated him. “Jane Sheridan. You like her. Jack Danforth. Emmy Gates.”

“I know who is staying, Perdy.” Alicia’s light blue eyes narrowed as she surveyed him. There was something odd here that she hadn’t realized before. Perdy was notoriously lazy; he rarely invited guests, and when he did, they were a select few of his male cronies, who could be relied upon to look after themselves and not to expect prodigies of entertainment.

The current house party was unprecedented. She should have seen it as soon as he began pressing her to visit. It was quite out of character. “What are you up to, Perdy?”

“M-me?” But he quailed under her gaze like a rabbit before a fox.

Intuition led her to add, “Does it have anything to do with those people who arrived today?”

Perdy went pale, gaping at her. “People?” he echoed in a strangled voice.

“Who is it, Perdy? What have you done?”

Their host swallowed, groped for his handkerchief, and passed it over his face. “Not my fault,” he muttered.

“What isn’t?” Abruptly, Alicia sat on the arm of his chair. Her voice became cajoling. “Now, Perdy. Tell us.”

Roddy stifled a laugh as the viscount raised his head hopefully. “It was my Aunt Sophia.”

“Yes?” Alicia was the picture of sympathy now. “What did Lady Corwin do?”

“Said I must invite my cousins, second or third cousins really, and see that they met some people. Give them a push, you know.”

“So it is your cousins who have arrived?”

Perdy nodded, looking dejected. “It’s what put me out, so I thought a bit of a nap…he’s bad enough. I’ve met him before. But she…” He mopped his brow again. “It ain’t my fault, Alicia. I couldn’t help it. You know Aunt Sophia.”

“Umm.” Alicia seemed lost in thought.

“You will stay out the week, won’t you?” added Perdy anxiously. “It’s only two more days.”

When Alicia said nothing, Roddy replied, “Of course we will. All of us.”

“So there is a he and a she,” mused Alicia. “Who are they, Perdy?”

“The Earl of Cairnyllan and his sister Lady Marianne MacClain. And their mother, of course.”

“Cairnyllan? I don’t think…”

“Scotland,” muttered Perdy unhappily.

Alicia eyed him. “And what is so bad about them?”

“Him, I said. I’ve never met Marianne. Though from what Mama tells me…but she can’t be worse than Cairnyllan. He makes my blood run cold.”

“Good heavens, is he a hunchback?”

Perdy stared. “Of course not. Nothing like that in our family. Who told you so?”

Alicia’s blue eyes twinkled. “No one. But if he makes your blood run cold…”

“Well, he does. But it’s his eyes, not his back. He looks at me as if I were a dead cat—several days dead.”

This raised his hearers’ eyebrows. None of Perdy’s friends thought him keen-witted, but he was well-liked.

“He don’t care for the ton, you see,” added Perdy in explanation. “Disapproves of fashionable fribbles.” He nodded as if remembering some incident. “Very cutting, his tongue.”

“Indeed?”

Both men, instantly wary at this familiar exclamation, turned to gaze at Alicia. She was smiling slightly.

“What are you planning?” asked Roddy.

“Planning?”

“Don’t play the innocent with me. I know that look.”

“Roddy! I was simply thinking that we may find this visit quite amusing after all. You must tell me all about your cousins, Perdy.” She smiled down at him, and Perdy met her eyes with worried fascination.

“Well,” he began, “Marianne is to come out this Season, you see.”

* * *

When the Perdon Abbey house party gathered for a light luncheon at one, there was a distinct feeling of excitement in the air. Roddy and Alicia had alerted their friends to the new arrivals, and everyone was curious to see them. But even more, they could all see that Alicia was plotting something. From long experience, they knew that this meant, at the least, interesting developments ahead.

The newcomers were the last to appear. The others had already gone into the cold buffet in the dining room, and thus had a good view of the three when they entered a few moments later. Many would have been daunted by the battery of appraising glances thrown their way, and indeed, the small older woman shrank back slightly. But no one was looking at her. The man and girl framed in the double doorway claimed everyone’s attention.

