'Do you think we will ever find love?' Emma added another long stemmed yellow rose into their wicker basket as they gathered flowers from the abundant garden.

Sorrow pierced Fallon's heart....She felt a wretched attraction for a certain rake. She did not like him though and worse, he looked at Emma fairly, what chance did she have?

'Is love not over rated?' Fallon's brows furrowed irritatedly.

Could Emma not find another topic that they could converse about?

'I thought you wanted to marry for love,' Emma exclaimed.

Perhaps this love existed. But would she find it? 'Have you found this ___love?' Fallon set down the clippers, anxious to hear her sister's answer.

'I don't know,' Emma ventured, not comfortable yet to talk about her feelings for Arthur Burward, the Viscount Thumpston, besides she did not want to speak of her feelings for a gentleman, when Fallon had not yet found somebody, not wanting to hurt her younger sister's feelings.

Fallon laughed,' either you have or you have not.'

Emma sighed, 'so there is not a single gentleman you have set your cap on?' she enquired curiously.

Fallon turned away pretending to give attention to the colorful array of carnations. She silently rejected the dark invading image of the maddening Earl of Hampton, truly, he was the devil incarnate with his maddening good looks, brooding eyes and his rakish behaviour. She had absolutely not set her cap on him. Even if he was the only gentleman to offer for her she would reject him. He had the manners of a boar. He was arrogant, presumptuous and a cad.

'No,' she answered her sister. I have not found one whom I deem desirable,' she lied.

Emma was silent as she pondered on her sister's response.

'Emma, do you think all gentleman honour fidelity?'

Emma looked up? 'That is important to you, is it not?'

'And not to you?' Fallon deviated.

Emma added some broad leafed ferns to their bouquet. ''I like to think the gentleman I will marry, will not take a mistress. Papa has not.'

'How do you know?' Fallon challenged.

'Fallon!'

'Well, answer me,' Fallon dared her elder sister. 'Papa could be discreetly paying calls to a mistress.'

'We would know,' Emma answered thoughtfully. 'There would be whispers in the ton. Mama would behave differently. She is always smiling fondly at papa and he at her.'

'That hardly proves papa's fidelity.'

Emma huffed. 'I do not believe papa has a mistress,' she whispered for fear they could be overheard. And I believe the one I marry will be faithful. '

'So you have set your cap on one?"

'I ___ I just believe,' Emma lied.

'I do not believe I can ever marry,' Fallon sighed. 'I would not allow my husband to keep a mistress.'

Emma laughed. 'It's not like the gentleman you marry will seek your consent Fallon.'

'Then I shall request a marriage settlement be drawn up. That will be a condition I intend to negotiate if I marry,' Fallon declared. 'If I find he has breached our agreement, I shall leave him.'

'Fallon that is scandalous! Papa will not allow it.'

Emma gave up when she observed her younger sister's defiant eyes.

'Let us get these flowers into their vases,' Emma sighed. 'We need to get dressed for our visit to Lady Beckinsdale.'

'Why does mama have to drag us with her to every tea party?' Fallon whined. 'Can we not stay home? I would much rather paint the walls of our bed chamber.'

Emma laughed. 'Lady Carissa is going to be there. You enjoy her companionship.'

'But Lady Beckinsdale is an inquisitive bat___.'

'Fallon!' Emma cautioned. 'Mama will be furious at your choice of words.

Braeden growled heavily. His cognac was swiftly devoured and the glass promptly refilled. He would like to apportion blame to his grandmother for his most uncharacteristic early morning alcohol binging, but deep, very deep in his conscience, he would grudgingly and silently attest that it was the sultry lips, velvet, blue eyes and the prim, dismissive face of a certain chit that had him sitting through the night recklessly having fellowship with his what was it, second bottle? His well trained butler was silently, refilling his glass, each time it was emptied.

'Bit early in the day for cognac, do you not agree?' Drew Frewer mocked as he entered Braeden's library.

Braeden shot his friend a dark ominous look, pretending to ignore his friend's perceptive conclusion on his early morning imbibing, so unbecoming of a peer of the realm.

'It can only be a lady that has irked you so' Drew smiled, for you have not the troubles of other peers of the ton.

