Chapter 5

The landlady had not exaggerated. The beds at her inn were comfortable, clean and dry. Nevertheless, sleep eluded Lilah for a long while. Too much had happened this day. Long after Miss Pickens was gently snoring beside her she lay awake, unsure which was to blame for her restlessness: the storm that was rattling the windows or the storm that was rattling her composure.

Her thoughts raced chaotically as she listened to the rain and wind. Worry about her father plagued her, but the bulk of her agitation seemed to be centered on the irritating Earl of Drakesley. He occupied her thoughts to an annoying degree, and refused to be banished from them. When she finally fell asleep, her dreams were feverish and highly-colored. And they featured Drake. She awoke feeling keyed-up, cross, and far from rested.

Morning had dawned unexpectedly sunny. Miss Pickens apparently saw nothing suspicious in the care Lilah took with her toilette, and actually voiced approval when she donned her best muslin. “How pretty you look, my dear!” she said. “I am so thankful that Sir Horace had dresses made up for you in London. It seemed an extravagance at the time, for who knew that we would find ourselves in such exalted company? But now that we are forced to travel with an earl, I own it is a comfort to feel that we need not be ashamed of our appearance. I daresay you look as elegant as any lady of rank.”

“As elegant as Lord Drakesley, at any rate,” Lilah replied, pulling a face. “Not that that’s saying much.”

“He’s a most unpretentious man,” said Miss Pickens, as if agreeing with her.

“Unpretentious? Is that what you call it?” Lilah refused to be drawn into praising Lord Drakesley. “I suspect he is just too arrogant to care what anyone may think of him.” She leaned toward the small looking-glass mounted atop the washstand, carefully fastening a delicate earring to dance against the background of her shining hair. “I think he may be queer in his attic,” she said darkly. “Do you know, Picky, he actually bragged to me about his wealth? Told me he was rich as Croesus. I hardly knew where to look.”

Miss Pickens looked shocked. “No. Really? My dear Lilah, you must have misunderstood him. No man of breeding would mention such a thing.”

“My point precisely. One hears that men of rank are frequently eccentric, but Lord Drakesley’s behavior is beyond the pale. I’ve never met anyone so ill-bred.” Lilah, satisfied with her appearance at last, straightened and picked up her gloves. “I shall be glad when our association with him is a thing of the past,” she said airily, but she did not meet Miss Pickens’s eyes as she said it. “In fact, I hope we will be able to hire a vehicle of our own today. We will let Drake have that smelly old coach all to himself. You and I can go by post-chaise.”

“Whatever you decide, my dear,” said Miss Pickens, with a marked lack of enthusiasm. She trailed after Lilah as they descended the narrow stairs to the private parlor Lord Drakesley had reserved for their party.

Drake was there before them, and Lilah, to her annoyance, felt a flutter of nerves when she saw him. She wasn’t sure why this should be. He was doing nothing out of the ordinary. He was seated at a linen-covered table, prosaically consuming a mouthful of ham. But for some reason, the sight of him affected her in a most peculiar way. She halted inside the doorway, struggling to compose herself, while Drake rose to greet them, swallowing.

“G’morning,” he said. Hardly an effusive greeting. Really, what was the matter with her?

“Good morning,” she said. She was pleased to note that her voice sounded perfectly normal.

Miss Pickens peered brightly over Lilah’s shoulder. “Good morning, Lord Drakesley,” she piped. “Drake, I should say! Such a pretty morning. May we join you?”

“For breakfast, she means,” added Lilah, smiling determinedly. “Miss Pickens and I will not trespass on your time beyond that.”

One of Drake’s eyebrows climbed. “Really? I’m not sure I follow you. But I’m never at my best until the third cup of coffee. Sit down, sit down, ladies. They serve a very tolerable breakfast here.” He rang for the waiter and returned to his meal while the ladies took their places across from him. “I don’t mean to hurry you, but how soon will you be ready to depart?”