Both had stunning red hair, and both were dressed in passable style, though by no means in the height of fashion. But there the resemblance ended. Ian MacClain, Earl of Cairnyllan, was a large man—tall, with great shoulders and arms and well-formed, muscular legs. His face was reddened by the sun, and his blue eyes were startling against his skin. They, like everything about him, seemed to crackle with vitality. He looked as if he would like to tear off his neckcloth and stride outdoors, where he would clearly be more at home. He gazed back at the group around the table with contempt, and none of them imagined he was pleased to be at Perdon Abbey.

His sister, on the other hand, looked overjoyed. She too was built along generous lines, but her deep bosom and curve of hip appeared slight beside the earl’s bulk, and one chiefly noticed large, dark blue eyes in a pale oval face, a pert nose, and invitingly sensuous lips. She came forward first, holding out both hands to Perdy.

“Hello, cousin. My room is splendid.” She gazed about, smiling as she spoke, with no trace of a Scottish accent, and it was obvious she was gauging her effect on all of them.

Perdy shuffled uncomfortably and freed his hands. “Ur, hullo, Marianne.” He paused, as if uneasy about this form of address, then plunged ahead. “Want you to meet my friends.” He muttered names rapidly and inaudibly. “Lady Marianne MacClain,” he finished, gesturing vaguely. Then, realizing that he should have presented the girl’s mother first, he flushed. “And Lady Cairnyllan,” he added in a louder voice, “my, er, aunt?”

“Second cousin once removed,” corrected Marianne with no trace of embarrassment. “Ian and I are twice removed.”

This was too much for Perdy. “Ian MacClain, Earl, you know, Cairnyllan,” he blurted, and then turned determinedly to the buffet.

The earl had moved forward, escorting his mother, and now he nodded to the group without enthusiasm. He looked at them, thought Alicia, as if they were some unusual, and not particularly attractive, breed of livestock. But she noticed that when his eyes passed over her, they showed a momentary flicker. She smiled inwardly. Since the age of fifteen, Alicia had enjoyed men’s reactions to her beauty, which she knew was extraordinary. Lord Cairnyllan was unlikely to stammer or gape, but she was sure that in a moment or two he would maneuver his way to her side and try to capture her attention with his best conversational gambit. She felt a familiar quickening at the idea; the game of flirtation was one of the few things that still amused her, though she very seldom encountered a worthy partner.

But the earl did not approach her. He stayed beside his mother, filling a plate for her and then sitting near her at the table. His attention appeared to be divided between Lady Cairnyllan’s comfort and Marianne’s behavior, which obviously concerned him. Alicia did not even catch him in surreptitious glances.

Puzzlement over his amazing attitude preoccupied her through the first part of the meal. It was not until Roddy, who’d been casting more than surreptitious glances in Marianne’s direction, stopped to peel an apple for her that Alicia cocked her head and lowered her eyelids slightly, saying, “Lord Cairnyllan, you are Scotch?” At her tone, the young people around the table looked up expectantly.

“A Scotsman,” replied the earl. “Scotch is whiskey.”

Alicia blinked. She wasn’t used to being curtly corrected, and the man had not even seemed to notice her mockery. Or, if he had, he obviously did not care a whit, which was astonishing. Then she realized that, living so far from town, he probably had no notion of who she was. “What part of Scotland?” she added.

“The highlands. You wouldn’t know the place.”

The way he said “you” goaded Alicia into an uncharacteristic rejoinder. “Perhaps I would. My father, the Duke of Morland, has an estate in Scotland.”

MacClain shrugged. “’Tis on the western coast.”

“But what town?”

“Cairnyllan,” he answered, as if to an idiot.

Perdy gasped audibly, and the others looked shocked. Alicia was speechless; no one had ever spoken to her so rudely in her life.