He was referring to Braeden's abundance of wealth. Other peers, lacked his financial fortune and they gambled excessively, hoping to improve their station, thereby getting themselves into deeper debt. His ridiculous wealth was not Braeden's only good fortune. He was born with good looks, became a strapping, attractive gentleman and had the luck of the devil with cards and every member of the opposite sex looked twice at the Prince of Darkness.

Braeden stared at the writhing flames...conjuring up images of his body conjoined to the lithe, body of one annoying Fallon Brightmore. He tossed the contents of his drink down, the brandy burning down his throat, but he was immune to its effect. 'What in damnation are you on about?' Braeden demanded of his best friend.

'Am I going to get an answer Hampton?' The Marquis of Dunbar helped himself to a second cup of coffee.

What the hell had he asked?

'So love has unwittingly found you then? Dunbar mocked.

'" Love" What has that go to do with finding a wife? An image of a blue eyed blonde hoyden flashed across his mind. All I have to offer is my title and wealth. I know nothing about love.'

Dunbar clicked his tongue and shook his head. 'And what of the heir you need to produce?'

'Of course, I must produce an heir or two,' Braeden supplied irritatedly, 'as you need to as well,' he reminded his friend.

'I know full well my responsibility,' Dunbar smiled. 'I believe I have as well finally found my marchioness.'

'Indeed?'

Braeden did not question who it was, and neither did Dunbar offer any information.

Could it be Fallon? No!

'That is all I require of the wife I will marry. Once she gives me an heir or two, then, she is free to discreetly indulge where she pleases.'

'What if the lady you choose expects love?'

'Then I shall make certain the one I choose, is in agreement with my conditions. I cannot in all earnest promise what I cannot give.' Braeden stood up. 'This morbid conversation depresses me. How about I divest you of some money in a game of whist?'

'Nay, I have plans,' Dunbar rose. 'I shall see you at White's this evening,' the marquis left his friend to be consoled by his brandy.

Fallon would much rather be home reading an adventure book that calling on Lady Beckinsdale for tea, but her mother had already confirmed their attendance and it would be impolite for Fallon to now not attend.

She was astounded to discover the Earl of Hampton was in attendance at Lady Beckinsdale's estate. His carriage was parked at the entrance. She knew this from the branding on the side of the carriage. Proudly emblazoned was the distinct coronet of the Earl's circlet, eight lofty rays of gold rising from the circlet, supported by a large pearl, between each of these rays, a golden strawberry left the earl's coronet proudly emblazoned on the carriage.

Could the reprobate be making discreet calls to Lady Beckinsdale for other reasons? She was young, attractive and a widow. Fallon's face turned scarlet at her unladylike thoughts. Thankfully her mother and sister were deep in conversation about their favourite subject, ball gowns! Best she regroup her scandalous thoughts. It mattered not who the black devil visited or whom Lady Beckinsdale entertained. She stepped down as the groom held the carriage door.

Fallon smiled politely as Lady Beckinsdale reached out her arms to greet the baroness Fulham, before she greeted Emma and Fallon.

'Good afternoon Lady Beckinsdale,' Fallon greeted with a smile. 'Thank you for receiving us.'

'Just in time my dears,' she smiled. 'Lady Carissa is arriving much later and I fear I was boring Hampton to tears,' her eyes were directed to her drawing room. 'Please join me,' she invited.

Lady Fallon's footsteps were slow as she followed Baroness Fulham into Lady Beckinsdale drawing room. She had been mildly prepared to go through the laborious afternoon tea session with her mother's friend, but now that she knew satan's spawn was there, Fallon wished she could be elsewhere. Would she have to suffer seeing him casting admiring glances at her sibling? Fallon wished she could demand their coach take her back to their home, but she knew her mother with scare allow that. Besides Lady Beckinsdale would deem it impolite for her to take leave so suddenly. Pray tell what was he doing calling on Lady Beckinsdale after the noon? Do not lazy lords sleep the morning away and only rise well after the luncheon hour?

Fallon was astonished to see Braeden was accompanied by his grandmother as they entered the drawing room. The dowager looked regal in her lavender dress. Her hair was neatly styled. She was sipping on a cup of tea. Fallon followed her sibling's example and greeted the dowager with much courtesy.