“You won’t hurry us,” Lilah assured him brightly. She would not let him get the better of her. “We will be ready to leave by the time our arrangements are complete. We have not yet hired a post-chaise, or had our baggage removed from your coach. But I daresay that sort of thing can be done in a twinkling.”

Drake’s brooding, hooded eyes regarded her, their expression hard to fathom. “If you are referring to that malodorous monstrosity we shared yesterday, your baggage has already been removed from it. And mine as well. Neither of us is taking that coach. We are traveling in comfort from this point forward.”

The note of authority in his tone made Lilah’s hackles rise. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘we,’” she said, with an artificial-sounding laugh. “You may travel in comfort. That is entirely your own affair. But Miss Pickens and I will choose speed over comfort, and take a post-chaise. I am not sure why you ordered my baggage to be moved without securing my permission—”

“Did you want it left on that reeking heap of firewood?”

“Of course not. But—”

“Then why the deuce are you ripping up at me? I did you a favor.”

“I am not ripping up at you,” said Lilah, sitting very straight in her chair. “But you should have consulted me before issuing orders on my behalf.”

He leaned back in his chair, chewing in a ruminative way. The waiter entered, bearing coffee in one hand and tea in the other. He claimed the ladies’ attention for a bit, but Lilah was unnervingly aware throughout her conversation with the waiter that Drake’s eyes were on her. When the waiter left, Drake addressed her with his customary bluntness.

“What is bothering you, Miss Chadwick?”

“Nothing,” she said crisply.

“You appear rattled.”

“Well, I’m not.” She dumped a dollop of cream into her coffee and stirred it vigorously, her teaspoon ringing sharply against the porcelain cup. “Kindly stop staring at me. And you may dispense with the personal remarks as well. They’re rude.”

Miss Pickens fluttered at her side, murmuring agitatedly. Lilah ignored her. She knew she was behaving badly, but could not seem to help it. Something about Lord Drakesley cast her into high fidgets.

Drake addressed himself to Miss Pickens, jerking a thumb at Lilah. “Is she always like this?” Sympathy sounded in his voice, as if he believed Miss Pickens was a saint to put up with it.

Miss Pickens, very pink indeed, hastened to reassure his lordship. “Oh, no, my lord—indeed, I know you are joking with us, but I feel I must tell you how kind, how universally kind Miss Chadwick generally is! Why, she is the best-natured girl imaginable. So sunny and cheerful! A smile for everyone. And clever—my word! I never met a child with a sharper mind. Truly, my lord, she is a joy to be around. Such a comfort to her papa…” It seemed to occur to her that she was entering dangerous territory, and her voice faded. She shot an anxious glance at Drake. “You must not judge Miss Chadwick harshly, Lord Drakesley. She has encountered much to overset her during the past twenty-four hours.”

Lilah squirmed a little. “Thank you, Picky, that will do! Pray hand me the sugar tongs.”

Drake skewered another slice of ham, still watching Lilah with a sardonic gleam. “Perhaps you rose on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Miss Chadwick.”

Lilah tried to keep the edge off of her voice. “And perhaps you are deliberately provoking me,” she suggested, with an overbright smile.

“You are easily provoked,” he observed. “It seems to me that you lose your temper the instant you are forced to relinquish the reins.”

Lilah dropped a sugar cube into her cup with great precision. “And it seems to me,” she snapped, “that you seize the reins whenever you choose, without so much as a by-your-leave.” She pointed the sugar tongs at him. “You, my lord, have a strong streak of the tyrant in you.”

“Oh, no doubt,” he said equably. “But so do you.”

Lilah gasped. “I? I do not go behind your back and order your things to be moved! I do not demand to know when you will be ready to leave! I do not badger you to tell me what you are thinking! I—”

“Yes, yes, pray spare me a catalogue of all the sins you have nobly refrained from committing! You have also not ordered our baggage to be combined and jointly loaded onto an alternate coach.” Drake paused long enough to fork a morsel of ham into his mouth. “Which I have done,” he added, in case his meaning was unclear.