“It’s a tiny village a million miles from anywhere,” put in Marianne quickly. “No one could have heard of it. There are only a few cottages and masses of sheep. And our house, of course. The nearest neighbor is fifteen miles!” She looked around for sympathy, and got it. “You can’t imagine how dreary it is in the winter.”

“I can,” said Roddy, who was enjoying his exposure to Marianne’s charms.

Lord Cairnyllan scowled, and his mother looked uneasy.

“You don’t agree with your sister?” said Alicia.

“I do not.”

Unlike Marianne, he had a very slight Scottish lilt to his voice, Alicia realized.

“Oh, Ian likes nothing better than to live at the end of the earth. He hates London,” said Marianne.

“And if I do,” responded her brother, “perhaps I have reason.” His vivid blue eyes fixed Marianne for a long moment.

To everyone’s surprise, the girl flushed deeply and looked down. There was a brief uneasy silence, then she raised her head again and tossed back her lovely hair. “I can’t wait to see it,” she said defiantly, and smiled at Roddy.

He took her lead. “This is to be your first visit?”

“Oh yes. I am to come out, you know. I’m half sick with nerves.”

Though this was patently untrue, it was the sort of remark the group was accustomed to, and the conversation became general as they discussed the approaching Season. Neither of the older MacClains joined in, and Alicia was unusually silent, her attention repeatedly drawn to Ian MacClain. She couldn’t quite make him out. She had met people before who professed contempt for the haut ton and its activities, but they were most often those who had been excluded from its ranks. Lord Cairnyllan’s birth and breeding did not put him in that category; he might lack polish, but he was far from the gawky provincial she had expected. And Perdy had told her he had a good deal of money. She could see no reason for his attitude, or for his treatment of her. Perhaps she had been a trifle patronizing, but she hadn’t spoken more than two sentences. And most men turned her teasing aside with a smile, vastly pleased with the attention. His rudeness piqued and angered her.

Watching him talk with his mother, she scanned his face. His russet eyebrows jutted out to shadow his eyes; his cheekbones were high beneath them, and his nose slightly arched. One didn’t realize at first how attractive he was; the impression of controlled power was too strong. But she saw now that it was accompanied by an indefinable grace, a quality unlike her own, or Roddy’s sophisticated ease. It was the grace of strength and unconcern for others’ opinions. Alicia found it intriguing.

At that moment, Lord Cairnyllan looked up and encountered her gaze. She didn’t look away; she was no blushing schoolgirl, and she was curious about his reaction. Their eyes, she saw, were nearly the same color. But that did not make them at all alike. She knew from her mirror that hers were a cool, speculative blue, while those she gazed into were bright with energy and impatience.

She held them. Cairnyllan, who had at first seemed surprised, raised one red eyebrow. His mouth curved slightly upward, though not in a smile, and he slowly surveyed her from her silver-blond curls to her slender arms lying along the table. His expression was appreciative, but it held none of the deference to which Alicia was accustomed.

He looked at her as one might a beautiful, but flawed, work of art. She was all very well, his gaze seemed to say, but of no real significance. Alicia was astonished and annoyed: by what right did he assume such superiority? When their eyes met again, both pairs held an unmistakable challenge, and Alicia felt a thrill run through her at the thought of showing Lord Cairnyllan precisely how wrong he was.

Luncheon finished, Roddy suggested croquet, and the young people moved toward the French doors to the lawn. Lady Cairnyllan declared her intention of lying down for an hour and then visiting Perdy’s mother, their titular chaperone, who joined them only for dinner. Lady Cairnyllan had been obviously scandalized by this information, which annoyed Alicia. When they had all known one another since nursery days, what could it matter? Then, glancing at Marianne MacClain, she wondered. Marianne had taken possession of Roddy’s arm, and was leaning against him and gazing up into his face in a very marked manner.

Lord Cairnyllan saw it too. He opened the dining room door for his mother and bowed her out, but he turned to join the croquet party himself.