The earl stood up, he smiled charmingly at Emma, bowed gracefully, greeted Lady Fulham first, took Emma's hands and laboured over greeting her and eventually included Fallon in his greeting.

She was flummoxed by the sudden mercurial charm of the earl when he briefly took her hands. Equally cold and dismissive, she paid scant attention to returning his greeting, then sat down, summarily dismissing him.

A maid brought in tea, a lavish display of confectionary that included cream scones, seed biscuits, raisin cakes, plum cakes and Fallon's favourite; rout drop cakes. As she bit into a delicious slice, she could taste the sweet wine and brandy in the delicious mixture. She tried to ignore the rake's presence, but his aura was just overwhelming. She made a point of not looking his way, contributing at appropriate times to the tiresome conversation the ladies were indulging in. Fallon thought she was ignoring Braeden, but he seemed equally unobservant of her presence in Lady Beckinsdale's drawing room. It annoyed Fallon somewhat to be discarded so rudely. He commented or agreed when Emma spoke, but looked bored whenever she made any contributions to the conversations. Annoyed at the earl's lack of attention her way, Fallon stood up and walked to look at the elaborate paintings on Lady Beckinsdale's drawing room wall.

The Dowager smiled secretly. She had seen the frequent looks of exchange between her grandson and the younger Brightmore girl, when they assumed the other was not looking their way. She wondered if she was correct. Could her grandson have finally found one he would offer for? She always knew he would never settle for just any chit, yet she loved to rile him to no end. Should her beloved Braeden be made to pay a sufferance for this hoyden? She had seen maidens and ladies equally stare with intent at her grandson and this chit bothered not to offer him even due courtesy. Surely Braeden should not be saddled with such a misfit. What if she would dare decline a Hampton offer.

Perhaps the young Brightmore girl had set her cap on a Duke's title; like so many others her age. Perhaps a mere Earldom was beneath what she would settle for. The nerve of the hoyden...although there was none in the ton that had a more substantial dowry nor one as striking as Fallon Brightmore, the dowager conceded. She suspected the livewire girl would not bore her beloved Braeden to tears. He most certainly needed a countess who would stand up to him. Then only would he respect his marriage partner. The Dowager knew her grandson would be looking for a paramour a day after his wedding night, if he married a meek and subservient lady.

Fallon sensed Braeden's compelling presence just behind her. Now why did he follow her here? Common sense cautioned her not to err but for one with a rebellious spirit as she the attentions of rake were blissful as it was sinful. She looked over her shoulder into his dark, amused eyes. His eyes told her she knew, he would follow her to where she stood. Why?

'I believe only the king has a more admirable pair,' Braeden murmured, he stood tall, his hands, casually behind his back

Oh he was referring to the paintings. Her cheeks went scarlet.

'Your own vast collection is often talked about,' she challenged his modest statement.

'Are you to attend the Ball at Lady Parsnips?' He changed the topic.

That was a sudden change!

They had already confirmed their attendance to Lady Parsnips, but Fallon refused to answer Braeden. She ignored him, and continued to admire the painting in front of her.

'Are you afraid to vouchsafe your plans to me?' he mocked with a soft laugh. 'If I bore you, I should not for it pains my ego to vex a lady. I merely wanted you to save me a waltz,' his eyes mocked.

'You do, but waste your time,' she glared at him defiantly. 'I shall not,' she spoke quietly.

'Oh but I was so looking forward to that Ball,' he continued annoyingly.

'I daresay that depends on your intended action...Fallon uttered with some acerbity. 'I do have a desire to empty my cup of punch on your face.'

'How is the ton going to react to such an ambition, especially from one who is supposed to be a lady?'

She puffed at his insult. 'Why don't you take your leave my lord? I think it unwise for me to remain in the presence of one such as you for a protracted period.'

'I would not deem to be so presumptuous, had you been a lady,' he murmured equally softly. Not willing to test his patience further with the chit, he bowed and returned to his seat and took up a lively conversation with Emma.

Feeling and hating the unspoken reproach Fallon glared at the earl's retreating back. She heaved a sigh, gathered her skirt and stormed out into the garden by herself.