Lilah stared at him, bereft of speech. He swallowed and touched the corner of his napkin to his mouth. She could have sworn he was hiding a grin. “Perhaps I should explain,” he offered.

She found her tongue. “Yes! I think you should.”

“We spoke yesterday of going on from here in separate conveyances. Now that I’ve had a chance to think it over, I believe that’s not a good idea.”

Lilah flushed with annoyance. “What you fail to appreciate, however, is that your beliefs and ideas are entirely beside the point! Who placed you in charge of this expedition? By what authority do you—”

“Hear me out!” Drake growled. “If we hire separate coaches after arriving together it will raise eyebrows, and I think the landlady is already suspicious enough. Besides that, we have unfinished business to discuss. We had better place our ducks in a row before arriving in London. And there is a third consideration which has just occurred to me.” He nodded toward Miss Pickens. “You will make your companion ill if you jounce her about in a post-chaise. They don’t call them ‘yellow bounders’ for nothing.”

Lilah’s lips compressed into a thin line while she struggled to master her anger and chagrin. She had not thought of that. Drat the man! He was right.

She turned to Miss Pickens. “Have you ever ridden in a post-chaise, Picky?”

Her companion looked miserable. “Once,” she admitted.

“And did it make you ill?”

Miss Pickens toyed nervously with her fork. “I own, it was not a pleasant adventure. I took to my bed for two days afterward. But I survived it, after all, and in the end was none the worse for the experience. I am perfectly willing to go to London in a post-chaise, Lilah, if you deem it best. Perhaps it will not make me so ill this time.”

Lilah closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them with a sigh. “Picky, for heaven’s sake. Why did you not say anything when I advanced this plan?”

Miss Pickens wriggled in her chair and tugged at her gloves, obviously distressed. “Oh, Lilah, pray don’t scold me! It’s not my place to complain. You must order things as you see fit. Indeed, I would have gone with you gladly. I know you are anxious to reach London as quickly as you can—”

“Not at the price of torturing you, dear friend. This is absurd! What difference would an hour or two make? We are not flying to someone’s deathbed.”

Drake coughed. “Are we all in agreement? Let us take a well-sprung, comfortable coach. And travel together.”

Lilah shot him a glance of acute exasperation. “Since you have already made those plans on our behalf, and transferred our belongings as well, we have no choice but to agree.”

“You could order your baggage to be taken off the coach,” he said.

Lilah was not deceived by the mildness of his tone. “I could,” she agreed, “if I wished to make a spectacle of myself. You have placed me in a most awkward position. I cannot countermand your orders without creating a scene.”

“I am surprised that that consideration carries weight with you. You had no objection to creating a scene yesterday.”

Lilah’s bosom swelled with indignation. “I didn’t create that scene,” she retorted. “You did.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I hope you intend to thank me for pointing out what should have been obvious to you—that Miss Pickens is susceptible to motion sickness. You should be grateful to me for stepping into the breach. Your skills in arranging a journey are lacking, Miss Chadwick.”

Lilah glared. “I am not indifferent to Miss Pickens’s comfort,” she informed him icily. “Whatever you may believe! I had only thought to reach London in the shortest possible time. A post-chaise, whatever else it may be, is speedy. And,” she added, her voice rising as her composure slipped a bit, “a post-chaise holds only two persons! It would be worth a little bouncing, to dispense with your escort.”

Drake’s eyes narrowed. “Do you imagine I want to spend another interminable day in your company? My sole purpose in escorting you to London is to ensure that we present a united front to your father and my cousin. Need I remind you, my shrewish young friend, that if we fail to prevent their marriage you and I will be forced to endure each other for years to come?”

Lilah gave an eloquent shudder. “No, you need not remind me. That very thought kept me awake most of the night.”

“Then what the devil are we arguing about? Pass the salt.”