Alicia followed him onto the lawn and watched with him while the others chose mallets and balls from among those a footman had brought out. Even Perdy was persuaded to play, rather than escaping to his armchair and a nap, as was his custom after all meals. Marianne MacClain was plainly delighted by the activity, and her enthusiasm was contagious.

“Your sister is a very lively girl,” said Alicia when the game had started and only she and Cairnyllan remained on the sidelines.

He started, as if he had forgotten she was there, then frowned. “Yes.”

“And lovely. She will make a great hit in London.”

“No doubt.” His tone conveyed his low opinion of that accomplishment, and the idea also seemed to increase his concern about Marianne, for he kept his attention on the croquet ground where Marianne sent Roddy’s ball flying into the yew hedge and crowed with laughter.

Alicia, piqued, searched her mind for some subject that would gain his attention. She had never encountered this problem before, and it took her a moment. Cairnyllan still did not look at her. “It’s a pity you had to leave Scotland at this time of year, when it is beginning to be so beautiful.”

He turned, and seemed to really see her for the first time. “I find it beautiful at all seasons,” he answered, but his voice held speculative interest as well as contradiction.

“We all love our home country best, I suppose. Whenever I go back to Somerset, I feel that.” Amazingly, Alicia saw that she was losing his attention again. She had never had to make an effort to interest a man before. “Why did you come?” she asked bluntly, her famed address thrown to the winds.

He turned back, startled. “What?”

“If you love Scotland so, and hate London, why come? I suppose your mother could have managed your sister’s comeout.”

He shook his head. “Hardly.”

Alicia, who was not particularly interested in Marianne MacClain, again sought a subject. She remembered something Roddy had said. “You breed horses, I suppose.”

This time, she caught his interest. “How do you know that?”

Alicia followed up her advantage. “It’s obvious.”

“Is it?” His blue eyes narrowed a little. “You saw my team, did you?”

Disconcerted by his quick understanding, Alicia merely nodded.

“Ah. You won’t find another such matched set.”

She smiled a little. “I shall tell Lord Peterborough so, and Ottley. They may dispute it.”

Cairnyllan shrugged, dismissing two of the leading lights of the Jockey Club without a qualm.

“Perdy has organized a riding party for tomorrow morning,” added Alicia, ruthlessly sacrificing her host, who, she knew, never rode unless he had to. “The country is not so exciting as Scotland, perhaps, but it allows a good gallop.”

“Unfortunately, my horses are being brought down by slow stages.”

“Oh, Perdy will lend you a mount.” Seeing his contemptuous glance at Lord Perdon, she added, “Or I will.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You?”

Alicia, who had received her first pony at three and was renowned for one of the finest seats in England, met his skeptical gaze. “I. Indeed, I have a young horse I should like to see you try. I am only worried that he is not up to your weight, but perhaps he may be, after all.” She eyed him measuringly.

Cairnyllan looked startled, and amused. “You fancy yourself a judge of horseflesh?”

This was the opening Alicia had been aiming for. “A rank novice. I leave the running of Morlinden almost entirely to Jenkins. He is a genius at it.”

“Morlinden? You have some connection with…”

“It is our racing stable,” she interrupted with careful innocence. “And since Father is so often abroad, I help Jenkins to run it.”

For the first time, the earl looked at her with genuine interest, and Alicia felt a thrill of triumph at having broken his arrogant reserve. As over the luncheon table, their eyes met, and the tension between them rekindled at a heightened level. “Might I see this promising animal?” asked the earl.

“Of course.” And, taking the arm he proffered, Alicia led him through the gate in the hedge and along the gravel drive toward Perdy’s stables.

* * *

As she dressed for dinner some hours later, Alicia’s thoughts lingered on the afternoon just past. She had much to think about. She could not remember when she had enjoyed herself more, and she could not understand exactly why this should be. She and Cairnyllan had duly examined Whitefoot, and he had admitted her good judgment. Then they had walked on the lawns, and their conversation had drifted to other matters. But whatever they talked of, Ian MacClain maintained his superior attitude. He appeared to believe that he was the sole authority on every question. And his low opinion of town dwellers was unshakable.

Alicia did not spend a great deal of her time or brain power thinking about men. They were a necessary part of the human race, she would have freely admitted, but until today, she had viewed the sex with a measure of contempt. Since her teens, they had been making fools of themselves over her, apparently believing that absurd compliments, reckless antics, and brooding glances would inevitably win her heart and hand. Several of the more courageous, who had actually tried their luck, had discovered the falseness of this premise. She had unhesitatingly refused every offer. Indeed, she could not imagine herself married to any of the men she knew. If they weren’t young and idiotic, they were dull, or unattractive, or unbearably self-satisfied. A few, like Roddy, were simply childhood friends who were too much like brothers to think of as husbands.

And yet, she expected to marry. Until today, she had somehow taken it for granted that she would, despite the fact that she had as yet discovered no suitable partner. But the Earl of Cairnyllan had shaken her complacent avoidance of this problem, even while he infuriated her.

He was by no means foolish. He offered no compliments and certainly showed no signs of trying to impress her. He simply conversed with her with considerable intelligence, making it clear that he was more interested in her responses than her beauty or consequence.

Not, Alicia thought, that he was unaware of her beauty. She struggled to explain him to herself. He responded to it, as she did to his attractiveness, on some silent level. It was as if the fact were obvious, and there was no need to mention it.

At this point, Alicia sighed in exasperation at her inability to analyze her feelings, and noticed her maid’s set expression. “I’m sorry, Rose. What did you say?”

“I said, if you don’t stand still so I can button your gown, you will be late for dinner, Lady Alicia.”

Alicia grinned at her, and did so. A moment later, Rose draped a cashmere shawl over her elbows and stood back while Alicia surveyed herself critically in the long mirror. It seemed very important that she look well tonight, and the glass told her that she did. She had chosen an evening dress of midnight-blue satin trimmed with silver piping at the neck and short sleeves, and Rose had dressed her pale hair à la Diane, threaded with dark blue ribbon. A diamond pendant of her mother’s completed the toilette to Alicia’s satisfaction. She smiled a little, watching her full lips curve in the mirror, then laughed. “I’ll do.”

“You look fine as a fivepence, Lady Alicia,” replied Rose.

Alicia laughed again and went downstairs, coming into the drawing room last and greeting the group with such a dazzling smile that Roddy Massingham nearly dropped his quizzing glass into Lady Perdon’s low-cut bodice.

They went in to dinner soon after, Lady Perdon presiding with her usual sleepy imperturbability. Glancing from Perdy to his mother, Alicia was again amused by their similarity. It was clear where their host got his plump, sandy-haired physique, his pleasant disposition, and his incurable laziness. Lady Perdon’s gown was all the crack, but her expression suggested that she would rather be curled up with the latest novel and a box of chocolates than presiding over a fashionable dinner.

Looking down the table, Alicia intercepted a severe glance passing between Lord Cairnyllan and his mother. At first, she wondered if they had quarreled, then she realized that both were expressing disapproval of their hostess. She turned to Lady Perdon again, trying to see her with the eyes of an outsider rather than those of a girl who had grown up treating her as a delightfully unrestrictive aunt. Her gown was rather low considering her ample bosom, she supposed. When she bent forward to flirt with Jack Danforth…but anyone could see it was no more than a game. She felt annoyed with the MacClains again, particularly Ian. How dare he judge in that odious way?

Alicia spent a great part of her meal frowning into her plate, utterly intimidating the young men on either side of her, and it was not until the ladies rose to leave the table that she recovered her animation. Had any of her friends met her eyes just then, they would have been certain that mischief was afoot. For Alicia had decided that Ian MacClain must be taught a lesson. He was an extraordinary man, but his smugness was insupportable. She would shatter that, and then…a smile curved her lips as she entered the drawing room.