The command was barked at Lilah, but Miss Pickens, who was sitting rather nearer the salt cellar than Lilah, passed it to him hastily. “Oh! Certainly, Lord Dr—certainly, Drake. Since you did ask us to call you that, and if we are to travel together, we must remain on a friendly footing, mustn’t we? As to our mode of travel, Lilah, I’m sure his lordship knows best. He is doubtless a far more experienced traveler than either you or I, and I daresay our best course is to rely on his judgment. I own, I am grateful that he thinks there is no particular advantage to our taking a post-chaise. Now that there is no chance of our being forced to take one, I don’t mind telling you I was dreading it! They are quite hideously uncomfortable. Pray be calm, my love, and allow me to hand you the butter.”

Lilah felt a strong, and decidedly unladylike, impulse to throw a tantrum. She repressed it with difficulty and kept her eyes on her plate to hide the anger sparking in them. She did not trust herself to speak, so her contributions to the remainder of the breakfast conversation were minimal. At the end of the meal she rose from the table, excusing herself so that she might finish packing the items in her room.

Lord Drakesley, leisurely salting his second helping of buttered eggs, barely glanced at her. “No need,” he said. “I’ve already arranged for that as well.”

“I don’t understand. Arranged for what?”

“I ordered the staff to pack up our gear while we breakfasted.”

Lilah struggled to keep her temper, but failed. She flung down her napkin like a gauntlet. “This is intolerable!” she announced, her voice shaking. “First you order my baggage moved from one coach to another without my permission, and then you send strangers to pack my things! I take leave to tell you, my lord, that your arrogance is insufferable!”

His angry scowl immediately descended. “And I take leave to tell you, Miss Chadwick, that you are behaving like a two year-old. Remember, I agreed to take you along on the express condition that you not delay me.”

Lilah placed her fists on her hips. “I would not have delayed you. You are still eating.”

“Confound it, woman!” Drake pushed himself away from the table, looking as if he would like to strangle her. “Let’s be off, then. I’d rather starve than listen to your carping.”

Lilah felt a flash of triumph followed by a pang of guilt. What was there about this man that brought out the worst in her? She could not understand it. On the other hand, it would be absurd to apologize for her attitude. Her antagonism was probably good for him, she told herself firmly. It was obvious he seldom encountered any opposition to his autocratic ways.

Feigning indifference, she covertly watched him as he paid their shot, ordered up the carriage and supervised the last-minute preparations for their departure. He did everything with a careless ease that both attracted and annoyed her. This was a man so accustomed to command that he took slavish obedience for granted. He expected it. Well! He had a thing or two to learn about Delilah Chadwick. She was no simpering lackey. He would receive her cooperation when he respected her as an equal, and not a moment sooner.

In less time than she would have thought possible, everything was ready and Drake was offering his arm to lead her to the coach. As she took it, she glanced up at him. They were standing in sunlight and he was hatless. Lilah’s eyes widened. “Your hair is not brown,” she blurted.

“Of course it is brown.” He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. “What a personal remark, Miss Chadwick. I hope you are ashamed of yourself.”

She felt herself blushing. “I don’t mean to make personal remarks,” she said. “It’s just that it startled me.”

“What startled you? No, never mind,” he amended hastily. “I think I’d rather not know.”

He held the door for her. She lifted her skirts daintily, but paused on the step. She studied him again, amusement bubbling through her. It was absurd to call his hair brown. Brown was ordinary. Drake’s dark hair glinted beautifully in the sun, auburn and sorrel, cinnamon and honey, autumn leaves. Anything but ordinary.

“I had a chestnut mare once upon a time,” she remarked. “You put me in mind of her. In more ways than one, I might add.” She bit back a laugh. “Coleur de diable! You redheads are all alike.” And she ducked into the coach before he could wreak vengeance.

She soon had to admit that the coach he had hired far surpassed yesterday’s conveyance. It was spacious, comfortable and so well-sprung that imperfections in the roadway could barely be felt. It was also drawn by a fast team handled by a skilled driver. Really, it was amazing what a difference rank and fortune made to the little things in life. Lilah was painfully aware that, left to her own devices, a mere Miss Chadwick would not be traveling with so much speed and comfort.