The younger girls gathered about the pianoforte, and Lady Perdon went off to fetch a shawl, refusing all offers of assistance. Alicia suspected she meant to nap. However, as this left Lady Cairnyllan alone by the fire, it served her purpose very well. Alicia joined her on the sofa.

“I hope you have recovered from the fatigue of your long journey,” she said.

“Oh, yes. So kind,” murmured her companion in a soft, fluttering voice.

“Have you been to London before?”

“Not since my own comeout, more than thirty years ago.” Lady Cairnyllan sighed.

Alicia thought how little her children resembled her. Their father must have been a large, ruddy man, she concluded, for Mary MacClain was tiny, with dark brown hair and gray eyes which were still very lovely. She did not look at all like Ian’s mother.

“A long time,” Alicia said, suddenly sympathetic.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand,” protested Lady Cairnyllan hurriedly. “I never wished to come. I am very happy in Scotland. Now that Alex is gone…I mean…”

She trailed off, and Alicia wondered again at the contrast between mother and children. She could not imagine the younger MacClains talking in such uncertain tones. If her husband was anything like her children, Lady Cairnyllan’s life must have been tumultuous indeed, Alicia thought.

“I was hoping to organize a table for whist,” said Alicia then. “Will you join us?”

“Oh, I…no, I don’t play.”

She seemed so distressed by the idea that Alicia frowned. “Some other game, perhaps?”

“No, no.”

Before Alicia could pursue the subject, as her curiosity urged, the door opened, and the gentlemen joined them.

Ian MacClain came directly to the sofa, and when Lady Perdon rejoined them a bit later, he skillfully separated Alicia from the two older women and led her to a pair of armchairs further down the room, somewhat apart from the others. Alicia smiled slightly at his directness, almost ready to abandon her scheme.

“Your sister has a lovely voice,” she said when they were seated. Emmy Gates was playing a ballad on the pianoforte, and Marianne was singing.

“She does that,” he agreed, watching Marianne briefly before turning his full attention on Alicia.

They looked at one another. Once again, Alicia had the sense of unspoken things passing between them. Under certain circumstances, she realized, one need not put a feeling into words.

“You are here alone?” asked Cairnyllan rather abruptly.

“Alone?” She gazed at him, puzzled.

“You have no older relative or…”

“Oh, you mean a chaperone.” Alicia cocked her head and smiled. “Cousin Lavinia stayed at home with her dogs, as she knew Lady Perdon would be here.”

“Ah.” He gazed disapprovingly at their hostess, who was showing Jack and Roddy the steps of some complicated figure for the quadrille.

“She is a thoroughly nice woman. And I have known her all my life.” Alicia’s voice had sharpened.

“She may be. But as a chaperone, she is somewhat lax, is she not?” He inclined his head in the direction of Jane Sheridan and Willie Morgan, who had retreated to a window embrasure and were deep in conversation, their heads very close together.

Alicia started to inform him that Jane and Willie were engaged, and were undoubtedly discussing their wedding, which was set for the following month. But she pressed her lips together again, eyes sparkling with annoyance. Lord Cairnyllan was uncommonly arrogant, to make assumptions about people he had met only this afternoon. Let him think what he liked, and find out later what a prating fool he had been!

He noticed her expression. “We are rather old-fashioned in the highlands, I fear,” he said coldly.

“One might almost say gothic,” she retorted.

“Alicia,” called Roddy from across the room. “Come, let us try that duet again. Mari—Lady Marianne has never heard it.”

Alicia rose and went to the pianoforte, her resolve renewed. Lord Cairnyllan watched her walk away with relief. He had almost been tempted to change his opinion of London misses this afternoon, but Lady Alicia had reminded him in time of their standards of behavior. He too rose, and went to give his arm to his mother, who was on the point of retiring.

For some reason, Alicia felt relieved when he was gone. This was nonsensical, she told herself, when she was planning to give him a sharp lesson. If he chose to talk so disparagingly of the haut ton, it would treat him accordingly.