Still, by the time they reached London she was exhausted. They had been rocking along in silence for a while and Miss Pickens was nodding, dozing, beside her. It was well past lamp-lighting time and the interior of the coach was dark, but now that they had reached the outskirts of town an occasional flash of light through the windows illuminated Drake’s face opposite her. He seemed to be studying her, his eyes hooded and opaque.

She was intensely aware of him. The darker it grew and the less she could see, the more her other senses pricked awake, feeling the pull of attraction like invisible wires humming between them. The air seemed thick with electricity. Since she could neither ignore it nor acknowledge it, whatever strange bond existed between them was nothing but a nuisance. Lilah felt herself growing crankier by the minute.

Drake suddenly leaned forward, causing her breath to catch. For a crazy second she thought he would touch her—but he only spoke, his voice lowered in deference to Miss Pickens’s slumber. “The address you had me give the driver. It is in Kensington?”

“Yes.” Whispering to him in the darkness felt so…intimate. She shivered. “It was originally my grandmother’s house,” she went on. She feared she was babbling, but she feared the charged silence more. “My parents met and married in France, you see. And when Papa brought his bride home to England, her mother came along to see her daughter’s new home. And then Mama was expecting me, so Grandmama stayed a bit longer, and after I was born the troubles started, back in France, and Grandpere was…arrested. So Grandmama bought a house in London and never saw Paris again. And this is the house she bought.”

She thought she saw Drake’s eyebrows lift. “So you are the granddaughter of a French seigneur. I should have guessed,” he said dryly. “At any rate, we will reach Kensington shortly. I think I should come in with you, if your father is at home this evening.”

“You—you do?” Lilah wasn’t sure why the mental picture of Drake crossing the threshold of her home made her heart beat faster. Drake. In Grandmama’s home. Meeting her father. Drake, surrounded by furniture and rooms familiar to Lilah since childhood. Drake, invading Lilah’s private world. A thrill of terrified excitement shot through her.

Drake seemed unaware that anything was amiss. “Yes,” he said. “The element of surprise is essential to our attack. Your father will be surprised to see you, will he not? That gives you an advantage. Your advantage will be doubled if I arrive simultaneously, since he certainly will not expect to see me.”

“Oh.” Lilah cleared her throat. “Yes. I suppose that’s true.”

“Between the two of us, presenting a united front, I daresay this ill-advised engagement will not last another hour. We could be done with this entire business tonight.”

The unspoken words and never see each other again hung in the air. Lilah took a deep breath. “You may be right,” she said composedly, although there was a strange tightness in her throat. “Especially if you make it clear to Papa that you stand ready to offer for Miss Mayhew. He may feel reluctant, you know, to cry off—if he has actually proposed marriage to her. But if we can convince him that the lady will suffer no disgrace, I think we can persuade him. You can easily make the case that Miss Mayhew will be better off as Lady Drakesley than Lady Chadwick.”

It seemed to Lilah that the silence lasted a heartbeat longer than it should have. A slight frown creased her forehead. “You did say you wanted to marry Miss Mayhew. Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he said shortly. “I did. I mean, I do.”

“Well, then,” said Lilah, relieved. “Papa need have no scruples. He can break the engagement without a backward glance.” She managed a smile. “I think you are right. We will speak to my father immediately.”

But when they reached her family’s town house, they were met with the news that Sir Horace was not at home. In fact (the butler regretfully informed them), Sir Horace was not expected home for some several days yet. He had joined a party at Wexbridge Abbey and would return no sooner than Tuesday next.

Perhaps Drake was not destined to cross her threshold after all. At least not tonight. Lilah stood on the low steps of the town house, clutching her cloak round her, and tried to think what they should do. She was so tired. Beside her, servants ran to and fro, busily unloading her baggage from the coach. Miss Pickens bade a grateful farewell to Drake and ducked into the house, eager to reach any piece of furniture that wasn’t moving. Her father’s butler, Hodge, hovered respectfully and awaited Lilah’s instructions. With an effort, she turned to address Drake.