She immediately proposed cards again, singling out Marianne MacClain. Though the girl seemed reluctant at first, she was convinced when the other young people followed Alicia’s signal, and in a few moments a number of them were sitting down to a game of piquet.

When Alicia proposed stakes, Roddy raised his eyebrows. She almost never gambled—insisted it was a dead bore—and if she did, it was for small sums. Tonight, however, she appeared to have altered her habit. Meeting her eyes, Roddy abruptly saw what others had noticed some time before; Alicia was in the midst of one of her pranks. There was nothing for it but to go along.

Marianne was a poor cardplayer. Very soon she had lost the small amount of money in her reticule and was scrawling notes of hand in a round, childish script. Roddy nearly objected when Alicia explained this process to her, but Alicia quelled him with a sharp glance.

Marianne lost yet again. Jane Sheridan left the table, frowning at Alicia, and the latter shifted a bit uncomfortably under her gaze. Alicia’s anger at Cairnyllan was dissipating, and she was wishing she knew how to manage the cards so that Marianne might make up her losses and end the play. The girl was looking very uneasy. Alicia was about to declare the game over in any case when Ian MacClain returned to the drawing room.

Lady Perdon had retired, leaving the cardplayers alone. Cairnyllan started to nod a greeting, then saw what they were doing. One glance at the scattered bits of paper and Marianne’s worried face told him all, and Alicia, watching him, was so shaken that she drew in her breath. Lord Cairnyllan was furious; there could be no doubt of that. His great hands clenched and unclenched, and his vivid blue eyes blazed with anger. Alicia waited for the inevitable explosion, ready, if not eager, to defend herself.

It did not come.

Astonished, Alicia watched the man subdue his obviously formidable temper. She saw him take several deep breaths and slowly relax his hands. His face fell back into impassive lines, and only the spark in his eyes gave any clue to his feelings. Strolling forward with a bland negligence fully worthy of White’s, he paused behind Marianne’s chair. “Taking a flier?” he asked.

His sister started violently, dropping her cards faceup on the tabletop, and twisted to gaze at him, frightened and pleading.

“I beg your pardon,” was his only response. “I have spoiled your game. Let me make amends by taking Marianne’s place.” With subtle strength, he practically lifted Marianne from her chair and set her gently aside. Seated, he looked slowly from one to another of the players. “I apologize; you must deal again.”

An almost visible tremor went around the table. Alicia felt a thrill of excitement that overbore her contrition. What a powerful personality he was. She had never met anyone like him.

The new hand was dealt, and the play began. It was immediately evident that Cairnyllan was a far finer player than his sister. Indeed, his skill outstripped any at the table. In less than an hour he had recouped Marianne’s losses and begun to increase her little store. He played one more hand, betting heavily and accepting notes from each of the others, and when he had won it, stood abruptly. “I believe that is enough,” he said, his voice hard.

“You are a splendid player, sir,” ventured Alicia, greatly impressed.

“I learned at Cambridge, for just such occasions as this,” he replied harshly. “I was determined never to endure them again.”

“Again?” Alicia was very curious.

“It’s late. Are you ready to go up, Marianne?”

His sister merely nodded, seeming close to tears, and he offered his arm. They started out, then Cairnyllan paused. Turning, he took their notes from his waistcoat pocket, tore them across, and flung the fragments on the table. In the next moment, the MacClains were gone.

“Phew!” exclaimed Roddy when the door shut behind them. “I feel as if I hadn’t breathed for an hour.”

The others nodded.

“I say, Alicia…”

“I know, I know. I went too far. I shall apologize tomorrow.” Alicia was lost in admiration.

Roddy gaped. He hadn’t expected any such admission. Indeed, he had never before heard Alicia admit she was wrong.

“Wasn’t he wonderful?” she added, and rose to stride out of the room, leaving her friends speechless with amazement.