“Do you still wish to come in, my lord? I could offer you some refreshment.”

“No, thank you,” he replied shortly. He was frowning in an abstracted way. “They will take excellent care of me at the Pulteney. I need a word with you, however.”

He seized her elbow in a peremptory fashion and led her a few steps down the street, away from Hodge’s listening ears. “This looks serious,” he told her grimly. “Wexbridge Abbey is barely outside of London. There’s no reason for your father to remove there unless it’s to increase his intimacy with the Abbey’s occupants.”

Lilah was puzzled. “Why is that so serious?”

His jaw tightened. “Wexbridge Abbey belongs to my great-uncle. Eugenia is spending the Season there, under the aegis of my great-aunt.”

“Oh. Oh, dear.”

“If your father remains under that roof for several days, it’s a safe bet that matters have progressed to a formal engagement. Or soon will.”

“I see.” Lilah’s heart sank for a moment, but she rallied. “On the other hand, Hodge said it was a party, not a private visit. Perhaps my father is only one among a large group. That wouldn’t be so very bad.”

“Perhaps.” He did not look hopeful. “At any rate, we should ride out tomorrow and see for ourselves. Will you come with me?”

“Certainly.” She sternly repressed the flutter of excitement she felt at the idea of accompanying Drake to Wexbridge Abbey. What was the matter with her? This was business, not pleasure. “The sooner, the better, I suppose.”

They agreed that Drake would call for her in the morning, but he arrived before she expected him. Lilah was still breakfasting. Hoping that his early arrival did not bode ill, she set down her cup with a clatter and hurried to the library to greet him.

It was odd, as she had anticipated, to see Drake standing in the familiar room. He seemed to fill it, his head nearly touching the low ceiling. He was standing near the fireplace but turned as she entered, nodding a curt good-morning to her.

For half a heartbeat, Lilah could not find her voice. Her hand traveled involuntarily to her throat. She had not seen Drake dressed for London before. In fact, she realized, she had not seen him dressed for anything but arduous travel—and since his man had been left in Bytheway with the broken curricle, she had not seen what the assistance of a valet could do for a man of Drake’s stamp. She had fallen into the error of thinking that he must always have that careless, thrown-together look. Now she saw that a London valet easily counterbalanced whatever impatience, or lack of personal vanity, might bedevil his master.

Drake’s morning coat of dark green superfine had obviously been molded to his form by the hands of an expert tailor. In the clear morning light streaming through the front windows, his hair was definitely a rich, dark chestnut, gleaming and beautifully arranged. His unusual coloring was wonderfully complemented by the green of his coat. Immaculate linen gleamed at his neck and wrists, and his buff-colored breeches clung fashionably to the muscles in his legs. There was nothing ornate or fussy about his appearance; there was a no-nonsense plainness in his lack of jewelry and the brisk tie of his cravat. He was still, in other words, Drake. But, she had to admit, the overall effect of town polish was…powerful.

All trace of the highwayman had vanished. The man in her grandmother’s library was definitely an earl.

“Good morning,” she said, thankful that her voice did not crack. “You are early.”

His gaze flicked over her appreciatively. She was wearing her favorite morning dress and was glad, now, that she had donned it. Unmarried girls were supposed to deck themselves in pastels, which rarely became her, but the deep rose of this particular frock made her skin glow pink and white. She would never be the Beauty her mother had been—her face was too expressive, lacking the bland sweetness necessary to attract men—but in this dress she felt almost pretty.

“I have news,” said Drake, with his usual brusqueness. “My great-aunt Polly is hosting one of her masquerades this evening. I think we should abandon our plans to ride out to the Abbey this morning, and attend the masquerade instead.”

Lilah was a little taken aback by this abrupt change of plan. “That’s odd,” she remarked. “Did your family know you were coming to London?”

He looked surprised. “No. I took off on the spur of the moment, just as you did. The party has nothing to do with me or my arrival. Aunt Polly gives these masquerade balls every year. She’s famous for them.”

“I see. But—how did the invitation reach you?”

“It didn’t,” he said patiently. “I heard about it from an acquaintance of mine who happened to be at the Pulteney.”

Lilah blinked at him. “You heard about it. Is that all? Surely your great-aunt’s ball is not open to the public. How can you and I attend it?”

He stared at her as if she were mad. “Why, we ride over there this evening and walk through the door, of course. It’s perfect. Remember, we’ll be in disguise. We can observe your father and Eugenia unawares. They won’t even know we are there. Since they aren’t expecting it, I daresay they wouldn’t recognize us even if they looked directly at us.”

She must have been staring at him with a very queer expression on her face, for he crossed to her impatiently. “It’s perfect, I tell you. Talk about the element of surprise! Why, we can hardly fail. We’ll get them both together—you handle your father, and I will tackle Eugenia.”

Lilah pressed one hand to her forehead. “Drake. Are you suggesting we attend a private ball to which we have not been invited?”

“Now, don’t turn missish,” he warned. “We haven’t time to indulge any idiotic scruples.”

Lilah sank into a chair, unnerved, and listened in horrified fascination as Drake outlined the scheme. “This situation couldn’t be better if we invented it ourselves,” he told her, pacing vigorously to and fro in his enthusiasm. “I know it’s irregular to show up uninvited, but Aunt Polly won’t care a rap. She’s not one of your high sticklers—in fact, she’s probably the least stuffy woman in England. Perfectly respectable and all that, but she’s never been one to stand on ceremony. Besides, I’ve run tame at Wexbridge Abbey all my life. I would have received an invitation, sure as check, if they’d known I could attend.”

“Yes, but you didn’t receive an invitation,” objected Lilah. “And I wouldn’t have received one in any event! Your family has never even met me.”

Drake waved this off impatiently. “Aunt Polly’s got your father stashed in one of her guest rooms, hasn’t she? That’s introduction enough. Will you be able to put a costume together on such short notice?”

Lilah gave a faint moan and covered her eyes with her hand. Drake dropped to a squat beside her chair and pulled the hand away. “Buck up, Miss Chadwick. It’ll be fun.” A rare grin flashed across his features, lit with boyish mischief.

Lilah eyed him doubtfully. “Fun,” she repeated.

“Fun,” he said firmly. He gave her a conspiratorial wink.

Lilah felt herself weakening. She bit her lip and looked away, afraid he would see, at such close quarters, the wicked sparkle beginning to rise in her. It would be fun. Did she dare? She was certainly tempted. Lilah had only been to one fancy-dress ball in her life—a woefully tame affair. Everyone in her small circle had attended it, including the vicar. Something told her that the local vicar would not be present at a masquerade ball held at the height of the London Season…and hosted by the least stuffy woman in England.

She stiffened her spine and tried to look prim. “Very well,” she said demurely. “Since it is, after all, your family’s ball, I will bow to your superior knowledge of what they would find acceptable. If you see nothing amiss in our attending the masquerade, I suppose it would be silly for me to quibble.”

“That’s the dandy!” exclaimed Drake, rising to his feet. “I’ll call for you at half past seven or thereabouts. We don’t want to be the first to arrive, but it won’t do to crash the gates too late, either. We’ll do nothing to draw attention to ourselves.”

Lilah choked back a laugh. “Nothing, except show up without an invitation. Heaven help us if they check them at the door.”

“I’ll tip the butler a yellow boy. Fimber knows me, too; if I lift my mask he’ll let us in.”

“But won’t he think it strange?”

“Fimber? He’ll think nothing of it. He’s known me all my life.” The brief grin lit Drake’s features again. “You see,” he explained, “people expect this sort of behavior from me.”

“I see,” said Lilah politely. “You have a reputation to uphold.”

“Something like that.”

“I’ll try to bear it in mind. I did not know you had gone out of your way to cultivate rudeness. Silly of me! I should have realized that such spectacular boorishness as yours is only achieved after years of careful practice.”